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Colorless Confessional It was as if time had resisted capture hid its most precious commodities averted its eyes lest you see into its soul withheld all but the extremes of color Everything became a negative reflection black on white, white on black variations of both accounting for contrast allowing the moment to be stolen There would be future arguments regarding what color the dress was, why Mom always had on the same housecoat, where was Dad when they took the pictures Time's reluctant moment would pierce the future prick deeply the longings of our hearts, elicit laughter – and tears – intermingling remind us that we too had been young The old camera, the canisters, the leather case the eye that captured a moment of life offering it to us - as a window into our future. John G. Lawless 3/1/2015
Wind so cold. Blowing. Fondles my face. Tickling. The tears from heaven. Pouring. Tapping. Dancing. Unrelenting. I wonder if i wish to stop them From numbness, to waking, then sensing. The little voice in me says, Wait, don't go. Stay a little longer. I plead. Sing for me today, rain. With the gliding rhythm on my piano, I'll play. Chilly Wind, caress my bare skin with the pure coldness that you bring. Unusual, like it's my first time in the snow. Somehow, the fire tree never fades in the picture. The yellow sunkissed leaves, too. What is it about Summer and Fall that I can't forget? Memories. Sweet imaginations. The chilly rain. The misty wind. You are here. Freeze me with the sharp coldness you give. Calm me. Maybe, comfort me. And, if you leave Will you visit me when summertime comes? Before it gets too late And again I fold.
W A I T I N G. ************************ Seems as if I have waited In line or on hold on the phone Where blatant disrespect is shown No longer fast service to show courteous appreciation Just wait, wait, wait Without consideration Take a number Life is what this is Waiting for something Or anything Or nothing Waiting for the other shoe to drop Waiting to see Waiting to hear No longer is waiting a past time Waiting is all the time Take a number Do not have a seat Just wait Stress high I no longer know what I am waiting for In this waiting game When I get to the front of the line The well has run dry Or there's a sign on the desk Saying OUT to Lunch My life is a take a number life I have no reason to wait anymore There is no wait left in me The other shoe has fallen The line is much too long Time is up, the building closed And now my time has come I get on the line to talk with God He asked me what I did while here I waited, I exclaimed I waited I waited to be born I waited in line to die But most of all I waited... On Christmas every year Hello we are transferring your call .... Hello, someone will be with you shortly All of our representatives are busy helping other customers Your wait time should be approximately twenty minutes Hello, God Can you hear me? I waited.. I was next hello; Buzzzzzz..
Tonight I felt the deep inner desire to conform, to feel at right with the crowd for fear of being scorned. But don't be fooled dearest reader, this ain't a story of morals and how I got consumed into a life of addiction or crap like that. This isn't a sob story, just written down at the drop of a hat. The real twist is that I didn't give in, but where does that leave me? A lonesome wanderer gazing at an infinite sea? A person dreadfully awake, in the midst of a miraculous dream? Truth be told I at times feel the luckiest, not drawing near to the most common follies of my peers. But at what price? For who, in a world filled with bubbly laughter, could hear the sound of a silent tear? Who, holding a hand of their own, following a path they love, could notice a shadow like me, so hopelessly alone? I love you all most dearly, but like the moon loves the sea... just out of reach but always in sight. I live my life as the rainbow kisses the earth, wishing for my colors to allay someone else's hurt, if only for a moment, a minuscule grain, on this sandy shore. I am really not so significant, but still I desire to be more. But in all honesty how can I? I'm simply an observer, a reporter looking in. I'm not the strongest, nor the brightest, the bravest, nor the wisest. I am just a man with an eye for beauty and an obsession for the safety of the bench. So still I watch in dread as others live and I just sink. I clutch to papers filled with so much lifeless ink! They are nothing but shards of myself, tossed and thrown in mile high piles, that none in their right minds could ever wish to file! Though the world I live in and the one which I've created, seldom collide, I sit still waiting on that perilous bridge, for someone else just as crazy, and just as lonesome, to sit it out with me, side by side. It may not be perfect but it feels right. And honestly who could hope for more at the end of the night? You have a destination in mind and a foot always in front. You have the whole world palmed in between delicate fingertips. So go on and take a swig! Ingest within you... the taste of a wish!
Tell me of your peace. Let it tell your story now Of trials and tribulations, a tale not of dreams Weary from a journey of self-discovery My child, know the comfort in your peace You feel hope in this familiar place As it gently sloughs the pain away Tell me of your peace In which we all are blessed and free Search throughout your soul sweet child Peer not within your cluttered mind Look out to rest your tired eyes but do not let them see Solace found strewn upon daily thoughts is fleeting at it's best Lasting merely moments, in untouched souls a true peace Oh yes! You'll know when you arrive but only you will know The world will melt away as a candle left under the blazing sun Away away, until you feel home again, an unguided familiar scene An innocence once lost is restored, all sins suddenly forgiven Soaking this in with relucant ease, Breathe it deep with a slow release Take it in, delight in details you discover Be calm here child, please have no fear, I am here You are safe in this place of yours, no hurt no tears We share not the same peace, no no Unique to each of us, yet stranger to none Trust in more than what you see, know beauty is within reach We share this unspoken bond of freedom from ourselves Please young one, listen closer now I say, leave it all behind you love, it will only weigh you down Cleanse yourself of careless words and careful lies I know you're weary, let go of all you carry Don't be afraid, here you are burden free Trust in you, blessed one, it's easier than you believe Sweet child, tell me now if you see Peace resting deep within Waiting for you For you to let it be
Amidst the binge of the champagne, and the glitter on the faces, she heard the distant lullaby. Glistening repertoire of appreciation elated her, but her soul had been far forlorn. She smiled her way through the ballroom, shaking hands, wishing prosperity and hugging the nonchalant children, who didn't even remember her... their innocent, curious eyes, complacent enough to defy contact.. but still she bore them momentary warmth.. and quietly soon enough, they gleamed with fondness towards her. That made her happy. She danced through her guests graciously, illuminating even the minuscle flicker of the dynamism that inflamed her celebration of triumph. It was her day of glory, but somewhere, the gaping hole within her had grown deeper. She couldn't bear the tinge of strangers crawling beneath her destiny.Like cobwebs spun all around her, she gasped for someone to call her own. The outlanders raided her memories in the making. Her soul became an illicit labyrinth that had been expanding like a monster. She couldn't find her people! Her People. Everywhere she looked, her vision proliferated from Void. How could she hide from darkness itself? She cried, but... A sudden loud burst of laughter from a nearing clan hurled her back to reality. The strange realization that she had been ruminating through her desires, made her smile naively. She knew she couldn't be happy. The lust for satisfaction glided life into her. She resumed her counterfeited solace. To tunes so subtly high and alone, she began dancing again. Only till the guests had left, she looked at the empty glasses and collected her tears. She saw her reflection...The splendour of the ballroom in the background, the beige on her body and the silence....she felt alive, only, to die again. ~~Won 2nd prize for the Dark Prose Poetry Contest~~ ~~~~Thank You all, so very much ~~~~
love ewe and blue aer rhyming words true there is always inflection and poor attitude limits of knowledge above snobbish refrains trains run on time only in the movies movies run on time only in a small town there is very few movies shown on trains blue can be an attitude blue can be a heart love you can be used to start a heart apart from you as you watch the blue southern train depart from the blue stunted depot with the board walk floor the little blue conductor yelling all aboard her as the train takes the love and makes your attitude blue soup mix tastes so wordy so blue so true and good with a doubly heaping helping of a love ewe attitude
wake up to serendipity ignorant and unknown shaken and not stirred blond can be bond Reality, metaphor and cliche cheesy juvenile decay Love, care and hate past the use by date of fights and torment and well deserved lament salute to the solitary reaper with Metallica... I disappear
She carries dinner and sweet tea to her man in the field as purple hews of sunset streak down mountain sides. An evening breeze is welcomed, cooling the damp dress clinging to her shape in the shadow of night. Darkness settles over Heaven and Earth, bare feet caress rich soil as bodies held tight in rhythmic embrace-- dance.
She's sliding and if you look past, if you watch her..... maybe you'll capture a glance of her yesterday..... "Sunrise only falls when you don't believe tomorrow exists," I explained, in my most patient tone. She bit her lip and shook her head, she followed me into my room and shut the door, she locked us in, for an hour it seemed, and whispered in my ear.... "I can write pain better than anyone," she informed me, "I'm brilliant at tears." And with this she tore pages out of my beloved sketch book, the one that no one is allowed to touch, and just when my jaw fell with the shock of her brazenness, I shut my mouth as I watched her pen turn letters into sobs.... I followed the words as they ran down, as ink turned into pretty swirls that screamed art and I told her... "Your angst belongs in a museum." I had never seen her smile before, I had never heard her grin, but her lips parted at that moment as a single curl dropped down her previously wrinkled forehead and I saw the beauty in eyes that cry and knew that she had realized I accepted it. "Oh, but who would pay to hear me scream?" she asked, almost joking, as she crossed her legs and sat forward a bit, as her teeth tugged on her bottom lip, as she looked more her age and resembled a child instead of me.... "I would," I replied, as I pushed back her hair and kissed her on the nose, "I would, if I didn't hear you in my dreams almost every night."
Segun my child! My son! Soon, the cock will crow at dawn And the east will showcase the sun Soon, you will leave my home, To found your own With words of wisdom, you won't be alone. Like a mini-skirt, advice is too short But it covers the body's vital lot. Hear me. Your brother is not your friend, He is another you, but independent So your love for one another, allow no dent For the sons of men… Every journey far destination brings Nature presents a transport means The snow has the snow dogs The desert has the camels The long distant road has the horse Even technology came to aid us For the road, we have the cars For the seas and ocean, the ship For the rail, the train The sky has the airplane All, to lead us through our destiny lane That is it with man's life and the battle in it For whatever fate comes to us, so be it As the future hungers like a wild beast Likewise on it, your eyes be firmly fixed Take a deep breath my child, and learn this Every master was once an apprentice Be it the prophets or the dentists Fate is most times very unfair Be not defeated by the things you saw For life is more like war And all is fair in love and war. But whatever life's battle you face Nature will surely with remedy surface. When you fall or fail Don't ceaselessly wail Inhale…count to ten, and then exhale Turn stumbling block to stepping stone, So the builders reject, will be chief cornerstone Two Demi-gods are on man's destiny entrance Their names, Consistency and Perseverance Segun, to them, you must bow No matter what, no matter how On their feet, bring your head down I know my son, I know, That adventure is the blood of the youths But by rushing the moment, the petals are bruised So, calmly assimilate my child, calm study For so, Apostle Paul admonished Timothy Never be the first to hate But to forgive, be the first and be in haste My son, all humans can't love you If they all do, then they want to kill you Likewise, all humans can't hate you If they all do, then they want the best for you What people suffer to get, yet you so easily get That you must never despise For it is your miracle in disguise For the sons of men, Me, myself and I comes first Don't follow that context If you find the opportunity to rule My son, take the alternative to lead For where rulers doom, leaders bloom When fortune knocks on your door, Be quick to offer him a sit Use your wisdom and condor To keep him and give him no exit
Oh to be just a friend To laugh, joke and play with you Is not something I know how to do Oh how I wish it were For it'd sure eliminate All this pain I feel Sometimes it happens That starting off fun Turns into something real And what was meant to make you laugh Turns into tears That seem to take Life's breath away Leaving you to feel Like there's so much left to say If only this, if only that If I only could, if you only would So many tricks of the mind As we try to find Justification for holding on To what should be freed So we can move on Yet we hold out hope In each accidental hello That tides will turn Though they have long washed away It's just the way of life And how love burns Until we learn The difference in what we feel And that which is real
Two (Form) Ends Passing Meeting through..." (form a circle) A circle meeting Passing On On Two. Through Ends
God created hands for building things. Sometimes before you build something, you must first destroy something else. Wildfires are never supposed to be put out. Their sole purpose is to burn the entire forest to the ground, transform living things to fertilizer, making room and preparing the soil for new growth. It is almost paradoxical, that there must be death before birth My hands have stared the grim reaper's reflection inside the pool of my best friends blood. An old student I used to tutor told me that I am the best brother she could have asked for She said she will always love me This was after I burned every bridge that traversed the gaps between us Stared at her from across her desk Told her that she will never be my sister. That our bloodlines will never match. Our gene pools are just strangers that made the same wrong turn. I spent so much time trying to find my way back that I never realized I was home in being lost I found something comfortable, without expectations. I only corrected myself after she spoke, because I heard something familiar in her voice. She sounded like family. I have the scarred and wrinkled hands of a senior citizen I'm only 22 years old I once got my palm read This gypsy woman told me that my lifeline should have been cut short when I hit 17. That was a year ago. What do gypsies know anyway I have defied the odds my entire life. Been broke down and built back up too many times to count My fingernails chewed raw to the cuticle out of anxiety I enjoy the taste of my own pain Sometimes I use my own hands to destroy myself just to see who my real friends are who will build me back up when I can't do it alone My hands have a desire to learn how to cook, but I'm not that great. So when I am alone, I tend to be hungry, not just for food though. I starve for someone to talk to It never satiates, because it's not you. I know what it tastes like to completely give myself to someone. My biggest fear is being abandoned. When I look into your eyes, I am not afraid. I need to cook you up a feast of myself, then feed it to you every day for the rest of our lives Please tell me what I really taste like, Be honest. Years after my grandfather passed away, my grandmother moved into my aunt's house. Since I was 5, every time I speak to her she asks me: "Spenser, did you thank God for waking you up today?" I think to myself, I never did tell my eyes to open themselves. It just happened. So I don't know how to respond to her correctly. I tell her that I love her, that I am writing a lot. She tells me that she puts her hands together for me every night Prays that I will get the job I want I guess some prayers do get answered. Sometimes two hands in the right position, matched with a conversation with God, Can change things. I even accidentally call that place home sometimes. My dream is that my hands evolve into wolves, become part of a pack and work together with other hands to make a difference Some days they will be the alpha male. Full of confidence, at the head of the pack Other days I need someone to show me the right way to go Because if I've learned anything It's that I am not always right I can not always be in control of everything The only thing I have ever really wanted is to know That my hands were truly A part of something.
Commitment is ….. beautiful when you love somebody. Commitment is giving something greater than yourself. It is: A promise: To Assure, Guarantee, Swear, Agree, Secure, Give your word A pledge: A Promise, Oath, Word of honor A vow: To Be determined, Declare, Undertake, Assert It is: Assurance, Dedication, Loyalty, Devotion, Steadfastness, Allegiance, Faithfulness, Duty, Responsibility, Obligation If, to the one you love, you cannot give commitment, then you have nothing to give. God committed Himself to us, He gave of Himself, He gave Jesus. Jesus then gave His All to us, He held nothing back. He took the cross that was due us. Was that commitment? I'd say it was … it was the Ultimate commitment!
And the westerly wind, Will blow a sea of waving grass And the sea's fine mist Will breathe drops like dew And the sinking suns Will cloak the sky's horizon And the moons of Autumn Will beckon the golden fertililty of the harvest And the violet tinged edge of night Will cry for the white bursting of the stars And the carved thrust of the mountain range Will challenge the forever yielding blue And the hovering tunes of the dawn's awakening Will mimic the lullaby of my dreams Rise
Trapped in a perfect world, what does time mean? Wait, nothing is permanent in this wicked world. Stay or go. Which way did you decide? Is that your hand reaching out to me, Shall I grab your wrist; wait, this is fine. The sweet scent of timelessness circles over my head spinning me heedless. Moods float keeping my goodness in place; there, now I can see your face floating on the canvas circled with a brush in all the grand colors. The thrush of ochre, gray and sand. Tips of green highlight the tops of trees sitting against a sky splashed in blue hue. I feel you there pulling my hand spinning me around and around through years of you and me, burning candles from the heart, aroma swerving through the soul. We set apart, not going somewhere flames burn to keep you a part of the great mountain that only you could see. I wake in scented timelessness every day.
When I recall the spilt milk of my youth I want to cry regardless of all the water that has passed under the bridge. On quiet nights I often find myself looking back across those bridges that I burned so long ago and still I see all my misserable yesterdays like so many wind blown leaves swirled into a great pile on the ground. Now even bushel baskets full of yesterdays won't buy me one more day. But peering ahead over the distant fence where the grass is much greener I am seeing all my tomorrows lined up neatly in a row.
A noble story one that ought to be our good host laughed and swore the games begun. Come match the knights tale if you can sir monk. To bellow arms and blood and bones he swore. A noble one I'll pay off the knights tale lets do this right. You tell yours by and by either I'll speak or go on my own way. Everyone listen but first i will propound that i am drunk i know it by my sound. For I'll tell a golden legend and a lie. Forget your ignorant drunken bawdiness it is a sin and great foolishness. Tell us of other things you'll find to lack i see you are angry with my tale but why. cuz you are a fool your head is overpowered by the wine. If you are not enjoying yourselves then cut off my head but as i drink my wine and ale. Whoever won't accept what i decide will pay for everything we spend along the ride. So hold up your hand if you accept my speech reflect a little and don't hold me to blame if you choose wrong don't lay it on my head. And both of them had bawdy tales to tell theirs no sense making earnest out of game.
What is it to me that I cannot place you in the picture painted by the years the life has already spent? Do you merely lurk, and leave at a much later time? Or, maybe you are staying because you are meant to stay. Then, stay. If you may. I pray. While I find a place (for us) in the picture of eternities, the gods must be hiding, conspiring; themselves amusing. Ah, the grand scheme of things - a forgetting. A familiar spirit we feel - a remembering. (Note) This piece was inspiredly written for the beautiful souls - even the strangers - I have met along the way and will still come upon in my lifetime. To each special one, you have stirred quite a familiar spirit within. A remembrance of forgotten past, I suppose. Thank you for letting me peak through your soul's window. The veil of forgetfulness has never been thin as now to me. You have so given me a gift I shall treasure in the moments I may tend to forget who I truly am - a being with a soul.
For every step I take toward the sun, the spark that lit the fire inside me dwindles. History slated on unforgiving stone erodes; A weakly chiseled dream. But I will remember it all, and tongues shall breed these words and hold them with intent. Oh, how we have fallen! Mighty and meek alike. We were once just, and strong. But greatness has cast down it's poisoned banquet and corrupted hearts that once bled for glory. It is with a bitter tongue I speak these words! Remember the reason we set foot outside of our city gates. Remember the certainty in your hearts; that we men would give people hope! Hope for life without malice. Hope for a life of freedom! A chance for prosperity! ...but what prosperity have we given? Short of the bountiful throng of arrows that have captured the eyes of this land and left it's people in fear? Does a just King rule with the might of fear?! Or does a King rule with compassion? I ask you men, you loyal few. What would you have me do? Would you have me slaughter this woman; this beautiful princess of her people and take her home as a prize for conquest merely because her husband was the one that stood in the way? Is her beauty the cost of her life? She has wronged not one of us, and yet you Brakkdus scoff at the thought of her surviving her King. Why? Here I thought men of honor followed me, I thought men of courage swung my blades! And, yet you fear this woman who could no sooner do you harm than your own from the bed that you left her in! No, Princess Xavia shall survive her King and remain here with her people. I refuse to conquer the land of a tyrant, only to settle for it's fallen ruler's morality! If that does not befit you, then surely I am not your King. -James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved Princess Xavia's Response I stand with humility before such valor My people have borne the burden of swords and arrows, they are silent with fear and trembling before you Which would be yours to burden them with once again yet you offer them freedom and me my life...when you could shame not only me but those who are entrusted to me I would prefer to fall upon the blades of your men than to become flesh passed amongst them the destiny of a woman who has became the chattel of a lost victory My blood be shed before such shame be cast upon me Yet you.... you have offered me back my Kingdom and restored my name Gallant your soul in the shadow of such a night beneath the dark stars where only the flames of a burnt, ashen city provide any warmth for my grieving people You have offered them hope through a frail vessel such as myself, such honor is seldom written upon the hearts of men in days such as these Your compassion is a light in this darkness these times inscribed with blood such is this age, when the voice of stones speak more gently than the hearts of men Dark are these days and black is the moon of these nights, in these lost reveries we journey through dreams that have become nightmares Yet strength has arisen in one man, a leader who throws light back at the fallen stars granting the nights a moment of solace for your honor has returned hope a light stronger than blaze of the midday sun And as I take back my broken people we shall take refuge in your kindness and in that light of lights shall we rebuild this Kingdom, our sanguine ties shall bind us and we will rise. I gratefully accept my life returned to me through your kind hands And secretly, within a whisper it is my prayer that when I look upon your countenance and the time comes that I shall gaze into your eyes again it shall be as the queen you have restored to her throne and to her people and who keeps quietly within the space between her heartbeats gratitude... and the hope that she will share her throne beside yous should you find her efforts and her heart worthy. (c) Katherine Wyatt 2013
So, if a matrix is a body substance, in which all cells are embedded? Then can I not spiritually say that the body of Christ is also a matrix? Well, is it safe to assume or safer to not assume the differences in such? If I have a World Wide Web with many matrixes, there must be a main. How does one achieve the main matrix without a conversion of all matrixes? Each living breathing organism has a matrix, but what supplies this? Seems how all bodies have cells embedded in a matrix, Is it not safe to assume that the universe has a matrix? If so, where is the main universal matrix? There must be a connection of some sorts, Nevertheless, what is it and where is it? Moreover, why has this not been thought of? If the body is the temple of the Lord, Then He must have a main matrix. Matrix is Latin for womb. So in which womb is this matrix? Only a female has a womb. There must be one that is required by none. Now let us get even more difficult here. We have a World Wide Web with many matrixes. What if the World Wide Web is an individual womb? It obviously has good and evil in its growth. Could there have been two that fused by one? Could there have been a conversion of all matrixes. Or is there only one main matrix being a female? Let us get back to the body of Christ and His matrix. Let us even go to your own bodies matrixes. An enclosure within in which something originates or develops, This is what lives and breathes inside of you every day, a matrix. Do we not develop Christ within ourselves, and He our originator? Is it not safe to assume that we are the body of Christ? Moreover, that we are of a matrix that has a universal main matrix? ®Registered: Ann Rich 2006
…This is where this story ends, …And with hope one more begins, …But it all depends on you, …And what you decide to do, …Will you take these words and share, …These poems with artistic flair, …Are these lessons only mine, …Or should they be more refined, …As my life comes to an end, …I have no more time to spend, …Spinning these gossamer webs, …As the blood from my heart ebbs, …So no more sweet lullabies, …As this crass old poet dies, …But with one more line to go, …I do hope I helped you grow.
Perhaps you've wondered what's up with me, why I'm blue some days, other times electric yellow, why I talk too fast or not at all, why I cry, then laugh, then cry again. You may have been puzzled by my sometimes strangeness, about what makes me tick. The fact is, I always tell the correct time; all you have to do is ask. Since you asked... I have a disorder, or two, or three. I have bipolar, you see, and I get the rollercoaster that comes with it. The only questions are: how steep the climb, how fast the fall? I'm not crazy (I avoid the "C" word.); I have an illness (I'm not that illness.); I take my meds (two blue and three white). I lead a normal life, whatever "normal" means. I no longer feel the stigma of being different. I am as I am. There you have it, the skim of my truth. Now you know about me; what's your story?
I hide here at the back Not the last page, but nearly so The thick leathery binding which protects me Is starting to fray and the letters fade I'm safe up here on the top shelf And none but the keenest would Peer beneath this tired, tatty shell But maybe they would appreciate... For so many years I have remained unread I almost fear the moment When daylight comes And at last I can sing
Sitting there late last night! I took everything in with my deepest breath about me. I could quiver feeling the warmth sinking slowly in, I was covered over distances which I could now see. I had left myself. I was gone again. I was above and beyond the clouds, Soaring deeply with every one of my though, Higher and higher I rose, Reaching loftiness' I have never once felt. I was a bird in flight! Stunning with privilege I had brought. Feeling myself from deep within! Standing there that night, The radiance beamed all around me so I took this in. And lo and behold, there I went again. I could feel myself while locked deep with my thoughts. I was absorbed inside by everything surrounding me. I felt the depth that my eyes could never ever once see. Loosing all truth of myself, every sensation my soul had caught. Further and further I rose, reaching capacities I had never felt. I'm a feather in the air, Gathering sensations inside of myself. I lay there that night, mind, body, and soul with me. I was calm with the breeze, Inside of myself, Feeling myself! And once again I was a bird in flight soaring so high and much too free. I was locked sound with my deepest thoughts. More and more I rose and impact for impact I felt. Feathers of a bird in flight and one of me I have surely got. Ever since that night, many, many things have come to me. One by one, gathered by the sensations carried all over me. Touching inside of myself, again, again, and again! Higher and higher I climb to reach the very tipsy top. Gathering it all, I am more of me when more of me can be felt. I am the breeze in the air touching the many feathers these birds have brought. Many feathers just from sitting here, but each the soar of the wind has surely caught. I'm a bird in flight gathering all that is real or not and all that is captured in of my-self. I am surely the feather that fell from the very top, Because I am now what then I surely was not! I am simply that feather in the air falling loose and free inside of myself. ®Registered: 1997 Ann Rich
The best words I've ever said stayed in my head, the people are fine, dogs walking too. The water glitters, the gulls make gull sounds. I thought I had secrets but God knows there's none to be found. I'm as wide as any book, smaller than the ants too. I'm on my way to places that welcome you in dirty underwear, unbrushed teeth and dandruff in your hair. I haven't seen my face in a long time, it's no longer really there.
In the darkness, is where the light hides the quiet soul meditates in the silence of his thoughts. Only to shine when revealed in Words; and only comes to pass when spoken.
Which door is the portal to my soul? Listening tires me; interferes with God beckoning me. Why is a question never answered? Quit asking it. Listen, there is a voice calling you; this great soul Mother of the Earth, let me take charge of my birth. I'll go to the banquet; eat, rejoice and celebrate anew. This joy is confusing. But I'll be full of life when I come to you.
That pen just lies there on the pale white blank pad page__no activity; that sorry pen has O D on something dangerous_passed out_hardly breathing..Come on pen sit up_here sip on this strong coffee..That's it click, look around, life is active, inviting_write it down..Come on now_here eat up of these grits and red-eyed gravy; now that is an eye opener..You've slept through the last rose of summer that was deep burgundy long stemmed on the bush. You missed that lucious kiss under the pale pink rose that on the trellis grows. Winter is coming on, sober up, get busy for you missed the Hummingbird sip nectar from the Wild Petunia then fly away leaving hundreds of Yellow Butterflies to get intoxicated upon its blooms..So you say you are awake now..Here let me kiss you beautiful ink flowing 'pon the page! I think my pen OD on chocolate though!!! Sponsor: Joann Grisetti Contest: Drunken Pen Round 2
You prod at the sores of your heart with a hemorrhaging pen, wishing it was a scalpel; so you could carve out the disease that keeps your rage alive. Basic instinct, I suppose. To slay the demons, that made you who you are. You thank them for your posture, but scold the obsidian eyes in the mirror. What you have become: Callous, and engulfed in the rotting theater you thought you controlled. The reigns have broken loose, your skull whips in the wind of chaos. It's not really your sort of dance, you know… You don't know the steps …you don't even know the song. It drums against your flesh as if you were already stripped and tanned, spread across the hallowed instruments of reckoning. But you can't hear the chant, only the distant hum of the butcher who said you could call him "friend". That you were safe, if only you would show him what you promised you would never show anyone. It drips, thick, coagulated, dirty. Just like every part of you, you wish you could burn; As you dig the covenant, into the flesh of your enemy; Your only true, enemy. The mirror cracks… -James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
I slide my tongue across my lips; I taste salt from where my tears once fell. The serpents been winning the race, Infiltration of my desires take procession, I'm standing in the mirror and I don't recognize my own reflection. It's not the flesh but the soul that's been disquised, every carnal temptation he's devised oh how quickly I've come to oblige. I need to hit rock bottom and slow my pace, at this point he's winning the race, baking firm an eternal glaze upon my face. I care so much that I care not. I'm so hungry yet no food is sought. Feel so much sorrow that I'm not dolorous, sing so loud but leave absent the chorus. I'm vulnerable, looking for warmth in another's touch, simply falling victim to his charms like a little girl searching for warmth in her daddy's arms. Though, he provided no warmth, he didn't provide much, just the foundation, the stepping stone where he left his prints; of course I followed with every step slipping farther from the grasps of temperance. You can call me an abuser Lord, I abused your love, snapped the wing of your symbolic dove, snapped too the wings of thee angel upon the golden gate, funny how I just read Job and he knew not his fate. Thank you for trampling me into the ground, into the dust from which I roze, into utter darkness living with consequences to paths I chose. I thought you were guided me completely from the light, in reality it was never out of sight, even your own shadow leaves you in darkness. Give me the courage that I seek, give me strength when I am weak, and at times make me weak where I am strong. Give me positive passion for life like the passion in "Solomon's Song".
Cold, callus, crying, shivering, and covered in sweat. Wondering what has happened. Not yet understanding this fate I've met. What of a guy that stumbled around, just trying his hardest to show he'd been found, after all he had just been purchased from the human pound. That promise to you. Man I broke it. I told you Id stop, and for a time I did, but that stuff two blocks away, my will power just wasn't work-n. My wrist watch again broken. Always from the look on my face, you could tell Id been smoke-n. You tried. You tried so hard, but the mind wasn't mine. only a shell of what used to be, all of me you were trying to find, and I didn't get this till my alone time. I was pushing. You were pulling. Then it all pushed you away. It was all down hill from here, so naturally you couldn't stay. I sit here so sad for the way you must of felt. Let alone how you dealt. Ill never understand how I could do this to you. You're so prefect, even your aura dances in ambient light. You're the best friend I could of had, and that leaves me really mad, that the rest of the world may never know what we had. The thing is I know now, that you loving me. This really was Much more, than I loving you. ~Ha,Turned around this insecurity was always mine.~
My shoulders are blades of flesh, they hold my skinny arms to hands that hold this pen across this page as it reaches the end of a long lived life that was meant to bend fold and remend. But these feet have already left; I can feel it in my chest. These lips want to smile the day away; I have nothing else to say. Knees to my chin, how long has that been? To crouch, cuddle what is now so thin. Press and pull, it all fits in. The warmth and the cool. These toes are not mine, they belong to the sublime. Up my pants you will find my legs spindly; a jelly belly that shakes in my tummy. My thin arms hold loops of skin. They are far away and my head needs covering; but the sun warms my neck and my face is full of laughter because God has reached out his hand to me.
Chase the voodoo to sleep. sleepless freaks i see in the silver screens blocking the vision of me. there's no choice but to eliminate hate inundating the mind. please mute the voices haunting the airwaves making me blind. the big bad budding burden flashing red lights at every intersection. stealing away the insight i try to gain by using time for reflection. It's a mess the way i test myself with deranged prophecies and bleak scenarios. replaying horror flicks in my head. blasting screams in stereo. all too often the worm hole shoots me to a mid evil castle of torturous devices. impaled in dreams that seem to be broadcasting punishment for succumbing to the world's entice and vices. but other times i fall victim to a good old fashioned "day-mare". people notice the self conversations and can't help but laugh and stare. I must say it's becoming difficult to blame them. if i can't learn to shake this voodoo, it's true my future's looking grim. What do I do? they're gonna end up arresting me! Toss my ass in a padded room and throw away the key! and get this...as i worry about getting sent away, the paranoia increases inside my head. i reach for medication increasing odds of ending up prematurely dead. I may be crazy, but don't take me for an idiot fool. and don't haze me about where my faith is, cus' this could just as soon be you. and i've learned enough to know that each and every one of us will die. and you may take me as insane, but me not taking my own life's got nothing to do with having a fear to fry. This is exactly why i choose to write as my mind fills up with crazy thoughts and throws fits. it's a therapy for me to try and work out all the kinks that make me sink, instead of cowardly throwin' in the towel n' calling it quits.
Kisses good-bye; waved out the door. Sitting at the shore. The water is still rolling. You want to know how much longer I'll be here for. We'll all be here till death is at the door. Methadone, morphine will squelch the pain, but for that ONE day when it won't work anymore. All the threads have been cut around the spool ahead. There will be nothing but pain and nothing at the store. People like it when I'm cheery and I don't know where to put myself anymore. Sit, stand, lay; I have no real reason to stay. I am warm and cozy under this hood. My body is clean. That is understood. My cuticles are disgusting. Is this the purply glut they talk about in signs and symptoms of the dead and dying? They are not the nails you see in Cosmo for manicure ads, you know, manicures to die for. My mouth feels mucky and brushing my teeth is a chore. I can't remember one breakthrough from another. Holidays forever around each corner; it would appear I'll still be around, what a drag; the wet blanket. Dead broad walking down the dining room hall. If I could cry and know the river would actually wash these tears away for GOOD; I'd lay down and weep for weeks on end if it we're understood that this would be the bloody end. Tears aren't painful, nothing more than a wash. Not everything is as someone else says.
..The clock ticks, the Time pass Coffee I sip, as I taste, Alas! One more cigarette, almost up, What else is with me, me, still up! Waiting for the green light Beside your name in chat This computer, is already hot It's been on, since I last woke up! I don't know, I don't care, If they say, I look like a scare Eyes that look like of an owl Since I've been up like a fowl! To write another piece Of my sadness, of my tears The songs I always play Make my heart feel in dismay! Up all day till night Because my heart is in fright Will he then tell me"it's not alright" That is something I need to fight! Oh my! please give me a sign To be in sorrow, or should I be fine? It feels I'm running out of time That's how I feel, for all this time! The clock ticks, the Time pass Another coffee sips, I say Alas! Another cigarette I lit, just to be up What else is with me? just a memory on recap!..
On a street long ago with a sidewalk and curb, Back when houses seemed huge, In a child's wide-eyed way. On a screen porch, played quietly, As not to disturb. For my mother was having A headache that day. All the front yards were deep, Nestled back from the street. With a walkway of concrete And large, shady trees. Every morning, I waited to yell, then retreat, When the giant man walked by, never noticing me. All I knew was the little They let children know, That he lived with his mother, On the far side of town. He was big and slumped over And walked very slow. Not a person remembered Him utter a word. As he passed by our walkway, I readied my shout, Then remembered, "Play quietly", Mom's head hurt today. I recall as he stopped, Slowly turning about, Then he started his blunderous Footsteps my way. I was puzzled and frozen, A chill up my spine. When he reached our front steps, I could hear mother say, "Hello Billy", then ask if his mom was okay, As she latched the screen door, Nudging me back away. Mother always recounted What happened that day. And she spoke of the good heart That lay deep within. It was only that once I missed shouting his way. Billy worried, not hearing His four year old friend. Gene Bourne 08-17-14
s o b e r... The fuse burns the skin; 'till years disappear in the sear. Those scars allow us to be who we are - - - urging us to bleed truth- - - so we can speed through the blues----- fueling us with the go, the giddy up to show, with each blow we grow,---and we Leggo our Ego -------just so the doubters we encounter shout louder and louder--- tho' they ain't got a clue as to who... or what we're about, or the journey of pain ballooning our veins with insane clout-------- and we wish upon a trouble free time to be near, yet it's far...- - - like the stars in the sky----...---sobering the view...while we drink the abuse------Still, the lit fuse burns the years till our fears cry.-____so hopefully, we learn from the scars when our tears dry.
In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so. I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction. "Come on now, sweetheart. Don't lower your head. Don't look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don't go back into your bedroom. Don't lock the door! Why are you doing this?" my brain will plea. I can't help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don't have to worry about anyone but myself. I don't have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want. And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch. But I would like to… I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door. I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man's hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain. And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally finally finally know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.
We are doomed people. Nurses' aides, housekeepers, LPN and Ward Clerks Maintenance and kitchen cooks; slave of the modern workplaces We are the Victims of Hurricane Sandy Taking life for granted, Everything was nice and dandy until Sandy furious attack In an instant life live: reverse like a deadly curse Forcing the Oil prices to rise higher after volatile week We cried, we pray, we curse under the same breath Frequently asked question "Why us father why we
The Human Mind is a treacherous labyrinth, and it is only through the sinister pathways of these dark tunnels that are hidden insidious agendas can be found. Love is Madness. Lust is Envy. Romance is Jealously. When our hearts beat green, our hands drip red with blood.
Now transition, a transit repositionment, a white car super-imposed with consumerist propaganda. Long rectangular prism solid moving, propelled by inflatable tubes circular, and the foul engine. A refridgerator that keeps the hole in the ozen fresh and crispy. So I'm in this thing... and the seats are filled with characters; your second generation immigrants thankful to afford a spot in the faux refugee parade, an accolade, to the American dream, staged. And once again the prism, because last night was just too much of a blur to remember- like an unwanted poem: Repetition, last day was same, and how to remember, Monday from Thursday, and months only by the weather and the multitoned coughs, of interchanging drivers, if poetry is false, then all the world's a liar a twist and shake with truth, and the multicolored boots of attractive women who do 'the eyeroll'- Wolf don't love, don't care, they wouldn't survive in the woods out there.
Some things are lost along the line Some things, beautiful and fine Driving down the lone road to the stream in my hamlet It's like yesterday; like catching birds from their nest I giggled as I drove by Mothers breast feeding babies and singing lullaby Naked boys rolling condemned tires, and Ripped virgins with little cloths coverings, as attires I giggled as I drove by. It's just like yesterday I remember Jerome and others as we gathered to play There was the moonlight rendezvous Where we all gathered, boys, and girls, all of us There was the tales by the moonlight, Ancestral heritages, sacrifices and the Lion's might The Lion's might, yet he falls beneath the crafty tortoise I still can hear the choruses; I hear my youthful voice I loved folklore songs. Wars songs for strong sons Let me try seeing if I can still sing one more; Yes! I still can sing "Omalingwo" Omalingwo, Omalingwo tee …… Omalingwo Omalingwo, Omalingwo nwam…… Omalingwo Omalingwo, Omalingwo dia …… Omalingwo Nne nei di na Otutu-aja-o………..Omalingwo Elikwue ma yu atuna ngwo ji ……Omalingwo Ngwo, ngwo onye oma………….Omalingwo My God, I feel new! I can still sing it! Oh God I knew! Omalingwo! Story of the child of a deprived mother Jealous king's wives over ready for murder Murder and deprivation if that will give them a son To sit on the king's throne and shine forth like the sun Story of good over evil. Omalingwo! A deprived mother's son. I giggled as I drove along, Remembering my tiny breasts, when they formed And more fortunate girls laughing me to scorn I remember these things till sadness beclouded me I am fully grown now; nostalgia overshadow me My age mates, plus me, all gone to the cities We can't assemble again, just like broken pot in pieces Oh! The Eve's tempting apple of white collar jobs I heard Jerome lived and then died in Jos Killed by religious rioters with missions unjust. I heard Nwasombia is a head dresser is Lagos At 52 and still searching? Celibacy is obvious I heard Nosike is in aviation, head of pilots Even Chima is now in parliament in Cyprus Chima, who spoke big English like "opprobrious" My age mates, plus me, all gone to the cities No more gatherings, just like broken pot in pieces Still driving along the lone road to the hamlet stream Still thinking of beautiful things The beautiful hamlet serene things.
The slowest clocks bind the official wound, An azimuth of the flesh, trust, first contact, She blinks but no face appears, Does every mistake ask for such an ordinary end? A seed cannot forget. Cold, weeping statue of lifetimes, suckle her prayer in the erupting bed. Fallen beside the tear of the flower blight, lips against the penetrator, Learn to forgive the righteous terrors for an idle comfort. What numbing freedom presses the soft lump pulse? Tongues rally to expose the ghost of private remorse, Who conceals the dignities of a suction thigh grave. --2009
I have the fury of hell trapped inside. I'm so angry that words can't express how I feel. Nothing in life could have ever told me that these emotions existed. I'm mad at you, at everything you ever stood for. At the very fact that you were so charming and happy in life only to die and leave me alone like you did. Angry at the fact that your death could have been prevented, Drinking and Driving - were you just stupid; careless. Did you think that you would never die? That you were immortal and could defy even God. Well you weren't, I guess you know that now. I still can't believe that your life could be wasted because you were too arrogant to wait till you got home. You should've waited...
It is not hard to fall in love with a beautiful apparition. You don't know them, but are easily entranced by their chemistry. Your brain ignites a myriad of sensual wishes. Carnal exploration and fantasies played out in seconds, heating your heart like an oven. They disappear as quickly, a wisp of smoke, but you miss them immensely. A hallow feeling leaves you weak, sad, and alone stretching for minutes, days, or years till the next one steals your heart. Man or woman, boy or girl can manifest and escape around corners and be gone, but in the moment you had them for eternity. The Petrarchan romance you read lives in their dance and laughter. No one goes without this fictitious ache; it follows you as your shadow does, comes to life as often. Looking serene a placid lake reveals a reverse world where everything is as real as the earth you tread, as vivid as those memories you hang on walls. Veiled in disbelief as a mere image those waters taunt you with their likeness. The ghosts you long for are down there, but there they know you as the beautiful apparition
Tea with a slice of orange, not lemon. Within the somber light of winter afternoons. Trees carved against smudged grey, white softness clinging To their edges. Tea, citrus scent arousing my senses As they trample the soft brown of the front yard, Shaking up the dust like fragments of the dry summer As they approach The sun burning death into the land. Tea, sweetened water held in its cup like an embrace, A darkened pool too small to see my reflection, Yet becomes a giant churning whirlpool As my hand starts to shake. Tea, splashes white linen My mother's hand painted china now cracked Broken like the deepest recesses Of my mind. All those hours Like sea waters Receding Into the sea
winding scarves on my face blowing air through my skin skirting around my legs searching in my soul rooting out the pegs of memory of other winds of time spaceless nameless places and scenes that are past and gone lifted up out of sorrow far away gone gone long gone free with the wind
Struck with this bleeding heart drips dropping straining the pores of so many open sores. Needles pricked in one more. I am struck raw wretched, stabbed and torn. Old bleeding sores left dripping by the door. We won't leave this way but you already have many times before.
I hate waiting. I don't like going anywhere either. Patience is a virtue that some one else got; cause it's all lost on me. Smiling is a googly face on a cardboard with raised eyebrows so it looks like we might all be smiling. Foolish fools is a form to flee. Something we don't want to be; like a bedbug or a dying elm tree sign this here we don't want to stop what nature has started or was that something humans have done? Oh it's so insipid. Maybe it was the sun. Who's talking here anyway, I'm still waiting.
Looking through a full fridge And finding nothing worth my while Not giving a second thought To the skin and bone children Drinking from a swamp With great big smiles There's nothing good on TV, We eat at the same place everyday, And by the way I'm bored out of my mind! But a scared little boy sees it all Far away from the comfort of this hypnotic box He gave his share of scraps to his younger brother While his entertainment is watching God paint pictures in the sky (I racked my brain Searching for ways I should be upset Ain't one good reason I could find) It was yesterday I found myself and grimaced It was today I helped out a complete stranger And thought "How silly of me to think That was all there was to it... Nobody's ever just found, we run too frantically For all that nonsense. We do the best we can For as long as we can. Though selfish beyond belief I do think there is still hope for me" I smiled in awe at the discoveries Tomorrow would bring
Sometimes it is hard to know what to write or when to write when you have just about every thought possible flowing through your head. I wonder, "Should I please the public with how "poetic" I am or should I please You? I know what the answer is but at times I'm worried about being liked or whether people get me. Is my belief in Your Son too far above their heads or will they get it? Should I even worry about public opinion? Of course I know as a follower of Christ, sharing my testimony and telling them about the Lord is what I'm supposed to do. On the other hand, have I become to preachy and dull? Am I shoving my beliefs down their throats? Then I realize, didn't Jesus make himself of no reputation? Everybody thought that He was weird, blasphemous and not qualified to tell them anything when it came to how they were living. I'm only here to do what He wants me to do, nothing more, nothing less. If I do my part, the right people will hear it, love it and appreciate it. All I should do, is write the word and leave all my "rambling worries" to Him.
Wedding Ring Why did you take my wedding ring? Did taking it give you a zing? Did hurting me give you a double ring in your b b thing? Did the carats make your heart sing? Did you think your new lady would like my ring? Wouldn't it sting her to know whose thing that was first darling? That hurt more than anything. Why did you take my ring?
THANKS GIVING Walking backward Ill prepared I face things head on, but not the bitter wind. I turn my back as I face my goodbyes , walking away I wave to my old problems: With a snarling bite,the cold wind leaves me pierced and belittle. Walking backwards I dare not face whats in store for me. Until this wind subsides and treats me fairly, I will walk backwards slowly less I stumble. After my bones are chilled to the core. I reach my abode, devastated and delighted, the fireplace lit and flickering. Still afraid I wonder "what if" and I blame God,discounting the rescues; Then with every melting bone and every thawing toe, I thank him/her, then realizing how awesome man is and how far we have come. Annoyed I say begrudgingly "Thank you God " for this fire,and for bringing us out of the cold wilderness. I say this hoping not to entertain the "What If's" again. Forces, forcing me to open my eyes and realize that at any moment I could walk backwards again, backward in the cold with nowhere to run, without relief; I can't think of anything worse. So how can I or anyone come out of the cold ,and sit by the fire, while the frost filled Ohio wind rolls off the Erie lake. Passing desperate people I want to collect them to come and sit by the fire with me. I must love my neighbor,and share the warmth,the fire ,the food,my home. In the old days we could, I cant live like this,,,,sitting a by the fire alone, I think to my self "What If".
I fear being connect to the past, But I find my life revolving in cycles. It was four years ago I first came to a place like this. Four days there, now three here, both at the end of February. The cycles repeat. I hurt, I heal, I hurt again, and there's no way to stop it. Maybe I like it this way, who knows? "Who is John Galt?" Questions there are no answers to. They aren't meant to be asked. But I can't help it, it's who I am. So I'll ask my questions over and over. And I'll repeat my cycles over and over. Until the end of time.
Delicate verdant leaves on the Weeping Willow dance in the brisk wind like a harem dancer's sheer covering. The sighing of the pines sounds like a cymbal gently playing. As rain droplets sparse and large touch bounce upon late winter's earth, gray amassed clouds pass over at a moderate rate speed...Then stillness__Is this the quiet before the major storm or only a repose giving the turbulance a break from blowing in the storm from the west? The Star Magnolia that was devoid of flowers yesterday fifteen open in different stages..Will the harsh wind and rain destroy their beauty and let only such a brief life be theirs? The Japanese Magnolia has flowers open in different stages with more on it than ever a year before..The Bradford Pear buds opened during the cold late winter's night gracing all who pass with their gracious beauty...Yes, as in life the storm did blown with harsh winds and chilling rain...Damage was done to the lovely spring buds and blooms..After the storm, the survivors were hanging on with a quiet strenght..
Blind man Feeling anothers thoughts by touching his hands; Can you tell who I am by my darker shades that follow the cracked, dry lines of your palms? Do you see what I hide from everyone else like a silhouetted tattoo? Can you tell that a concrete kids game isn't the only thing that almost broke the back of my mothers heart once? Is it the sound of my voice that pierces through your senses that makes you silence the memories deep within the recesses of your past? I can see you'd rather forget about it; discouragement is written all over a face that you can't even read. Does that make me better than you? Truth is, I long to see like you. Heighten my senses, Mr. Sphere, so that I may see everything that my two small worlds can't. I want to read a book backward and forward a thousand times without being so anxious to flip forward, because I imagine you're more patient than I am. I want to know the adventures of your vivid dreaming, and how safety sounds like whenever God speaks to you. I want to be able to wrap my head around the concept of appearing to look good even when I know that my clothes, cologne, and character are wrapped around my ego like bandages I never changed; I never knew I was a walking, talking, mummified optimist until I saw the stench of the lies I told myself seeping through the eyes of loved ones. I never again want to make another cry from a false truth. Mr. Blind eyes, could you help me to believe that their are others who look like me who see more like yourself? I don't like who I'm becoming, and I want to know that my choices won't be just for show. I want to know that when I look at my wife in her lifelines, we'll both be able to see that death has no real place in the wounds that love has healed. Bandages have to come off and stay off at some point; you'll never be able to move onto greater things until you can live with the sight of scraped knees that made sidewalk scars of your past. I want to carry her in the voice of my care, like a musical note you hold two seconds too long just because you love music. I want to be just like you, so that my child will want to look up and see more than a father worried about his job. I want to see that my breaths can take shape in the form of a beautiful baby. I want to give back. Are you listening to me?.. God shows himself in rare forms, and sees with his heart when we ask Him out of the honesty of ours. So, by the time we've finished talking, what we've been searching for is already inside of us. God is blind to the sin of those who seek to be saved. Their will always be a second chance if you ask in an honest tone.
The universe revolves around patterns and numbers. Like an insomniac knowing not the meaning of the word slumber. To say it's a big place would be a gross understatement. If it were a face we'd be living on a farthing of a freckle, a speck within a speck, in a weak attempt at communicating with other fellow specks. So where does that leave us, being little more than dust riding on the coattails of pebble? In the grander scheme of things are we just the byproduct that some entity imagined one day from a place both incredibly near and far, far away? One who is a whiz at math no doubt... Just look at the population, how in it's in a constant state of progressive multiplication, born into a world yet only to be divided into petty categories: White, black, brown, yellow, short, tall, slim, fat, Asian, Caucasian, European, Indian, Yugoslavian, Brazilian. It's a wonder we are recognized at all living on this ball within a greater ball. You wonder who holds the strings or if we're all just windup toys; alive and exciting for a time only to run into the last gear, the last programmed function. Just what in the world are we doing here? The universe may practice it's progressive multiplication and subsequent division. That doesn't bother me. What I personally like to do is find the GCD (greatest common denominator)... ... the fact we live and breathe. Ears to hear and eyes to see. So pick up the pieces... we have a long way to go if we can ever hope to solve this puzzle. Though we may be a speck within a speck riding on the coattails of a pebble, rejoice with me. That you ARE, that you BE. Take a good long look at what surrounds you. It is much more than it appears. I don't know all the answers, but I do believe we have a purpose here. For the Nationality Contest.
I knocked the gate of hell No one answered I knocked again and no one answered I thought it was a mistake But suddenly I discovered I was knocking from inside. Soumit Dey
What the hell did I do.. This question posed aggressively now in my conscious mind. I bury my head in my knees, and sob relentlessly asking why, and mumbling man you really did it this time. Party at my place he screams, and Man you don't ever stop by. These images scroll the Rolodex of my subconscious side. Try this it will make you feel great! You'll have no worries for at lest the next eight. Doesn't that sound great! That's when it hit me, like a shot straight through the heart. I parted my metaphoric sea shore, my arms, my legs, they are the oars. Swimming through the blue abyss, always watching close for shore. Then little by little always needing more, and more. The hours and days went by, oh my god how I was high. My euphoric mind never pressed for time, no matter the dime. Clouds on the horizon a thunderous sky. It was even getting late, and the moon began to pull at the tide. Looking back I see this was going to be a very long ride. Pushing forward toward the shore, limb for limb, tired and sore. Screaming, hurry up and get here, where out, and have got to have more. Then the lighting began to show it's power, and the wind had the waves in a roar. The rain stinging torn & chapped skin. I began to lose consciousness, now at a merciless Drift. Pulled way out, fast and swift. Their would be few that would adore. As they wonder how long, before I'd wash back ashore. What the hell did I do.. This question, posed aggressively now in my conscious mind.
Oh Great Woman of all Nature Mother of our Divinely blessed, sacred Earth Your beauty has kissed my lips with the splendor of your clear, sapphire skies The golden, moon bathed Sands that are gently caressed by your crystal blue clear flowing rivers Your gentle rain that ascends from the Heavens above to delicately soothe and blend with tears that flow from the broken hearted Your moist, emerald green hills filled with enchanting, lovely flowers of every elegant shade and hue I have beheld the splendid beauty… of your green weeping willow's gracious bows and limbs of iridescent greens and golds that whisper gently in your swaying, languid winds I have witnessed golden eagles fly so gracious and free in your pictorial, periwinkle blue skies I've feasted my eyes on the sublime splendor of your enchanting, golden harvest moon as its elegant beauty paints a rose, gold, splendid image so deep within my mind All your violet-blue endless horizons Your smoky, gray mountains so grand in the rose blue cool light of dawn Your chattering bird songs in skies of azure blue The fragrant scent of amber gold pinecones in the sparkle of the crystal clear early morning dew I pay Ode' to you Great Mother Nature for every golden ray of sun that warmed my skin that hangs brilliant and dazzling... in your glorious skies of cerulean blue
I saw people walking through the streets, As cars lazily rolled down the one lane road. Pairs holding hands, mothers and sons, Suited men retiring after a hard day's work. The awkward side-steps avoiding strollers, Exchanging waves, exchanging glances. And gentle brushes past a shoulder, Dogs on leashes wooed by giggling girls. I saw a kid in a Giants jersey and sunglasses: "Hey man, thanks for meeting with me." He walked up to another guy in pink shorts: "No problem, I'm glad you feel like you can talk to me." I saw a crying girl and an angry guy Who talked in hushed voices laced with sighs and sniffles. They stood close enough to be lovers, But distanced themselves as if they were strangers. "I'm sorry," she said. "No, you're not," he replied. I saw a guy walking to his car in a frenzy -- Phone pinned between his ear and his shoulder. He fumbled with his keys; his eyebrows were furrowed. "Where are you? I'm coming to get you right now." I was just sitting on the porch, drinking a rum and coke I sipped my drink as I contributed my silent commentary: I thought Mr. Sunglasses needed a haircut, Rolled my eyes at an over-dramatic couple, Scoffed at the hysterical guy, just too protective of his girlfriend. I didn't know that the kid in the glasses had just lost a friend to suicide. Or that the crying girl had just cheated on her fiancee -- Two weeks before the wedding. I didn't know that frenzied guy's sister had called 'cause of a car crash -- Only to find out later that it wasn't so serious. But neither of us knew that then. We get as close as we want to people, really. It's our choice if someone's a nod or a hug, A friendly smile or a glare, or even a "hello!" As we walk down the street -- unique, but the same. It's been said that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, And others say that's why the cover's there.
I still think why things had ended between our love, which I now try to hate, I succumbed myself into this despair of wanting you back, which you also hate. Psyche oneself that I can make it this lonely battle of heart, can i fake it? repeatedly in disarray thoughts God I hope I could say it's just a hoax. People around, will you please tell me is it wrong to fight for this love I believe? or shall I say is it right to surrender because it's something merely perceived. Ya, Ya, Ya, I did get it don't insist no more, got it?..
I just want to dream a little more, before the sun dries up this stream of thought; before my tongue begins to search for words faded by the choke of night. The sky screams in the hands of a harsh turn, neither of us wants our darkness unveiled. Yet, I wish the light would swallow me up as well. Instead, the broken slumber of day creeps into my bed, and shakes my tomb. I watch it stumble through the blinds, sloshing, lazily polished, and promising. Like it always does. And I try my damnedest to pull my eyes away from the hope that is stitched to my shadow, but no matter how hard I writhe in this place, I cannot escape the artificiality of this world that I can't seem to wake up from. -James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
lead my hand o' dear life lead my hand on this land o' dear life, until the end o' dear thought of comfort seed my life feed me not in strife bleed me joy from nine to five lead me a journey of phases a journey of ages to face this germinate in me a corn of survival a history of possibilities a record of living to afford a source to live for this life is a choreographer of life a propeller of existence an economy of spiritual commodities a tear drop of opportunities yet not so many does see its commonalities an event of anomalies and regularities lead me a way o' dear life carry me a sledge on a journey of life a terrain of survival and life a gemstone for many a pentagon of any a model of penny an artwork of joy a string of life on a journey a script of many a stanza of any opn08022012/0106 from: 'journey of life' and 'on a journey', february 2012 >> ntema's unique poetry (nup) http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lead-my-hand-o-dear-life/
Power and Form Are the two elements of a human life Our words are sweet and sometimes sour However it's a deadly trace throughout the human race We say yes too often to satisfy our so-called rational minds Is the life of a poet/poetess more fulfilling than a farmer? Are we the expression of nature? Or victims of a regimental affiliations We are as you know impossible and unpredictable Because we all are crazy species Power and form There is no more secret society The secret of man is publicize under watchful eyes The world looks into our families' photos Looking for the perfect quota, As each and everyone one of us partake in online revelry Like an disciplinary cavalry However, within our soul lies the truth. I lost one year, one birthday I rebirth and lost my power and position Atlas! I am in the lower realms Now I am in heaven
When I met you, I asked you Why me? Why me? Why me? Is there any reason for you to love someone like me. You said "Never mind reasons" And I felt maybe that's the reason A reason for no reasons I want to hear A reason I wouldn't fear. And I asked myself those too What is there about me? That something that he liked and hopefully he might pursue. I'm not pretty, nothing to love I'm not sexy, nothing to love I'm not young, nothing to love I'm not even his own kind, nothing to love. So what is there about me? Something which made him to like me? Just a regular ordinary lady Maybe I'm a girl that's extraordinary. I'm funny, something to love I'm naughty, something to love Im a crying baby, something to love I'm a sweety, something to love I'm caring, something to love I'm thoughtful,something to love I'm smart, something to love I'm a one fine lady, someone to love I'm extraordinary, someone to love I'm a Once in Lifetime Woman, you must love. But you're not around anymore And can't hear this paramore, no more I still ask myself if there could be more So you can love me, am I such a bore?..:(
Hands… My father's hands are very twisted They're strong and built with lots of muscles They've helped me learn So many things as I have grown In my life They have helped me learn How to ride a bike They've helped me defend myself when needed And I have come to realize That without his hands to guide me Through this world I would not make it NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father's Love Letters To listen to the CD please visit http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill This was written by my daughter when she was nine. One of the many reasons it's great to be a parent :)
I pull my shirt off to check for the bulls eye Today it's there so I'll run and hide but to no avail I'm the pawn in your diabolical tale premeditated and calculated guess I missed the cookie crumb trail no clues are friendship was going stale you stabbed me in the back knowing I'm emotionally frail You blind sided me and so likely is the story that it's just my luck Now I'm always your excuse when your talking about why you can't drink it up I hope you chock on those lies you poser You'll never help people your an emotional bulldozer Maybe one day you'll suffer from real emotional ills Believe when I tell you It Kills Everyday I take a handful of pills even then their is no guarantee There's are days when negativity and overwhelming pressures consume my very being and the crazy thing is the seeing because it's believing witnessing me in a blank stare I'm conscious, but no one's there Just - My - Stare Inside I'm busy with my clipper ship I've floated upon your hurricane and every little happy moment we ever had has crying stinging pellets of mad
ALERT: A carpenter's son is loose in the Temple Birds flutter, animals hustle, merchants scream. The zeal for Jesus' Father's house consumes Him As the place for foreigners to pray had become a zoo. ALERT: A prophet is setting up for a Baal battle. Baal's priests even cut themselves yet no fire. After taunting, Elijah fills his altar with water. Calling on God, fire consumes and people bow. ALERT: An old man is building a huge boat ship. Without a cloud in the sky and only son's to help. When finished the animals come on call to board. Rain starts, doors close – 8 saved by holy passion. ALERT: Jesus is telling a tax collector he'll join him for dinner. Heedless of the Pharisees despising and the crowd's surprise. Zacchaeus totally changes – offering to multiply stolen money. A single sinner saved multiplies even more this holy passion. ALERT: Peter plus are preaching in the Temple again. After being imprisoned for just that, now rearrested. Whipped by the authorities, the disciples rejoice - For they've been counted worthy to suffer with Christ. ALERT: Daniel's praying openly even after it's become illegal. The royal advisers gleefully have the king throw him to the lions. Strangely they don't seem hungry till after Daniel is pulled out. So the king openly praises Daniel's God for this amazing miracle. DOUBLE ALERT: Jesus is talking to a Samaritan woman!!!! Breaking cultural barriers to share the message of salvation To her who has been married 5 times and is living with the 6th. She believes he's the Messiah and brings the town to Christ! ALERT: Paul's going back into the same town that stoned him. He's preaching again after shipwreck, jail, beatings, and such. Persecution seems to encourage Paul that he's doing the right. Passionately following the Savior who turned Him 180 degrees. ALERT: Bible translators burned at the stake for God's Word. Missionaries avoid death and disease long enough to share life. Stirring Holy Passion in receptive people who repeat the cycle. Changing cultures in bondage into those sharing Jesus' love. ALERT: What passion has the Lord put on your heart? Mine? Can we pray to see His will find its way in our everyday lives So the lost shall see, hear, find Christ and grow to share Him? Eternity is forever, this life is not. Fill us Lord with holy passion.
Walking down memory lane, Reminiscing everything with haze, With all that had been before, And what it has become of now. The wind the way it used to rage, And how it turned into a craze, All the flowers that blossomed before, Have now, withered to the core. The once bright and clear rays, That fell and lit up every place, And now a dull beam of light, Where it falls, no one knows. The shadows behind us all the way, Being there whether sad or gay, Leaving us now and going astray, Where they will go, is unknown till this day.
When caught mid-flight End to bloat against gravity Thanks, rejection is not of the earth My eyes are welling I won't hold back with shame Even warriors often times loosen, weeping A good mother's breast thrust Not in for the oldest trade Gives the child, from infant, the best trust The sexton is a pagan Lushness of the hashish field Makes his story from Canaan Morals pillar nobility But nature spares by – Insofar as the choice is moderacy Over me they seek to keep They can shape me, me too a shaper Just that I start a peep A quest to solve the world Challenged to fix my head Get me defined – no word Launch talks for luck One screen sets parts Grace, lone-stands, earns buck Formless strife made me worry An envoy made as of succubus Made me awoke being sorry He who sounded the gong Has done it wrong And rhythm's lost in our song The earth, about the Sun, rotates Science, my house remains on its plot Lies make the pupils dilate Africa! Here some questions Khartoum, Mogadishu, Malaria, HIV, Genocides . . . ? Orients through Occident find me solutions Muses – a kind that's potent Might make me hit the laureate's podium And be free of amateurish latent!
dont you wish you could just close your eyes and forget what happen today but somehow life is life and it dont work out that way your problem dont just disappear because this is another day and even though you are hoping to forget you still have to deal with yesterday if you did not settle that problem trust me it will still be there you may think that it happened yesterday and it will seems as if life just not fair and it will weigh heavy on your heart so dont try to act as if you dont care but before you start taking it out on everyone you need to take it the lord in prayer now i seen this happen to alot of good people who didnt find disclosure someone just happen to strike that very nerve and they lost all composer and all that respect that they had trust me it was all over my advice to you is think about what you do for you dont need that type of exsposer
Capital letter … Right now, please note: it is time to dust, not write. Dust was eating away this besieged body; Amassing with all the misery that delights in ambush. It crept into secret crevices, Quietly dulling senses, as it blended in; Softly choking, mimicking flu, Before weaving a blanket so thick It embraced and insulated; Gently burying body under the weight of An elephantine duvet with speaking tongues. Write now, right now that house pride has succumbed to ash As caked and empty cans and bottles decorate. The dustman hurried by the empty drum For rubbish barricaded the front door. The inconvenience: to eat, drink, shop, to pay bills Without leaving one's desk these days. Friends and adversaries seep out of pens, Alphabetically springing to colourful life. Who dares miss a thought so precious, so elusive – Might never occur again. So grasp it, rack it; right, left lobe battle dire emotions and reason. Let dust prevent thoughts from leaving from whence it came. Incarcerate all grey matters. Now one can write how it feels to have dust as qwerty companion. Then fling open the door, Let light and the world in. Shout: "I write because I can." Full stop … Exclamation mark! End. (PS: begin again.)
Mirrored images of ourselves In the water, in others, In the window glass Of the building as we walk by Captured just for a moment Until we stop and stare And look deep into our eyes. Our souls temporarily in stasis To allow a glimpse, a glance Or perhaps a good long look Of what is and remembering what was As if we were an open book. A look back into time Of the ways we were The good, the bad, the indifferent All the changes we went through Basking in the glory of how We managed to get through it all As the day comes anew. A smile peers from our lips When we think back in time Of that special someone That made and impact In our daily life, the one who Kept us glued together making sure Everyone and thing stayed in tact. A teardrop surfaces Glides down our cheek As memories of loved ones lost Refill our minds, visit our dreams To ease our pains, give us the strength To move on no matter what the cost. So as we slowly come back into focus All the memories reclaim their rightful place Back in time for future detection The stasis releases us back to the present And allows us to fully understand The true meaning of reflection.
The darkness that soaks you, Dedicated to your way, It's all you are gifted merely. Be your own light. Be the firefly. What choice else remains? What choice?
Napoleon the powerful fighter whose mind was nimbler and lighter than others whose malicious minds resided in lies, and in vain and inane imaginations. His brain's train of thought stayed rooted in reality, Which gave him greater cogitations and a mind, divine and higher above the rest of the world's imagination, rooted in fantasy, and lies, in things that do not exist. The emperor did worship the truth, whose soul led him to detest illusions.
The Third Fable The Third Fable Depression Session Everyone has bad days. CharlaX: The man on the bus: he reads his paper he moves into the light to see the words THE OTHER MAN: on the same bus: was hearing his cd player just looking for the sun to come up over the hill and give its light he keeps staring out the window to see the sunrise The many other people: just come and go The girl: had no gloves her hands was so cold she twisted them like nerves to keep them warm The Lady: gave to me a dollar to help me have my ride Eye had the one the two was now the full day pass. The Reason: gone for going early the depression halving head again my heart split in two halves not meaning anything now hurting like the ending of a life could be my death if not recovered soon could mean the end of life Mechanical Buffon: eye eat eye try to breathe but not too much eye cry but nothing left that will come out And then it's over one more day of life.
I get this wondrous chill as night falls in mountains or desert sand and I find myself dreaming about home, my fondest memory from this far away land. I miss the special lady who stole my heart, my thoughts and all there is of me; and I deeply cherish our final moments together. I think about the children I left behind, how I miss them and pray they're fine - and it's hard Lord, it's so very hard. It's times like this that I wonder why I volunteered and I get this knot in my stomach - then I cringe and find myself trying to hold back tears. Soon the battle will begin when I'll hear my own heartbeat through the creepy sounds amidst treacherous mountain sides or drifting sands and whirling winds. It's time spent in worry, fear, and some regret as I encounter my fate in the war so near and I must admit, I'm scared. This stench of war, the sight of it all, it's that awful image of how I imagined hell after Lucifer's fall. I wonder to myself, "Does it have to be that generations of people can't seem to agree to the simple concept of peace?" Soldiers don't start wars but they surely fight them, making all manner of sacrifice and I doubt that even once did a soldier ever like them." Then I think of "Old Glory" and I'm filled with pride. It's a warm patriotic feeling which overcomes me from deep down inside. I'm confused, scared and battle weary. I worry about those I love as I cling to my faith and pray to God above. I'm a distant warrior, an American fighting man; not an aspiring hero, but just a simple soldier trying to do the best that I can.
The stale and dusty, lead filled air Began to stir in widening breaths. Pinpoints of light, ionic particles charged with power, Picked up momentum, as reality stretched. Excitedly, they began to spin in quickening orbits Leaving sparkling tactile meteor showers. Then flashed a brilliant light, so pure and white, It tossed me, crumbled, to the quaking floor, For seemingly raw and unconscious hours. Dazed, and disorientated, I feared the worst. Was Death about to open Its ever-ending door? But, around me grew a radiant hum, louder still it rumbled, Until at last I braved to slit my eyes To see, if only for a moment, what marvelous Spectral filled the space, causing my life to tumble, Twixt heaven and earth, twixt heart and soul. There, mighty, glorious, beautiful Beyond words or understanding Suspended in the ether between heaven and earth Was an Angel of Light, illumined by immense beauty and power. Hand outstretched, She beckoned me, to rise and closer come. I dared not breathe or blink my eyes, lest She disappear from sight. But more than sight, or sound, or touch Her proof was in the mighty waves; Waves of Energy, radiating frequencies so high, they lifted me to Resonance; enough to see Her shape, Her robe of light, Her all knowing piercing eyes. Then She spoke to me in pictures, revealing in simpicity the very foundations of the earth, the moon and stars, and far flung universes. She shared the truth of Power and Light, comforting me with the mere slight Movement of her illumined, translucent hand. She dismissed the dense lie of my earthbound body, and commanded forth My own radiant, pulsing Body of Light, too beautiful to comprehend. Then a voice so powerful, so filled with Love and Grace, Neither male nor female, without form or face, Spoke to me from all directions and all dimensions of space. As if to confirm my personal divinity, It said, "You are immortal, eternal, and Nothing can truly hurt you. Remember always Who You are." At once, I feared yet dared to see. I felt release, expansive joy sublime; For there was I, a matching Light, An entity of Divine Peace and Love; My spirit one with Her grace and poise, One with all creatures; as below so above. Her mission now complete, Her image slowly faded into everyday surroundings, Yet Her Presence lingered still; the energy of the space She filled Still crackled with power and beauty; the very thought of Her still thrilled.
Take off the mask and be yourself: Be honest; be true and strong. Stop trying so hard to fit in a crowd where you really don't belong. Don't side-step your calling To HIM, you should only remain true Don't push HIM aside because you need HIM as Guide in all that you think, say and do. He is the only One who does possess the Power to the success you are looking for. So take off the mask; simply be yourself; accept His plans for you. Rekindle His Love through repentance, prayer and faith within your heart- And true success will scoop you up and elevate you high; And wealth will be yours unendlessly with love; with peace you can not deny.
The "Dead Sibling" Effect – A Legal Coopers Clause Allowed by Adoption State Statute "Your enlightenment too, staved off ever so much more tightly… Sadly, it is in the bide of these truths, found as being one of the more heart breaking entailments to address in ethical adoption, that more than likely each was to have stayed where kept; bound by this legal cooperage where all lonely faces age - never shown, but always known to have wept!" …from the kept cask of 'dead sibling' poet.
I've cut my hands on the broken screen door of dreams meant to be deserted; I can feel the rush of inclusion in a state of decay as it gasps open against tucked in eyelids. Smiles caught in dim headlights, before the empty sway of drunken iron drips from my palms as inertia drives it all to fruition, abstract revelations come to life. My eyes stutter, fighting to keep them alive. I press reddened palms against the dusty doorway, count in cadence meant for a heartbeat, and breath in harmonic patience with something I wish I could understand, but my sort of muscles are too weak to make an impact, my palms have become imprinted with the wake of trembling foundation's sorrow. ….I look at them pruned by the sour chaste of possibility; rivers of emptiness run through my own imperfections. I've mended nothing. they're still… cold. These dreams are stone, and I am only flesh; Pounding my fists against a doorway that has long forgotten I am here. -James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
Writing is vanity, except in the bathroom, where vanity lies beneath, and is replaced up top by a truth-telling device called a mirror.
Clarity We only fear because we are afraid of what the truth might be. We love only when we know the truth is love and there is nothing to fear.... APOM Lawrence Schrank
They roam miles over hillsides stride aimlessly cross open plains and grassy fields unseen and silent to all cept' those who see with more then their eyes, hear with more then their ears, and believe with more then their hearts and minds. Twilight,a gray blue haze,settles in quiet, no sound(s) heard but those of time almost forgotten souls lost, blanketed by death foot-steps hushed by time travel now in ghostly silence their destiny, to travel the forever trail. Physical lives long shed in defense of the very ground they are now one with their cries must be heard! always honored never to be forgotten lest their lives were sacrificed for naught. Melody A. Coster
My heart stop sometimes and then it skips beats what is it telling me??? That my life is short and if I don't get you back it will stop completely Come back to me and heal this froze heart of mine take me into your arms and embraces me with this pain Give me that nice and understanding part of you bring the sun into my darkness of love that I have because of you life couldn't be better without use together so open up them windows and let the sun shine in Renew our friendship to inreplaceable pull together the strength of love and forever keep use hole
I saw her sitting alone At a corner table Of a poorly lit inn Her blouse pink The color of Sweet smelling roses She had no clue Who else was in the Tavern and did not care She was reading From what looked like a diary Occasionally taking notes Infrequently sipping From a half empty glass Of sallow wine Her hair was colored Gold as shiny as King Tut's venerated chair She looked like a model Unsuspectingly posing For a photo shoot With her cheek bones Placed high in her face Her eyes made of jade When I looked at her From the far side of the room A butterfly entered the locale And softly settled On the rim of my wineglass Levitating my heart On occasion she would Posture a smile more Captivating than a Mona Lisa I stood up slowly My feet growing colder As I approached her Hello, I said To myself as I Haughtily fought My chi and feigned Indifference as I soberly Lost course and Spun toward the exit Leaving my rose behind And keeping it my secret Nobody noticed As I solemnly walked past The prophet's scrawls On the walls and Made a point to step On each crack in the sidewalk
I have seen the pretentious woman residing within my minds hologram…. She believes herself to be a wise messiah… She teaches her apocryphal beliefs to other seekers… She has deep roots of stubborn illusions planted within her intentions… She teaches to be revered actually living with great fear… She wants to be loved, her demise being forcing her will of fear… She consumes shots of green gel calling it her breath of life… The divine grandmother challenged the false inner profits message… Enraging her with threats of revealing to me real truth… She chanted, pounded her mislead fists together, manifesting a sword of crystal and light… Piercing through her own throat refusing to evolve her beliefs… Creating again all of her low vibration grief… Why is she here covering her veil of confusion over my eyes? Preventing me from believing the light of oneness god exists… Why does she desire to create suffering within the temple? What is her mission's purpose? Working for the Cabal; a mental program construct of peace destruction… Consumed with greed and power wishing to feel divine… Poisoning everyone from birth with this tainted sour wine… I banish you… You scared old stubborn crow… I swim within my god's love light of truth… So take your pathetic self and go… Go to the white light, transforming your tyranny within my being into delight…
February 10, 2010 Trying to stop the swirling of my thoughts My brain is a bullet train, pushing forward No destination, just gotta go, gotta go, gotta go I am trying to solve all of life's problems in One random, crazy, mad, desperate dash Insanity beats down my door and I ignore it Thinking I will outrun it if I just keep going I'll be safe, just gotta run, gotta run, gotta run
I found you when you were down and out your soul with holes and inside doubt the prayers you said with your rosary did not stop that deep, deep bleed you looked through me like I wasn't there taking what I offered, refusing to share I stayed beside you—held your hand helped you try to understand the closer you got, you were further away holding me close yet still at bay I warmed your lust, but not your heart you told me from our very start the tables turn, I place no blame on love's defeating, haughty game words don't come in any form at night when I lay safe and warm I always knew you wouldn't miss any form of a vacant kiss always reading yesterday's news it is just the publisher's views
The Snow Camelia hedge row is in full bloom. Lovely white as newly fallen snow against waxy dark emerald green. The sun broke the horizon in a pastel pink but very swiftly turned to a clear horizon. The area where the sun ball rises is a golden glow. Thank you God for a chance to live another day and another Thanksgiving. Now surrounded by sounds_crows, roosters, and a bird sound that is just chir-rup really mimics a cricket but not. The cold is penetrating saying go inside escape the cold go to a warm place. Once again God thanks for a warm place to go and its comfort. The ambrosia needs to be made, getting breakfast, and four people need to get ready. The sun is touching the top of the trees and duty calls come..
There was something in her eyes That said to me That what she was listening to Couldn't be heard And the words being spoken Couldn't be said There was something in the way She held her head That said to me She really wasn't where She appeared to be So I quietly whispered Would you care to take a walk She didn't question why Just quickly answered yes Held out her hand to take And I never said a thing We walked through the night Just listening to the stars We felt the warmth of passion Against the chill of night And never spoke a word For eyes, arms and lips Say so much more When the sun broke upon the day The grass told where we lay As time and years went by I saw her eyes again They were so much younger As they reflected back my smile There was nothing much to say In the way she held her head I just remembered how in the sun The grass showed where we lay
I sit there on that wooden bench, simply sitting. I am not waiting for someone, not for anything. Sunlight peeks through the leaves of the two oak trees whose branches are mingling above my head. It is pleasant to feel its warmth. There is no reason for me to be outside other than the cigarette resting between my middle and index fingers. I walked down three flights of stairs to simply sit and smoke and be judged by the occasional passersby. I lift the cigarette to my lips and place it there gently. It sort of dangles there as I light the lighter in one hand and cup the other around the flame to protect it from a nonexistent breeze in the dry Southern heat. I suck in, trying to puff, which is hard to do without a hand to steady the cigarette, but it is lit and that is what matters. I take a deep drag, deep into my lungs, deep into my soul, and I can feel the calm wash over me. The nicotine is my oxygen; I can't breathe without it sometimes. I blow the smoke out, admiring its delicious taste and scent. I like to hold the slowly smoldering cigarette in my right hand and then smoke out of the left side of my mouth. The way I hold it makes me look like a nineteen-forties gangster. I like that. Sitting there, on my wooden bench, I react. I don't moan in ecstasy and I don't close my eyes in pleasure. I don't take it for granted and I don't have a habit. I just enjoy my cigarette, no more and no less than it ever should have been. As it slowly converts itself into smoke and ashes I think to myself that most people probably wonder why an eighteen year old in this day and age would choose to take up smoking. At least I assume that is what the occasional passerby must be thinking when they see me sitting here on this wooden bench, for no other reason than to smoke the cigarette in my hand right now. I wonder what I would say if any one of them ever bothered to ask me. Because I want to, I would reply before standing, putting out my cigarette, and walking away. I look down and see that if I took another drag I would be smoking the filter. So I stand, put out my cigarette, and walk away. I walk away from the sunlight, from the two oak trees, and that wooden bench. I walk away with my fingers smelling like nicotine and that makes me smile because I know that I will sit at that wooden bench tomorrow to do the same exact thing. I know because that is what I did yesterday.
The intensity of Their hate Their fate Is blinding, Undermining, Colonising, His existence His subsistence In this world. Burning the hope That kept Shining; Dining Out On his dreams Deemed Unsightly. But nightly Brightly Lightly They exist Within his domain His brain But disdained By those Who slip, slide Hide Cover themselves Their world Their curled up Messed up Washed up Lives In a Cloak of normality Banality Finality Of nothingness A scribbled mess Left To fester In the blackened drawer the whore of their whole. Their soul.
Constant thoughts: The meditation, devising silent destruction Delusions, anxiety highly distortion Fundamental thoughts, Confusion of sorts out of proportion The consequence of the after math This black messiah without emotion Constant thoughts rumbling In my head like a wasp's nest in chaos While external still internal mental mayhem in turmoil Cracking thunders beyond human imagination Because the power of my concentration Leaps threw boundaries of unheard discoveries At a depth of no recovery This is a mental process As put hand on my chest and mind Teaching the mentally blind As they stay behind The constant thoughts
Yes, adoption to most adoptees, "always" the sunrise to a brand new sunset. Yet, if not given in to each, is full entail… "Ablaze are our thoughts from far, far reaches, as if the reddish licked flames from long lost fires… Fires of which, brushed, had every shade of burnt orange that still hues of its past sunset. Your sunset, our own living sunset, a sunset awash in its own past beauty or life's chaos -; now viewed by all as hope never surrendered. As if an artist's hand-hurled, color-of-the-sun fireball had just splashed broadside - our own clouded gun metal gray horizon."
I sit here pondering my death. As I look upon the remnants of my tattered remains for signs of my so called life, I come to the conclusion that to do this, I must first accept the fact that I even had a life. But how can one have lived without the rhythmic beating of a heart, or the spiritual foundation of a soul to support ones wants and desires, or the will that encourages the thoughts and dreams of existence. How could the emptiness that was inside me have housed such a wonder? How is it possible the weakness I felt could ever have held such a power within? Is it possible I had reached the pinnacle of my suffering and committed emotional suicide? Is it possible my demise was due to the ravenous wants and needs of man, disguised as passion and love which lured me into my willingness to give all that I had so freely, to satisfy a gluttonous appetite that consumed everything in its path including the memory of who and what I was? But to acknowledge this would be to admit I gave my precious gift of life in exchange for a lie wrapped in the promise of everlasting happiness and love. I sit here and ponder my death but I do not mourn. For I have only lost the vessel which held my true spirit, the one which now looks for the light and the chance to be reborn. A new being of strength and wisdom who realizes the mistake made in that other form, but will now hold dear all that is to come and all that will be.
To the torn page out of Modern day Merlin's book of wizardry, I regret to inform you that you are nothing more than a recipe for tomato soup. You have no enchanted qualities about you, but you tend to brag about where you come from more times than you realize. Dear torn page, haven't you noticed that the he only wondered on your whereabouts when his life was turning quite pale in color, and rugged in shape? Your words of zest, and your smooth direction brought vibrancy into his blue octagonal soul. Probably like how an octopus would feel escaping from a cloud of his own ink. He could breathe again. But you're lost now, and he doesn't care much. You wonder why you were written in the first place if you've only felt what magic you can make once. If there are over 7 billion people in this world, have you ever wondered how many pages in books there might be? Has it ever occurred to you that out of those trillions of pages turned, over half haven't been read at all? Has it ever occurred to you that books have been transformed into toys? Children in schools use you until they grow up and buy iPhones and laptops, and you're left on sitting sideways on some rotting wooden shelf that has nothing more to talk about than how bad of a shape he's in. Has it ever occurred to you that there are mysteries, histories, nursery rhymes, and adventures that have been overlooked because of the simple fact that humans have given up on the great things? Actually, it would seem that giving up is the only thing their willing to give. Your black blood on a papyrus shell just doesn't flow in the mind like it used to. You reminisce on the time when you were the only one that cast a spell on him, and you gave him life again. Now the wizard is off signing autographs and performing shows at Rockefeller Center every first Friday of the month. He uses only spells so basic that he doesn't have to read the step by step instructions anymore. To be honest, the book isn't even used as frequently. I think I even saw a family of dust specks rent a home on page thirty-three last week. But has it slipped your mind, humble recipe? Have you forgotten already of the position you're in? You are a torn page now. So float on by. Let the wind keep you steady.
Kisses on the broken ground tears that annoy... bringing the inward heat outward into the busted scene Innocent eyes become possessive eyes now ...as they look down on you ...upon you I don't feel anything towards this sort of thing The cold is a safe retreat from all of the needing Shut me away away from your gaze away from your hands away from your wet away from your words away from your feelings It's all well, but it well never be my problem Is it true what they say in my silence? ...that romantics die once they've met romance? Belonging to nothing fade, fade like the sun on the overcast heart
WEIGH ME DOWN My words can only convey the thought Not the true feelings that flow within The rage that burns through my body and mind Cannot be measured by any verb or string of words Self imposed exile from any semblance of reality The only peace I know resides alone, an untapped well I am not the person everyone thinks that I am I am not at all what I appear to be, disguised This world I know is not my world, I do not belong Far removed from any road I care to travel Stolen chances echo loudly in my mind And I know that I can never know what I was to be I look back not liking much of what I see And looking ahead the future is bleak in front of me Overcoming my misfortunes really hasn't mattered Because they are still the anchors that will always weigh me down Family and friends, the rising and setting sun, the air we breathe Cliché's reserved for those moments when all is clear Darkness and despair, anger and frustration, disgust Cliché's reserved for when an ending is near And all I see is light at the end of the tunnel, Signaling the nearness of my destination. It's soon to be over …
The Second Fable The Second Fable The BusYness The Alcoholic boss: The man was doing inventory when the lady called his namme. "Johnny what is wrong with you eye just looked out at the van? The tire is almost flat again eye just gave you a hundred dollars yesterday to get the tire fixed and eye remember giving you fifty just last week? You must have kept the money are you drinking now again?" The Alcoholic Worker: "Tilly you are mistaken the tire is not that low eye checked the gauge myself less than two hours ago. The receipt for the tireshop is still inside the till Tilly why do not you still believe me tell me Tilly how could eye get a receipt like that unless eye paid the bill?" The Alcoholic Worker: To Tilly:"Every now and then they do a poor poor job so eye will take the van back to the tire shop and have them check that tire again." To ASIDE: The whiskey that eye bought with that old coots money is still in the center console eye have to drink it now today and she will knoe I'm drunk unless eye leave the van somewhere and say that it got stolen and the bad men beat me up. Narrator Charlax Android One Seven: The Johnny worker got in the van and drove to the center of a bridge he leaped from the bridge into the water down below with the whiskey in his hand and left the van in the center of the bridge the tire was now so low it was just flat. The Alcoholic Worker: Johnny to hisself: "The Tilly will believe me why should she doubt so much eye have to make this look good a lie is soon found out." Narrator Charlax One Seven: Johnny took a rock of largesse size and hit himself more than three times hard upon his brow his forehead split wide open he looked like a beaten up man. He finished off the whiskey and walked somewhat surprised that his worthwhile plan had come to a fruition in his addled whiskey mind back to the sewing shoppe. Listen as the woman talks to him. The Alcoholic Boss: "Before you say a word to me my alcoholic Johnny there was a Charlax sitting underneath the bridge playing games down in the water he loves a mermaid there and kisses all her hair. He saw you leave the van and leap into the water my friend MISS Tilly Two is bringing back the van for you." "Now don't you feel so foolish the job was feeding you now you will look for someone else to tell your lies to rob them of there wealth to feed your alcoholic drive."
Sadly, it is true of find that more and more biding entailments of adoption have stayed within its keep. Be they, the kept, rather than let be seen in the realm of the rarely known. Our enlightenment staved off ever so much more tightly, the bound of this cooperage – with these faces lonely, of the never shown…
When in thought I sulk- Narrowed down to a single fault Like my heart is a prize, and my thoughts are the vault; just as soon, as I almost spit them out- I halt. It's days like these, I wish only for a calming breeze- So that I may breathe; Properly grieve, But really its only a tease- For open sorrow just isn't me.
"Ablaze are thoughts of mind from far, far reaches, as if each slipped from the reddish flames of fires - where had burnt every shade of orange that still cover this ongoing sunset. Your sunset, our living sunset, a sunset awash in its own past beauty of chaos; now seen as if an artist's hand-hurled color-of-the-sun fireball had just splashed broadside - our own clouded gun metal gray horizon."
Coming out on the porch this morning after the sun had risen far above the horizon...I noticed that my herbs looked wilted. Checked but not really dry just potbound or rootbound in too small of a container..Life___how many of us are potbound or rootbound contained in a container that we outgrew years ago___stuck, complacent not growing and soon will die from starvation because we can't receive the nourishment from the source of our total being the giver of life the One Who gives the Living Waters....In the next few days I will get larger pots, fresh soil, and remove those plants..distrub their roots...Repot them giving their root system room to grow..They will come out giving me fresh French Tarragon, and Lemon Thyme all summer..I will enjoy watching them grow and produce....What about me? Will I get out of the pot that is too small and grow?
When skies are bluer than ever before and clouds disappear from sight I am alive When thunderstorms flash white and the rains come I am alone When daffodils burst forth from the snow and crocus peep through I am alive When winter cold and trees barren and leaves lie on frozen floor I am alone I want to face life's storms with friends who hold my hand and family who clearly states, "You are not alone" Then, I will live.
Ocean gales and tidal shift Pounding Basalt and sandstone mountains Boulders Rocks tumble into pebbles Mighty trees Uproot and splinter in Neptune's fury Under my feet, Crumbled remains of life Ground to dust by the unrelenting ocean Walking barefoot on tiny shards of glass
When I was a kid, i believed that I would never stop growing. I measured myself, and knew that everything taller was a glimpse of the future. We would all be giants eventually. The tallest man that ever lived was named Robert Wadlow. He couldn't stop growing. On his first day of school, he was taller than his father. They say, that when he tripped on the playground his knees made twin craters from falling so far. By the time he was 10, the dirt in his home town was pot-marked like a second moon. Size always seems to matter most when we are falling. An ant dropped from an airplane will survive with no injuries, if an elephant slips 3 feet, it's legs will snap beneath it, and or us, it is those dreams that we remember most. The ones where the harness breaks. Where you step from the roof of a building without knowing why. When a plane rushes back toward the earth like a lost lover. We always wait just before impact, unsure of shattering or survival, and unable to accept our own size. Maybe this is why we hunt the large animals to extinction; To make ourselves seem greater. In the end, the victory of the atom bomb was not in the arms raised, but it's ability to topple all of the smallest creatures. We dream of surviving as mountains; of never having to look up again. We long for longer conquests. The ship vaster than the ocean. The fire dwarfing the fuel. We expand. We expand,. Weapons add more than just inches to your arm span. When you fire a gun, you can touch someone a thousand of feet away just think of all the giants our wars have already created. Cemeteries are like an infinity of white cross hairs. Mass graves that are just twisting of what we have always wanted; A mountain built from our bodies. We expand, we expand,. Our empires, stretching like red lips opening into the widest sssmile, and then swallowing the face whole. We build our largest statues for our war heroes, greater your conquest, the taller we will make you. We are taller than our fathers now. We cannot stop growing. Robert Wadlow did not want to be a legend. He wanted to train as a lawyer, but his hands were to large to write and type with. He died at age 22, half an inch short of 9 feet from an infection he never felt, because his nerves could not transmit signals that far. So stop trying to be statues. Walk. Feel the signals your feet send back to you and say "It is good to feel this close". It is good to live in our own bodies. Our bodies are whispers. Are bodies are matchsticks in the dark that light the small parts of us; The parts of us that can accomplish impossible things.
I have not eaten today, But my heart is filled Not hungry of affection. I had a fill of you last night A fill of you for a life time All around us are walking corpses Corpses of political disregard Humans of no nations Even when they are bona-fide citizens Your blood and mine flows in them The government abhors the poor Feeds them with empty promises Shoves them through the door They pay the bills For social amenities they can't find Pay taxes for their castles Government built in the air But we know their ancestors Filthy dogs eating from the king's crumbs No; Lets not unknot the knot Soon a messiah might heed us In heaven's book of life, I heard the poor names are there In here's book of life It is deleted. Thus, in your head, Lays your kingdom and glory Get rich or die trying Or; be their poor and keep sulking. Well, like them I saw… I have not eaten Flesh gone weak to skeleton Nevertheless, The solitude of love within Keeps me living; I am breathing But I am moving, Towards your direction I see your beam I feel new When I see you From my heart Seeps through the rays of the sun Its fun; this love on death line We survived the genocide We survived the war We survived love We survived us I love you too. This poem is dedicated to the abused tribes of Rwanda and Nigeria during their respective civil wars resulting in near human annihilation. Though time has passed, we still feel your pains chilling our bones. The survivors.
From amidst the raging storm of thoughts a cry shattering the sky… "When wilt thou return from the dew-topped mountains? From those high peaks that rub my imagination through. Where oft doth thou disappear into a fragile trail of foot prints that mystically reappear? from where I hear a heart's lonely cry; from where the frantic cries of the reaper submerge dies. Is it true or is it just I? What hath thou so wonderfully witnessed from a town so tinsel lies? From where such ruthless condemnation forked displayed… From where ever, tell me now, tell me how and tell me why? When thou art gone for what must I still low lie?"
you tore me to shreds with idiot lies and rumours try me again one word is enough i won't wait around you'll see bad decision one more time i'm done for but do you think you do me favours? do you think you mend me? consider me before you tear me r.thomas '10
I saw the sky last night, Rapt blue-black, Freckled candle-light. Where upon a cast, I ate. To this lip, our tête-à-tête, Never uttered, Never muttered, Until here.
Silent storms rage within my heart. Be still! Be still! Fear to be fought; Peace must be sought. In stillness, Love speaks; Bringing hope to listening ears, Reminding weary hearts of bygone years; of lessons learned, for faithfulness earned, to stay the course. Be still! Be still! when silent storms rage within my heart. Healing found in silence, when listening ears learn to wait
Clutching his coat closer to his body, he trudged through the thick fog. Steps unprepared, unplanned, only to arrive at the statue posing in its eternal stiffness. The face carved carefully, most obviously hand crafted with letters seemingly gargled and thrown up, left misinterpreted but etched into history. Coins jingling in all 4 pockets, unspent and almost as worthless as the promises that were made. How-To books only revealed his worthless state, ripping out blank pages one at a time, with the bright yellow façade guffawing at his precipice. The inevitable would amount to an anti climax, one that would bother him for a while, one that he could possibly never forget. Tired screams were dismissed of their existence, after all no one was around to hear them. A bloody mess lay at his feet as a deep drum drew closer and closer. Beads of sweat delicately ran down his face, his palms gilded with blood as pure as gold. Precious stones culminated into a vacant stare and slowly as the sun set, they shined no more.
There are books that nobody ever reads, lines expanded with stories that never get to catch, eyes stalking cyberspace, inside there is SOcial media, SOOcial media, SOOOcial media, like a 3-ring circus they join by watching themselves, as though egotism could have value in a selfie, as though Spam could impart knowledge to untaught minds. From time to time I read some hardbacks that converted Kindle Fire, fitting together with the popular, with the digital era, with those who run and intensify this circus, and intellectual students married to information, books sitting on shelves behind me, the computer screen before me, eyes darting wildly to see illusions and jokes, witnessing a tragic magic trick as books disappear . When was the last time you read a book?
Remnants of the past cast shadows on his points of view an attractive conversation with no literal honesty Pained at the cause those scars that remain Those lies on your breath smelled of raw sewerage Tears showed every crease where rivers flow my heart has melted in the middle of your road now requiring tow. I remind myself that everything ends badly or comes to a close though my hearts without resolve when your forever is really never when what I really needed was this lever to take your weight off my shoulders ~I haven't stopped growing~
Once the sun blows its warmth I stood on its breeze Gazing back all the moment Drifting silence in a seek None would bother None be bothered Remain silent should I prefer With persevered steps won't I remorse Most hatred which embedded Spell the bliss to be created Call out all the hopes Revealed the untold Every pieces which has left Each part which has last Be hold in my skin Be history of my win Below my wisdom in the valley of my journey Yet I step ahead Nor reverse to back I stand precisely instead
There is no accidental meeting… Between kindred souls For your fate is made, as surely is time fleeting And no more stranger than quasars and black holes It's all preordained in some grand cosmic way Beyond mortal bounds or human control The people you meet, what you do or say Is not managed by you…e'en in part or in whole Though you might think differently in the course of the day That you're making the rules…writing your own roles The Gods laugh their asses off and to each other say: "What impudence: to think that they set their own goals!" For it's Fate, Kismet, and Karma, that in the end sets the way For those "accidental meetings, between kindred souls"
I hope god spares me My own misery is enough pain Family doesn't need to be standing In the atom bomb rain The world doesn't need another hole And neither does my brain.. Faded.. But still of a nice shade If water splashes on my figure Ill probably fade away But ill say its a good day Slithered down On the grass in my shape
The quest for love is probably one of the hardest things a human must endure in their tiny existence on earth. It is the one thing that seems to be the driving force behind the turning of the world. Why is it then so hard to accomplish. Why is it that people search for it so adamantly that they are willing to accept anything for just a piece of it. Willing to take any little touch or attention and call it love. To go to extremes to be just near it. No matter how big the consequences are that comes along with it. Yet when this thing, love, is found, this thing that has been sought after for so long, it has the potential of so much hurt condensed into it. A snake hiding in the tall grass. Someday somewhere its just waiting to unleash the terror hidden inside. Waiting to drop it full force on the unsuspected like the atom bomb on Hiroshima on families that slept unknowingly in there beds. Yet its built inside us to seek it out. Built inside us to not quit until we find it. Its like our own self destruction button. Seek, Search, Destroy. We find it, bath in its glow, eventually take it for granted and then in the full stride of life it explodes. And out of the rubble those that survive are left to pick up the pieces and start all over again. Because we do. We never learn. We merely stitch together the remaining parts throw a patch over the holes and start looking for the next self timing bomb. Because if we're not looking then we're decaying into a mass of self loathing and pity. So in turn we are condemned to keep pursing our own demise. No matter who you are if you've loved then at one time you've detonated. It's a coin one side always comes with the other and sooner or later you'll see both of its faces. It seems to be a matter of chance of which side shows its face more. If your quiet on a dark night, alone wrapped only in blackness, you can hear it calling, beckoning to come to it, a siren singing her alluring song. Its voice riding undetectable waves in the night to come to rest in your head. A parasite laying its eggs. Eggs that will hatch unnoticed in the future to feed on its host, that has kept them warm and safe for so long. And so the cycle goes perpetuating itself on and on through centuries. Never stopping. And for this we live. For this we fight and for this we kill and for this we die.
When communication fails, resort to loneliness. When loneliness fails, resort to communication. When resorting fails, communicate with your lonely self and meet your only friend. When you give up someone else's dream, you begin to live. When you free yourself from your own dreams, you realize that you've never lived at all. Then, when you dream, you'd rather be living.
Lacking a dorsal fin, the human being is ill-suited to his very constitution, relying rather on ambition and threads of fantasy to carry him to places a fish cares not to see
9NINtyFIVE5 9NINtyFIVE5 CharlaXFabels CharlaX Eye the fabulist fabelist maker of dreams for ewe still remember the poem eye wrote where eye mentioned the fact that eye think they are liners for birdcages the most that people have been to me is nice there was a few Christians who liked some of my poetry for JESUS. This is not a fable in the puerile sense of the word. BUT this ewe is a giant dandylion poem eye make them bleed eye scritch and scratch them and twist the ending oblong into infinity. Eye feel a need to defend myself to my detractors after all even CharlaX had a mother. It was more than that a family eye had a place to eat a room to sleep. An important man is never needed until the end too late to make the needed differences. Pomp and pestle pistle listed they sent my picture eye won a contest all they wanted was for me to buy a lot of plaque. FlaX and cotton homespun medley lay upon the CharlaX belly nice long drinks in the afternoon writing a poem making a fabel swan it leans this way and that way falling to pieces and parts of words become gentle rain long dripping drops of waterial motion lapping at shadows of love. Fancy markings of worded pleasures for years of estranger in the wooded glen fords and glen glens. The caterpillar tracks in the proper syntax is a Diatribe. Nominal feeds paid out and lost in space with gasses let loose that rival skunks in size and areal width the size of that thing just look Ethel the size of that thing in centimeters all alone would equal the lower belt of corn in the Midwestern state of Iowa they called CharlaX to come he wielded his Hermann Maurice axe phone and refused to budget a car rental he does not hitch hike anymore he walks back and forth from one glorious day into the next of time come forth thou CharlaX from the grave concerns of formidable returns on investments given in earnest anticipations of reaped rewarded inclinations please come to Kansas and chop the wheat down with your western ax make bread for all the millions of the crew. The penny tossed in air so heated by debated frenzy of the sharkless few was tails a lucky brake for yew.
I've been down this road So many times before I often wonder if at the end Will there be an open door? What seemed to be What I thought once was A hopeless dream, in fact A totally lost cause. Is now actually a series of events Coming to fruition But in a more peaceful, loving And different rendition. Is this my chance to try again? To set things right with my life? Or is it just a visualization? Of what could've been perhaps an insight? Only time will tell as the Fragmented pieces fall into place Making a difference and a change In my life as the memories give chase. Being sure to keep up Not ever to be missed But yet called upon at a moments notice So I can reminisce. Whenever I feel down and out Like I lost my friend, I can reach back into my mind To smile and laugh once again. You see, that's the thing about Memories both good and bad They will always be there for you Whenever you're happy or sad. They level the playing field of your mind Keeping everything on an even keel Especially those times when You're not sure what or how you feel. Life is full of ups and downs As well as trials and tribulations It's up to us as individuals To know when and how to set the stipulations. When we reach that final chapter And the last page has been turned You can stop, look back and say Wow, this is what I've learned Now take this and share it with everyone Even those you may not know, So we all as individuals and A collective will continue to grow.
When biding entailments of an adoption stay kept - more than otherwise shown; staved off from enlightenment, are these lives of which, we have now coopered and held within their fiery unknown… …Where ablaze are thoughts from far, far reaches, as if each a reddish licked flame from a long lost fire… Fires of which, brushed every shade of burnt orange that still hue of a past sunset's desire. Your sunset, our own living sunset, a sunset awash in its own past beauty or life's chaos -; now viewed by everyone as hope never surrendered. As if the artist's hand-hurled, color-of-the-sun fireball - splashed broadside our own clouded gun metal gray horizon – for better or worse…"
The "Dead Sibling" Effect – New Jersey Adoption State Statute – N.J.S.A. 9: 3-39 1 [b, c] These Unseen Faces a Legal Cooperage "Cunning is the conscience that intends the keep of our enlightenment to its own past. Same is it - in the art making of a vessel that holds of precious wine, and what the cooper already knows is his forever cask. Their genius is how these skillfully made casks for wine still lay hidden and never found… That in the belly of a long ago forgotten shipwreck it is where the passage of time and the grape itself tighten staves evermore so more tightly bound…"
Eleventh Fable Author Message Admin Admin Age : 53 Joined : 13 Jun 2007 Posts : 719 Subject: Eleventh Fable Today at 18:26 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Eleventh Fable Eleventh Fable The Millionth Dollar Charlaxes Fables Some people live in misery afraid to spend a dollar bill is one a friend but he just won't let it go. The man walks or rides his bike even in the snow not using public transportation anywhere he goes. A Child is young too young to knoe just what money's for. She takes the dollar in her hand and keeps it never spending it and never letting go. Song 1001 Aern't ewe the one that eye love Aern't ewe the love the only love that eye have Aern't ewe the one that eye love Aern't ewe the reason this man gets up Aren't ewe the love that eye have Aern't ewe the purple cloud Aern't ewe the heart of the rain Aren't ewe the name in the sky? Aren't you the song 1001? Aern't eye the one? The millionth dollar has been spent the millionth tear eye cried the millionth time eye tried to make a song was this one number one thousand one. Time will wait for no one let us rule the time with love. Eleventh Fable
Whenever I am with her and she is wrapped tightly in my arms, The world for a brief moment, suddenly disappears. Then, everything seems to be all right. I slip into a place of oblivion while tasting the beauty of her charms. We kiss. So gently at first, while exploring the depths of her secret soul as the softness of her body, so sensuous in so many ways,is able to quench my driving thirst. She takes me to places I have never traveled before. Making me feel things like Volcano's erupting as my hot blood flows like molting lava. Yet, at times, she makes me feel like I am in flight. A spitit with wings. So subtle is her love, so intriguing is the mystery of her. I sense the wonder of a thousand stars lighted so brightly along with a hundred galaxies filled with the music of the Gods. A million universes all molded into the ecstasy of beauty and love untamed by the touch of man. Each time we make love, it becomes a new experience. She becomes all that I am, I become all that she is. We become one body in spirit and mind. She has touched the depth of my being. Pulled away the outer shell. Bared to her is the essence of my heart and all that I am. With her, I am the man, the pebble in the sea. She is all that is part of me, WHEN I MAKE LOVE TO HER.
Graceful creature of the night sky, sit a while outside my window and sing your song to me. Your haunting caw echoes of stories brought back from the battered ships falling of the memorized horizon in my head. Ebony feathers gleam with the rays of the moon,slicing off fragments of light from a happier sunday. O, wearied traveler, bring ye news from another world, the tinseled and the tattered remnants of a moving-picture still life? Your beating heart keeps time with my tears in rapid staccato, firing off little darts to make new holes in my head.
The young dream their dreams away at night Hoping they come true A doctor,policemen,veterinarian and other dreams are developed by the young Too naive to understand the ways of the world Determined as ever to achieve their dreams The old regret the dreams they could never accomplish They had dreams but unknowingly never came true You go from living a world full of dreams To living the reality that is life Why do we let our dreams die We were so excited as young kids At the foot step of our dreams Were we haunted by the mountain we had to climb To make our dreams come true Did we simply quit Because of society's pressure Did money deter our dreams away while we slept at night Did we let doubt creepy into our hearts Silently killing all of our dreams without realizing it Why do dreams die so quickly When we spent years of our youth Hoping that we could get an opportunity To make them come true Dream big, chase your dreams and never let them die
92 How some students grew up on the Computor? and can't function in the real world right click the bus mommy and place it at the stop it is taking much too long to come around the horn. form method="post" This paragraphic is free to be a space bar for mee and ewe. option>Sometimes in my fables there is parts and pieces of mye poems this is not yellow journalism or nepotism or even bad form eye can copy and paste and then add text eye can translate pictures into banners and banners into love eye can relate a page to GOD and find a way to enter clouds formed and someday eye will make it rain inside this idiot Computor box and it will fry all the electronic components of every Computor in the world then we will all go outside again and inhale the fresher air. value="Radio" Just now eye went to a Bravenet website to make me a new website and its free but of course the upgrades would cost me but the free sights is challenging and it gave me a code for a welcome type box and it did NOT work as it is in the form of a a href not a url. The idea is the webpage would bring me people they would sign my little guestbook too bad it does not even relate to the page it won't translate at all the code is wrong its backwards to a forum type webpage the url is too long. The HEY REF only works on websites the URL IMG thing only works on FORUMS how many people have followed links to there destruction. When eye got the thing on my FIRST PAGE of HOME the thing took off with me when eye clicked it open we went for an internet ride and eye lost the page eye was on NO fun. Eye would not want a HOME Computor user to become lost in navigation when he was just trying to let me knoe that he had viewed my poems. The thing is done the web page that they gave me is very green and nice looking but does not do a real function oh well in this Brave New World does anything rally have to have a function and so mye gentle reader ewe it seems to mee the eye the poet fable maker fabulist like Aesop that eye am just the new proud owner of another big white elephant so they will always benefit from instruction of this knowledge from someone please open windows as many as yew want and let them learn yew some.
There are shadows here, loose and lingering, from long ago, that hold me captive in their holy power; they hold old memories, and bind me from top to bottom. They forever walk with me, holding my hand as I reach it away and forever run with me as I try to lose their trail... shadows long and slow, with wisps of pain, they hang to my thoughts, my feelings, my starts and my stops; forever hold me back, hold me in, hold me hard against myself; forever lock me inside these clinging, enveloping mists of the past. There are shadows here, sharp and hard and edged in brilliance; shadow shapes to outline ancient wrongs, false thinking, guilt-induced actions; shadow shapes to forever put me in the spotlight of anger, of remorse, of repentance; shadow shapes to forever keep me on the edge of a life I can see, but never cross over to. There are shadows here, loose and lingering from long ago...
My heartbeat echoes a motionless metronome With only an offshore wind to bring it back home Inside my mind the weight of my thoughts drone At once setting the mood the moment the tone Tracing every wall branding every surface with marks This is no longer the sheltered haven where my mind parks I try recall what sent us out of orbit & led us astray Dunno however this is no longer a place of innocent play I search for tracks paths previous passages routes to take The intricate webs stilts steps the uphill journey I make All the while the library vault is empty overdue & archived This all had happened long before by the time I had arrived And all in the silence standing dizzy & still steadily spinning I asked implored and prayed fervently to karma destiny & fate To stop the cycle the story & take me right back to the beginning At once right now hurry hasten & do this before it is to late
Holiday's Roadside Wreckage by Odin Roark To live as you're not To be who society massages you into being To succumb to counterfeit identity Is to skid into mere roadside wreckage. We pass such rubble all the time The defective and or mismatched parts of authenticity Merging with Nature's roadkill Decorated by gum wrappers Festooned by beer cans. Sadly… Few anticipate the accident, The head-on collision with reality, Where darkness and tears Become the black ice of misfortune. Still… Some will slow down enough to see when they look, Realize that reason and logic's purpose Is to reveal the highway shoulders and ditches' necessity, Irony's off-road demise for make-believers Careening unconscious down life's highway. Roadside wreckage… Unrewarding scenery made repetitively prophetic Until we take the time to recognize and live compatibly With who we really are.
Power is too devastating a concept for the groundlings to scourge on. Instead, we thrive on inspiration, A hope that things could change. And those luxurious bourgeoisie that roam the outskirts of reality, have no limits, But unfortunate for them, they also have no ties to humanity. Floating above everything that breaths, until they breathe their last And having only the masquerade of parts they acted out to define their existence. I would like to leave a footprint that has not my name flashing on a red carpet, [mostly likely red from blood split henceforth] But instead a list of people I saw with bleeding hearts. A story of a homeless man who knew the meaning of all arts, despite his lack to make any living off of them, and you could see him everyday making rounds, pushing his rusting grocery carts. Every ingredient from the sliced finger to the squinting eyes after tasting the accidental mistake of salt for sugar, that went into baking that perfect apple pie. To impress your in-laws. The picket fence painted by Mr. Cain, and the window washed by Mr. Townsend of Lot, who did not drip a drop, or leave a single spot. Retrospection to the simple question of would you rather? For I would like to think that money escapes my vision, Morality ruling all I see. A true Robin Hood story is sadly a compulsive lie I choose to try and be. As altruism is as false as any other self-deceiving truth of modernity. Any gift given with think or not, gives back with a smile or warm thought. So do not think you are true, because that thought makes that truth, untrue.
Dear Victory Girl from the bay or [dock] I knew you'd be beautiful for the sake of the decline...let hedonism take its toll... Just so I Can Forget How do you smile like that? I'm bleeding gallons thinking of your face. My most sincere pains,shames,claims,and thought about pet names, lie with you signed- Unused,and abused
"May we find in the depth of our stand the strength to back your answer of "No More" as if the foundation for change - built upright from its own point of refusal!"
The friendly skies have become unfriendly no longer is flying a luxury or heavenly, taking trips on the iron birds have become a task, If a traveler makes the wrong move, he/she may end up wearing a gas mask, Although some airlines are better than others, There are those who are unconcionable and their actions smother, whether one is sick or laying at death's door, they look the other way because they are overly consumed with making more, Their sense of integrity and trust have been wrapped up in thinking, such as "Everyone is trying to kill us", Even those that serve and protect are treated like nomadic rejects, The airline without a conscience lacks sensitivity, All they care about is packing folks like sardines and exporting them to different countries, They have left little room for exceptions to the rule, because if a flier acts up, he/she is subject to a duel.
Here's the thing Peer pressure, isolation and laughter Doesn't magically make wrong right Or change a lie into truth Just because so many Who are uninformed believe Doesn't turn fiction into fact Rewriting history doesn't make it true No matter how many times you try Doesn't matter if good people or fools Are leading the way If it's down the wrong path Doesn't matter if you say It's for the children and the poor If it's not the truth For only one thing Will set you free We can twist a man's words Into whatever we want When He's not around But when He once again Sets foot to ground Twisting is not so easily done But we did so with good intentions Will offer no excuse In the face of the Truth We too long ignored So does it matter If a few facts were off base And the Truth Just a bit embellished I wonder who among us Is bold enough to say A little white lie Isn't really so In the face of the Truth
I see two faces Inside and out Side by side bickering about They fight for food They fight for thought They fight for everything they haven't got I see two faces Inside and out Side by side thinking about Soumit Dey
Was that yesterday or last year my mind wanders now You were here laughing your smiling face turned to the sun We walked along the shoreline and we kissed Was that real or just another trick of memory The seagulls mock me with raucus glee calling and fleeing as I turn the sand feels cold under my feet and the sea colder I thought it would be warmer Or was that yesterday or last year There is another on the beach She walks with aimless abandon Like me Perhaps she too is lost Strolling on a beach of memory Close to the sunshine of her past She too stops at the Gulls taunt Looking but not seeing before returning to her own tide The wind gusts And I remember your hair Tossed and swirling in the breeze Giggling as a wave caught you by surprise was that you was it me was it yesterday or last year
When the sun begins to set, When the colours seem to fade, When all hope seems useless, When all people turn against, When the storm takes pace, When all leaves begin to droop, When my heart begins to pain, When all my fears come before me, When all my sorrows fall upon me, When all weaknesses build inside me, When fate humours me, And my destiny is unkown, I know that faith is inside me, To make me believe and give me hope, That the better is still to come.
JEKYLL-AND- HYDE ABIDE smiling my charmed smile targeting the façade of obligatory expectations to those who would care to see the hidden agenda of a perfect mime muse speaking my learned lingo directly into hearts of stone softening slur and lies they strive to deny with brittle anguished shriek the disguise I try Hyde splinters and reverses its swift purpose my breath runs off its track in a missed heart beat now stuck and struck as arms and legs lay lame by constant screaming in this head my anger absorbs taut terrors inward torments while the next bender of Benzo's fights the X…x factor in placid restitution and perfectly refutes tornados of emotion that demolish control with appease as stage is set for another Jekyll arrival ©Kim van Breda—May 2014
In the smoke of cannabis induced haze Whispers of ogres & imps of bygone age Laughter echoes, Fallen angels by the side Of friends left behind… And of memories washed ashore A few tokes one too many Broken blinds of my windows Someone is peeping in now Its just light… Darkness seemed comforting Of the many nights of insomnia Some dreams are best seen awake Stoned! But respite is none Lines don't rhyme… am I the one? Who is crying? Tears are just, wasted stains Melancholy is a form of pastime Nostalgia a derivative of self
Lost between Heaven and Hell, battlements of my spirit and mind, Raptures me into the new day, but delivers me in the darkness of night. I argue within my mind, that shall wither it blind, randomly I search for the meaning that enhances the light. I wander through the ailment that haunts me so. Small amounts of peace keep me driving onward, though I feel no glow. In-between both I am haunted with one sight, Glimpse of the dream I hold so dear, with massive amounts of fear, my menacing fantasy keeps me on my fight. Each week that passes seems as everyone that fell before. My soul knows my end is of a different kind, knowing the sin that I carry each night and the penance that I must endure. My destiny is not what I see, But is what I deeply ignore. Lost between Heaven and Hell, My soul cannot sell, this torment, I speak is a different form I break, Not just any ordinary sin, I have no-where to begin. No end to reach, my darkness seeks light, though there is no realization to teach. I am haunted by the past that lonely night that seizes, though it pleases me ,but no other can live in the desire that I speak here and now, Others have traveled this road without any dark temptation, though I would lose all interpretation, with great litigation. Lost now and forever my dream, forgotten almost it may seem. Distant calls engorge my thoughts, memories chase my spirit, and lust envelops my soul, into the realm betwixt Heaven and Hell. My dream I shall bury, my destiny, I shall marry within my mind and spirit. These darkened nights shall grab the bright days down into the mishap of grace. I will council each cheerful day and plant a smile on my face. However, the agony shall drive my heart to a stainless hollowness of discomfort my continued dream shall live on and inhabit this shell. This shell someday shall wither away; there will be nothing left to tell. Written for Sponsor Catie Lindsey Contest Name Dark Prose
There is a vortex in every locomotive that is at once inert and in moto perpetuo Beneath that vortex lies a feeling, a veritable epicenter of grief from which springs the only real compliment to sentient life and to which our species has attached the name of suffering.
The hardest thing in life Is seperatung love from spite ; Separating the truth, Even when you think it sounds right. If you don't know your enemy, there's no way you can fight- And Sometimes the greatest hints are slight ; As I recall them- Laying down at night . There Is no remorce in self advocacy, And no shame in doubting their accuracy; The intent of others is incalculable, And you will feel their wrath; Life is our hourglass- So who cares if your an outcast? Make the contrast- Because their *****is all stagecraft; Shoot a counterblast, Stay steadfast- And make damn sure it has an impact.
In solitude of heart, Only myself with which to hear what echoes deep within. In stillness, friend or foe? Make peace? Forego?
With more than a hint of anxiety I doubt all around me Seeing demons in every shadow I worry constantly No rest for my mind No peace for my conscience Every breeze that blows Is an omen of impending doom I feel so marooned Far away from tranquillity I need someone to rescue me I question all I analyse minutely Nothing satisfies me I am always frazzled The strain of fear weakens me I feel unable to be happy I wonder about what ifs And throw constant strops and tiffs I didn't realise life was going to be like this
"Ablaze are thoughts instilled from farthest reaches, as if slipped into the reddish flames of fire within this burnt orange sunset. A sunset awash in its own quantum chaos, as if a Mendoza thrown color-of-the-sun fireball had struck broadside this clouded gun metal gray horizon."
Shifting sands, ever changing with the always steady beating of the planets heartbeat. Patterns dynamic in their structure always different, never the same again carried on the wings of the wind and its passing whim. Hills and valleys dot the landscape flat lands going nowhere lead ever onward. Tiny grains of sand alone are naught but infinitesimal specks but together they can be mighty indeed. Life abounds in this ever changing universe with times passing it continues to fight in order to survive its sandy domain. To exist at it is/was destined too is the only truth it knows. Grains of sand mark the passing of time minutes, hours, moving ever onward with the shifting of sand, never to be retrieved. Where it begins no one seems to know its ending a mystery as well is the end the beginning, or is the beginning the end?
Silences Down the halls, walking among the walls of silence, mine and Of, and wonder?, should I speak in words of thunder, shatter the empty spaces of either, or quietly refrain and do neither, display nothing of what lies behind those empty spaces - by kind? Winds so silent, scream, on their way down the hallways of my brain, tearing to shreds, what is left of the curtains that hide emotions. Hide from those seekers of the soul, who might care to know what it is that protects the weakened spirit. A spirit that waits for a sound so soft, so pure, so innocent, it enlightens, lightens the beating heart so heavy with sadness, creating depressions that are but gigantic holes in the life of what is left of a living being. An organism - reaching beyond, beyond it's single celled existence, beyond it;s sterile, four cornered room - am I, reaching out, trying to be more then the nucleus of a protozoan, I am becoming, more then the vapours of Saint Elmo's fire, reaching out for warmth, passion, compassion. B. J. "A" 2 December 24th 2010
Belts, switches, bricks, and near misses Broken boys starring as established men Police whistles, leather shoes clamouring down city alleyways slick as a polished floor. White clubs swing, black heads snap against the dingy lines that hold brick walls together. The devil gives chase up to and into the pearly gates heaven ain't safe. Hide and seek high in steeples I once read, He has no equal, so why does the human race run in so many horrible sequels? Guide me O Lord before I fall a thousandth time. Does salavation have a dotted line I could sign? Looking for clues in my girl's arousal, a simple touch is trending as she lays trembling. Moan filled responses better known as M.F.R.s, spill of satisfaction, fades, but is always everlasting; as quickly as it recedes My mental hum throbs again A sea of thought washes over me and I'm overboard, overheard saying What's my name? twice. I don't think my son will ever be the same after hearing mommy's answer. Amazing how a picture is painted. Without ever mentioning it, you envision it. Coming back to shore, tallying up the score Motorcades and dimples, bullets and tinted windows, clean sheets dirtied, a president is laid to rest after having created another agency in an already clogged system titled the C.S.D. A place where no one ever gets answers but finds sleep immediately. As I start to drift out of my writer's mind and saltwater cascades and filters through sand I'm reminded howa man can live a lifetime and die to soon. "He without sin," He said. I walked away with a pocket full of stones. Sin is a pile of rocks, broken men carry. J.F.K, M.L.K., M.O.U.S.E. Reset button pushed. To be a kid again wondering why daddy is asking mommy such a ridiculous question when sins washed away and a stone thrown was a pebble against a window to see if the girl's sleep waiting for her light to turn on...
Distance that breeds love Chasm beginning to envelop darkness Concern that leaves a void Of the broken bridges And the pride in hate I am humbled to walk the path again Hate that leaves me breathless Anger! Misplace righteousness Cynicism, my guardian angel Of the all knowing scorn And the crutches of disdain I am glad to walk free again
Waiting for an epiphany Something…anything… A life in transit Keyhole visions… narrowed too fine Cynicism, mockery doing rounds Despairing times… out of bounds What could've been and what is… Funny how the story doesn't change Driftwood listless, aimless Who is your huckleberry finn? Hypocrisies, deceit, lies and everything lame That just leaves god left to blame
FULL OF FLAWS We are full of flaws yet We seek out the ideal in each other We pander to the trends and styles That flutter in the wind Perfection is king
Who am I to you? I love you No longer my fried Our bond is a broken glass we can't mend This could possibly be the end A broken faith in you snaps from within When you're not lying in my arms You say you feel obligated to be there with him Spare his feelings to obliterate mine In trading that broken home for ours Too blind to see the harm You overlooked my witty charm Favoring his dim-witted presence Out the door into his arms There you go We can settle down and say 'I do' We'll get back to being me and you You'll stop treating me like you do And someday you will choose Making me pay my dues Now I'm waiting for fairy tales to come true Dreams of 'Happy Ever After' I'm taunted by the burdens I choose And wallowing in broken dreams Inside your wicked lies A sense of longing derives To where our memories lie Looking up through tear soaked eyes While my child grows inside Strumming your fingers across the wall I imagine you on the other side And intrinsic insanity leads me on It rips my heart through and through Tormented by this endless pursuit Separating me and you At night I lay against the wall Our apartment split in two By a life-altering war raging on My love was thrown in the trash Karma has twisted my dreams so fast For my cruel and heartless past I wonder if this is the punishment I deserve A love that was never destined to last Fate led my heart here I love you Who am I to you?
There are no truly blue flowers. No, not one. Hydrangeas or tulips can be green, an odd color for flowers, I think. Brown ones are dead. Brown and green are the colors of human eyes though, and blue too, but that's rare as eye color goes. Almost everyone has two eyes, or at least one. There are those whose eyes don't work correctly, and some unfortunate souls who have none at all. Every pirate ever known had just one eye. Yep, just one eye and a black patch. (I may be wrong about this.) There are cave creatures, salamanders and roaches and fish, that have no eyes at all, and live in total darkness; evolution has done away with their eyes. Why would they need eyes if there is no light, not even that spectacular light from the sun in fluorescent (which means "shining through") ribbons between clouds on stormy days? There are other eyes too, on potatoes, certain fabrics, needles (Each needle has one; there are no two-eyed needles that I know of.). Personally, I have two eyes, both blue, which see correctly only with assistance. I often wish I had the third eye in the center of my forehead, the one that symbolizes a state of enlightenment, clairvoyance, out-of-body experiences. However, I'm almost certain I won't have one in this existence. Perhaps I will in the next, assuming I'm not reincarnated as a snake or, even worse, a dung beetle. But then, I've been decent and reasonable most of this life, so maybe I will have that third eye the next time around. It's worth thinking about.
The broken road to heaven The broken road in need of maintenance through which we have traveled, mute and solemn to our delight was alight with millions of glow bugs; evening was another leaf fallen when I whisper to my friend Richard, "Is it heaven? Have we arrived at last?" he smiled, "we are yet to reach my home." =© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar
REALITIES ? I feel like an image in a Salvador Dali, painting. Dripping off the edges of a surrealistic reality. The Dream, - She has left me behind - a nightmare. My spirit in an altered state of reality. Reality melting all around, within me. My life's clock ticking away, running out of time. I find myself among those wretched Souls, Screaming Souls, huddled together in mass misery Clawing, reaching up in a desperate attempt to escape The hell fires of Dante's Inferno. Hands of my clock, limp, impotent, melting. Time runs off their tips like tear drops, Into the dark depths of eternal Dreams. Dreams, that have her own realities. Reality has no Dream, for me. B. J. "A" 2 October 10th 2010
ringing ears and dead brain helpless, shattered, nirvana living in denial shallow empty & void past paused since ages ago stranded alone... never to let go dissolve dissect disinfect reality reason & retrospect despair in vogue ticking time standing still future ahead but miles to go just got there but have to let go bunnies scampering in the rabbit hole Alice refuses to go on a roll Rapunzel got no hair to let down Cinderella's left without an evening gown future paused & present was a while ago escaped in the darkness never intended to let go
Lost? Found. Never has life's cruel temper dealt its deceiving hand as this day Lost-found in a place, living know not. Kinship friendship - words, verbiage to describe mortal bonds While those of the soul grasp bonds endless and dimensionless Youth is but a stage of dying Time cruel to its very essence. Time blows through us all as our sight through glass Its dark fingers paint our walls and carry us to our HOLMES Its cruelty is its existence. Defining agony, depriving experience Youth felt emotion lost through existence Found youth soul existence beyond comprehension Youth to us all? Youth has been lost but found where else But where time confronts us all.
You left my brother Came back a man Should hear our proud father Speak of you How you've done him And momma proud Sister Jane and Katherine Down the block Never seem to have anything But you to talk about Oh if you only knew the loving All the girls around here Say you've missed It's a good bet You'd never have left But leave you did Nothing can change that now In a way it's good to know Exactly where you are We need never again worry If that old truck of yours broke down Leaving you to walk home in the rain It's a good thing really Now we can all get some sleep Granted, not as much as you But we will in our due time Just want you to know These tags of yours Will never leave my neck You, will never leave my heart For no matter why you left Or how you came back You still are And will always be My brother
Deep the pond sweet the water, Tranquilly placid nestled in safe abode, Nourished by tears of yester-years. Vast the spaces of times immemorial, Condensed to serve in segmented places, Striving and continually seeking the birthing waters of the placid pool. Vain the vanities of immortal entities, Chasing shadows in spiraling obscurities floundering, for a way to find.
Hmm, a photograph Two quarters and a dime A half written note A set of tags A few keys and credit cards Driver's license and I.D. Surprising what fits In an ole shoebox A few clothes thrown together Some well pressed An old pair of sneakers And well polished shoes A mind full of memories A room full of emptiness No doubt the room Will be filled again The box handed over And the memories lived I'd just rather not Be holding these tags Through the silenced laughter Echoes the days we knew How with hair on fire How high we flew Larger than life Now within my hands In what I hold So much more is told Than a few items in a box For what lies within Is a life well lived Cut much too short For a greater cause So surprising it is What fits in an ole shoebox I'd just rather not Be holding these tags And damn my friend I so want you back
Not really a poem, but the truth of my being. To the Public WLM Wildncrazy555 June 28, 2011 When I write the words just flow. I get an inspiration or a thought and have to write it down. Why, I do not know. They just flow and all follow a story. I write my innermost thoughts with the deepest passion imaginable and all are TRUE life experiences which have occurred in my life. I am diagnosed Severe Bipolar Disorder and disabled and draw SSDI. I no longer have to work from over 40 yrs in Maintenance and 2 degrees in Electronics and Electrical maintenance. I do draw disability now for over 2 yrs time and depression is a daily bout which I face every day, but try to be positive. The medicine I take is for my head and helps with mood swings and depression. As to date, I cannot read many of my works as I Bawl like a baby at most of them. I remember when and how I felt when I wrote them. But all of them follow a story to the end. I cannot recite a single one because once written they are gone, otherwise they eat my Brain. I am crying now as I write this and divulge my deepest thoughts and experiences of my life. I feel better now that it is gone from my head folks. When a situation arises, I just know which ones will deserve recognition to be told. I suffer from arthritis on my left side, my hands hurt all the time, and I practice herbal medicine for the pain. I create my own remedies from my herbologist named Daryl Collins here in Okmulgee, he gives me the herbs and I am the guinea pig first and foremost for the experience. Anyone else who suffers from this can contact me at firstname.lastname@example.com. I am willing to tell you the recipe for my Creations. I hope all appreciate this testimony of mine. All I say is true to fact. William Lewis Moore June 28, 2011
The north wind blows cold, and the snows fold over like blankets in the closet. Spirals spin in acrimonious dances, prancing madly at unheard music. The tune is soon gone and, as the sun rises, it trips, breaking dawn. Sweeping pieces of the fractured day, this display of frozen water glistens brightly, and dims nightly. The wrong song is sung, again, but rightly. In the East I wonder what magic holds sway, what words they say to welcome strangers into their folded blankets. Time is chemistry and physics, spanning consciousness, but slips away like fishes. Delicious moments linger in memory, gone but not forgotten, the sweetness tastes a little rotten, I'm afraid. Tears do not forestall the thunder that always comes behind the light. I do not fight to see, or hear, or know, but slowly come to understand that which is no more. This floor supports my tired feet, becomes a bed for back and head, and now I must depart. I'm dead, I think, but still I write, this word, and this one will not stop. The cold, again, is coming now; it burns my bones to ash, until no trace remains. Will she see my face in snow drifts, bed sheets, and shoe laces? I long for lingering embraces but arms slip through me, ghostly, and listen to my beating heart. Will this missive find kind eyes to see its meaning, to see its lies, to see its preening self-adulation? Will it speak to a soul that listens? I hope so.
You have fought for your country You have heard the calls of death And felt the loss of blood And now, no one hears or cares About the tears you cry You fought a fools war Inspired by heroic deeds Majestic words of honor and fame From people who never knew your name Many were those who fled And endured behind their protest signs But you, you fought the war Lost your limbs and gained insight into reality It was you who came back less than human And now you stand alone at night Lost and forgotten men Tell me, tell me who needs you now Where are the people Who gave you hell Where are the people Who cried to bring you home Who marched for your life While you marched to your death Where are the people Who loved you when it was the thing to do And fought for your cause While you wondered what it was As you watched your buddies fade away Heroes and medals Tell me, what does it all mean Now that you stand alone at night Lost and forgotten men And tell me, tell me, who needs you now Now that our memory fades Of those who served and the reasons why All we seem to do Is stand aside and watch them die And tell me Brothers Who needs you now?
What do you think it will take For people to see eye to eye Funny how we all seek the same thing Yet somehow never agree Funny how we never hear But expect to be understood Sad how we react to words Without ever knowing their why How we choose to ignore The hurt and fear In another's eyes While covering up our own Each struggling to outdo the other All the while striving Reaching for the very same thing Ignoring the way we're living We prevent the light from being seen When the wind blows It touches us all the same Just like when it rains Sunlight touches no one more There is no discrimination With heart and hunger pains A man once tried to imagine And for a moment The world sang along But soon words were forgotten Lost in each other's pride Funny how that works When we each try to hide Bury the question deep inside Until in a quiet moment all alone Feelings rise again And quietly we whisper What do you think it will take my friend For people To see eye to eye
I awake beneath the sink of sky, the patter of raindrops collapsing against the breezeway of acrid dreams. The light of the refrigerator blinks against torrid eyes, shining impetuously on the last can of Taurine's gestation. I grab hold of clarity's false promises, and crack open a ripened sip of morning, walk outside to light its poison. Cold and fluid; the taste of inclement happiness seeks the buds of my repose. Tempting my lips to kiss the heart of fearless and youthful posture, as I pop the cherry of relevance with the ever throbbing hands of mortality. Bones shiver beneath tepid flesh, as the Earth soaks its tears into its own bosom, waiting for my blood to finally follow suit and go home. Not today; Today I ponder with nature. Today we spin the yarn of metaphysical riddles in valid unison because I seek, and it begs to be found. For now, we have an understanding. I am the fragile burden of this world; stardust molded into a wicked grin, born not to become a supernova, but to bleed slowly and suffer so that.... Well, I haven't figured that part out yet... For now, I'll just inhale this existence, one sun fall and rise at a time, and hope I can remember what it means to live, when I do finally, go home. -James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
You mustn't show weakness and you've got to have a certain shade about you. But sometimes I feel like the thin led of a mechanical pencil that breaks when sitting, writing a letter to the one you love Rather than just another love letter. You mustn't show weakness and you've got to make a list. While sitting, think of all the things you can load in a car without any people. This is the way things stand now: If I pull out the stopper after pampering myself in the bath, I'm afraid that all of the city, and with it the whole world, will drain out into the huge darkness. I'm stranded on some ocean-locked island No strength to swim yet, so I must work and build muscle. In the daytime I lay traps for my memories and at night I wait while sitting in the Hawaiian palm trees of my sheets, turning curse into blessing and blessing into curse. And don't ever show weakness. Sometimes I come crashing down inside myself without anyone noticing. I'm like an ambulance on two legs, hauling the patient sitting inside me to the emergency room with the wailing of cry of a siren, and people think it's ordinary speech.
I've been made. Not the way most people are made, with either a fateful mistake or long-lived intent. I was not born the way people are born, or grown the way they were grown. I am not real. This needs saying. You have to understand that this is my reason. I am not a creature of habit, or education, or coincidence. I am one of design. They did not make in a factory or on an assembly line, but that doesn't matter. I am no more real than your average toaster. I have thoughts. I have words. I have actions. None of them are mine. I was made this way. I was made to think how I think, and do what I do, and see how I see. I do not think they meant me to know. I was not meant to see beyond the veil, to see the strings being pulled. But even so, I hate who I was meant to hate and love who I was meant to love, and only sometimes do I confuse the two. I love my maker and hate my maker. I thank the one who gave me life and curse them for it. It is something strange to live a paradox.
So, there you are Returned from fighting another mans war Heard you're quite the hero Good for you my friend Twenty years young Couldn't wait To kick some terrorist ass And so you did So very well indeed I hear Now you're back Nothing more to kick What are you to do with yourself Lying there as you are Look at all of us here To welcome you back Can you not hear the joy Can you not see the happiness Or is it all hidden behind the tears So here you are returned In a flawless uniform Lying there all smug and confident With a peaceful look Here you are returned Fresh off the plane In a nice tight package Here you are returned To never leave again Good to have you back my friend Only wish it could have been Without the box
Men and the way we choose To live our lives With honor and deeds Or mistrust and lies Do we surround ourselves with truth Build a foundation with roots Or claim the mantra With our misdeeds It's only us we hurt Do we believe When we walk in another's eye We'd best watch where we step Or merely tread Where only we can see Out there lie Many choices, many paths We can plant good seed Or live within our greed We can walk through mud And shed our blood To lend a helping hand Or we can walk around Ignore the cries of what's right Shut our ears to the wrong Make the claim We stand on hallowed ground But when it ends And all comes down All men choose Where they stand It's a choice we make Of our own Dependent on The heart within What it bleeds out When it comes face to face With choices made Along the path We choose to walk
Why all the hustle and bustle and dashing through the snow? Why bother writing greeting cards or kiss under a mistletoe? Why chop down a pine tree and dress it with tinsel and lights? What is the purpose of gift giving, or days that are merry and bright? Unless we keep Jesus in Christmas, it isn't Christmas at all. Unless we celebrate The Virgin Birth, nothing has meaning or worth! Christmas isn't the Holly and Ivy, little toy trains or Santa Kissing Mommy. Christmas isn't packages tied with string, a red nosed reindeer, or listening to sleigh bells ring. Christmas isn't baking pies, turkey, and ham, or lying awake till midnight, to see a jolly ol' man. Unless we keep Jesus in Christmas, it isn't Christmas at all. Unless we celebrate The Virgin Birth, nothing has meaning or worth? No nothing has meaning worth! Milton L. Delgado December 26, 2006
Here you are on the verge Of your very first road trip All grown up Ready to set the world on fire So much excitement Running through your veins Ready to discover a whole new world Even when it rains There's no need to wish you luck Look at the person you've become There's no doubt You're ready to leave home Make the world your own Look at me with so much pride So much evidence in who you are That I've raised you well How you became who you are Living with a fool like me Only proves There is a God There's no doubt that you're prepared To face whatever life throws your way As I'm left standing here Savoring one last kiss and hug Watching you drive away I suddenly realize In my haste to prepare you well There's one thing I forgot One thing I left so unprepared That has no idea what to do Watching as you drive off To a brand new life… Me
Years ago, I would have acted differently. Full of emotion, of energy, of life. But now I hold back. I avoid that which may hurt me. The old saying "It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all," is a truth I suppress into the inner confines of my heart. For I'm nearly a grown man and the man I want to be is cold and emotionless. Is it the fear of loss that drives this ambition? A fear of commitment? No. It is the embarrassment of being different. The cold world around me dresses in red and I once dressed in green. Curious glances at my nature stung like a thousand bees. So I hide my true color under a false red jacket. I zip it up so securely that my difference, though concealed underneath, is but a memory of the courage, the embarrassment, I once dared to show. For I'm nearly a grown man and the man I want to be is a coward.
America fostered a generation of people that cared, Time has passed, and suddenly, They are no longer here, The next generation is dangling on a string, because no one truly cares about anything, They take civil rights for granted, Freedom of speech gets no respect, The young generation abhors conflict, even when the Constitution is in jeopardy, They are still relying on the past efforts of Freedom Fighters to set them free........, One morning minorities will awake and find a fate worst than Haiti's earthquake, They will find their "say" has been taken away, Then they will wonder if the "old timers" took a Holiday, The progress only continues unless the youth stay on task, If not......., History will repeat itself, and Freedoms won't last, The dream will die and minorities will find themselves succumbing because they all need help.
Imagination can take us anywhere, especially when we open our minds to infinite possibilities, The world magically unfolds, revealing secrets that have never been told, In the land of imagination our souls can make great strides, excelling to great heights, There isn't any judgment, criticism or disdain, We are free to soar above earthly degradations and pain.......
You, you were there for me You, you showed what life could be Though time was short Words were wise The love ran deep And you were there for me You played like a child When the time was right Knew when to cuddle And give some space Your eyes spoke in ways Words never could If I needed help I knew you always would And you, you were there for me You, you showed what life could be You never questioned why Yet always answered well Had a way of making me tell Getting me to face What I tried to hide You always knew What I felt inside Though it's harder now I know you still do Though you had to go And wherever you are Time will never erase That you, you were there for me The love ran deep Words were wise And you, you were there for me
Here's the thing Doesn't matter what you say Or where you are We both know what was felt Though we'll never again add to We both know what was done What was shared What we'll miss Though ones will fade We'll both have memories Of what we did Even if they come and go When they reappear For a time we'll both know During the times One's just a shell The other's strength Will pull us through When one seems so far away The other will stay To bring them back As long as one has breath We'll not let the other down And if the breath Is not together lost The other will not say goodbye But be along soon So here's the thing That no matter what tomorrow brings Though what it is We cannot know Somewhere hidden there within Our love will always show
It's been a while since you were announced It's nearly time for you to arrive I'm about to see you enter into life A life I helped to create The time I've known about you Seems to have passed too quickly And now before I've realized it You're about to be born For it's almost time It's almost time to meet you To teach you what little I know And to learn far more from you Than you'll ever know Where have these last months gone I haven't had time to learn The many things I should I haven't had time to forget about myself For the sake of someone else My God, it's almost time To let go of these feelings I haven't yet understood To be flooded with new ones When I first see your face It's so strange and new To love someone so much That I haven't even met I can't say how your touch is going to feel Or how you will change my life I only know it's almost time It's almost time to try NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father's Love Letters To listen to the CD please visit http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill
Mr. Copperhead went to the copper mines to see what fortunes he could find Pick and shovel followed close behind On a burrow named Ole Bleu Mr. Copperhead was boon-town sick He struck so much ore Even pranced around like he was city slick Though Ole Bleu toted the pick and shovel And now the sacks of ore too With all the excitement Mr. Copperhead had forgot As he should not To give Good Ole Bleu the Lil Sugar that He had promised once they got back into town Instead he slithered into the nearest saloon Asked Saray Jane to play him a tune She was obliging to do so of course When out came Lil Sugar to sing a little tune Sweet as can be she looked round the room For Ole Bleu Who was no where's to see Upon finishing the chord Mr. Copperhead was trashed Said he would finish all that he'd started After taking a nap Well Ole Bleu didn't take to kindly to that In fact that Ole Burrow knew a trick or two of his own He made sure Ole Mr. Copperhead was asleep Then down to the minters he did creep Made a lot of cents or so they say Got gussied up for his Lil Sugar They drank carrot juice and ate bales of hay Mr. Copperhead awoke after three days to learn That Ole Bleu had made the mint and laid claims On the ore mines leaving him to hiss in a fit As he slithered out of town Thinking that if he had only given Ole Bleu the Sugar He had promised he'd still have his ore Mean while Ole Bleu and His lil Filly Sugar Were down at the livery getting ready to be hitched Seeing as now they were filthy rich As Mr. Copperhead slithered Down to a town called old dusty ditch Copyright Adell1 © 2006
Used to drive by in my car Shake my head, look the other way Used to think get a job And get off the street And now, it's a place I may soon be Used to walk on by Or cross to the other side Thinking they had no pride Now it's a place I may soon be Heard all the stories Of rich men falling Being lost and forgotten Now it's a place I may soon be Used to scoff at their college education The thought they ever had a mansion Business suits and cars Now it's a place I may soon be I'm not there yet But I can see it near I see those storm clouds Searching for me I can see my efforts Being for naught And soon being caught I can see losing the choice Of what to keep Being in far too deep And looking through the car window From the other side Funny how perspective changes Depending on where you stand How quickly you begin to understand When it's a place You may soon be
I lived this life my own way. What else is left to say? Now it's Judgement Day! I misused this life He made. It's time for God's fist to raise! Was it worth the price paid? Is the day of recompense truly here? Or is this just a horrible nightmare? No, it's really happening I fear. Everyone hysterical and unstrung. The wrath of God has begun... payback for sinful things done. The sky is beginning to shake. I hear the sounds of a mighty earthquake. God's Blue Prints are taking shape... roaring thunder like crashing ocean waves... people scattering fleeing into caves. Oh My God! Is it too late to be saved? Milton L. Delgado March 5, 2008
In my youth I came to you For love and warmth When I needed words That were strong and wise I came to you Now here I stand Facing your door one more time Oh how I need your strength To walk on through There's the couch Where you watched TV The kitchen's still in place Where you used to cook The rocker's still on the deck Where you'd just sit and look The pillow still has your imprint Where you used to sleep There's your clothes all lined up Waiting for you to give them grace Look at the pictures lining the hall With your smiling face I remember how I came to you With news of my wife and kids And how you used to smile Now I'm walking in this place That has your feel But not your smiling face Oh dear God How I need your strength Who will I come to now Now that you are gone I don't know how But wherever you are I'll still come to you In my time of need Oh dear God, I'll never forget How when I needed strength and wisdom You were always there And how I came to you
Always surrounded by people Yet I always feel so lonely The lady let escape From her lips As the feeling poured From eyes so beautiful They always draw a crowd So many people talking As she screams out loud No one can hear For none will listen There only for the laughter And to share her touch To drink in what they see Not to look inside All the fun of the moment Tends to fade when days grow long When all you need is a place to hide But truth reveals no arms to hold Just boasts with new stories told So she tries to ignore How alone she is Hoping no one sees What she really feels Yet in all the photographs to attract I see in each one exposed The lonely hurt of a girl Hoping someone will seek to look Beyond what a picture shows To discover what Her true heart knows And not seek to boast But give her arms In which to hide
I met Jesus yesterday Didn't recognize His face There was no long hair or beard Just a woman who said Looks like you could use a helping hand I met Jesus yesterday Didn't know who He was There were no miracles of wine Just an old man Who shared his time I met Jesus yesterday Could have sworn I was all alone No crowds were gathered there Just a child who seemed to care Offered up his bike So I wouldn't have to walk alone I met Jesus yesterday Never even said a prayer There were no wounds on his hands Just the scars of many years Written all across his face As the broken man gave me hope I met Jesus yesterday With no sermons on the mount You were the only one I saw As you gave your love to me Promised there you'd always be I keep meeting Jesus Though I never see His face It's hard to understand How this Man I never see Keeps showing up Wherever there is love A helping hand, shared time An offer not to walk alone A caring heart Or whatever I may need It just seems I always say.... I met Jesus yesterday
Blue-gray foggy mist hanging over the lake like an ethereal blanket obscuring the surface of the water and making the scene look like an artist's water color or perhaps pastels, the chalk blended lightly with a finger tip, the far shore barely visible from where I sit, ancient trees rising like giants, silent sentinels, defiant, too early for the usual chatter of the birds, they still sleep, undisturbed, only one awake is me and the occasional turtle coming up to breathe, gently disturbing the placid lake surface as evidenced by a single ring, its purpose to slowly expand and dissipate noiselessly, as the orange sun has begun to peek over the horizon and that magical time is gone, those few moments between the darkness of night and the harsh light of dawn, that gray soft interlude before reality intrudes, when it seems the whole world sleeps...and the stillness and the silence is overwhelming.
Believe in the magick in the power of each thought. For you are like a lovely flower, growing in a pot. You can do it, whatever goals you have ever sought and you can grow your roots and widen yourself to a great big plot. And don't let yourself be put on the spot. And whatever effort goes out is the same as you have brought. Takes time sometimes, don't get distraught. It'll be turned toward you every deed or need you've ever bought. Smile,you'll be happier, that's what I've learned and I've taught.
Come to me with the Shadows of Doves and spilt papers. The sharp dampness of well acquainted sheets, Swells, Like God puffing Life and kisses up from the End of the Bed. This room is crowded in Vanished Smiles. I Want them Back. I Want the sight of your Teeth biting down into your Wrists, To be There Forever. I Want The Sounds that you Never imagined Would involuntarily Slip out of your Lips, To Be memorized by these Walls And Repeated to me. Over. And over. … Death is in the Folding of Sheets. … The Idea that Happiness Is Simply the Prayer that Tomorrow Never Comes. … I Don't Want to Accept That. But… Tomorrows been coming just the Same. … Where is my Measureless Night? Time… cruel efficiency, Written out in Ashes…. How much of the darkness of my Soul, I Would Give, To have you Back. You had eyes That no one could look at without Dying. But this After… Has become a Never-After, And somehow Life has stopped coming with the Breeze… Now… there are no freshly Cut Lawns… no sky above… No Green. No Blue. Just You. And You. And You… Into the Shelter of the Months I fly. I Wanted the Impossible… And Somehow… everything… has become It. Even Breathing, now, Lifting my Voice to Speak, All of it, Is beyond Me. You are out Of Reach And Apparently So is Life. From substance to substance, water to water, Love to Love, I Died into You. And as much as I'd like to regret It. I Can't. That Is why You are Endless, So Please… Gather me up As If you Were. -thend-
There's a thing about disaster Makes us act as we should All working together Differences aside Something about when tragedy strikes We all pull together Thousands become one Funny how hate fades away And love doesn't hide Hands are reached And arms are held Pasts are forgotten Futures are gleaned Comforts are given And for such a short time We go on freely living Suppose the trick is When all is repaired Not forgetting the short time As one we all cared Take it back to our daily lives Carry on with the trust We all found a must To make it through Tragedies and disasters That came calling on us Oh if only our day to day Were looked upon As tragedy and disaster So that hand in hand And back to back We put differences aside And love didn't feel Like it had to hide Until tragedies and disaster Come calling on us
Really? Hmmm, So what you're saying Is covering up truth With well intentioned Though misguided facts Changes a lie from what it is Hmmm, By slapping goodwill On the face of deception Adding guilt to questions asked Throwing in things seemingly good That we all should do Changes a lie from what it is Hmmm, So by disregarding the truth Saying it's the spirit that counts Makes following and joining the lie An accepted worldwide truth Hmmm, By adding a name who often spoke Of the origin of lies We find changing His words Acceptable in our eyes For after all, we do so for Him Hmmm, Interesting… Wonder what He himself Would say and think Of how we rationalize Changing a lie from what it is
The infinity of time is still irrevocably established with irreversible successions; the extremities of which, in its vast expanse of continuum, are yet to be discovered nor explained by geniuses and their mathematical equations. And man still wishes to resolve this enigma with intentions of abating the cessation of the pulsation of the heart, the respiring of air, and the cerebration of the mind. But sometimes, blinded by over-enthusiasm, Man fails to see that what cannot in cherry or mahogany be confined are deeds and companionship in memories bound; which, in fact, despite inherent biodegradability, become man's means to immortality.
Look at the flood Where waters run deep Look at the lost faith So hard to keep Death and destruction And everything gone No words are needed Just listen and watch And decide what to do Just listen and watch And decide what to do Colors become blind When we're all of one mind Waters wash away riches And unite the poor Business suits and cut offs Take water the same When we're up to our necks We're all of one name So hand in hand we embrace To make a stand Working together to strive To clear out the damage Turn back the waters And once again live Flood waters run deep No words are needed Just listen and watch And decide what to do There's a simple strength here That won't be defeated It's one that's united In me and in you So as I take your hand Here is mine Together we'll decide Just what to do While making our stand No words are needed Just listen and watch And decide what to do
The truth The truth is an illusion An illusion which we try to interpret To interpret and to individualise To individualise into our own lies when we don't like it.
Greater 'Minds' Than Mine; Have left the 'Earth' and walked away. Einstein as a troubled child, lobotomized, mixed socks and locked away. Hubble and his visions eye'd, are seen across the sky. D.N.A...must free more how... When freedom lies barred now. Worlds within a world within a world, his world one waits. Within our dreams. We do not wast our time on germs, untill they show us how. Is It Poetry
Tonight, oh what a night it was Nearly five hours spent At a fast food restaurant Laughing and talking our way through life Who else but you and I Could get kicked out For shutting down Arby's So folks could go home We spoke of life Of love lost and found Of sex and dreams The devil and Holy Ghost We talked of beliefs Work and foolish friends Of places to travel And goofy things we've done We spoke of fantasies And how people are Of puppies, kittens and relatives Of future goals and lost hopes Integrity and the things people think about We asked why people Are the way they are Remembered childhood moments and scary movies Came to know each other Just a little bit better Laughed at our life While we joked about Shutting down Arby's Such a unique distinction To have done such a thing But then again It was time well spent Between a father and daughter And all I can say For letting it be so Is thank you God NOTE*** May all father's have such a day. Happy Father's Day
my knowledge on the impact of radiation is quite limited but I do wonder if radiation would be in a brand new car that was produced in Japan after the earthquake and the tsunami if the water has radiation, would the paint on the car be safe? do we realize that dangerous radiation impacts the whole world? do we realize air, water and nature will not be safe for mankind? sadly, inventions without preparations for disasters proceed and mankind welcome each with great expectations to increase comfort until the next time a tradgedy occurs, and many lives are lost
Last night we went to see a friend Who has a little baby girl And it makes me love you even more The warmth, the smile in your eyes The love dancing across your face Makes me dream of the day When that friend will come to see You and me And the little baby girl We will make together NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father's Love Letters To listen to the CD please visit http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill
My oh my Where has the time gone It seems like only yesterday I was told you were mine And now here you are Already nine This birthday I have to miss But it makes me remember And say thank you God For having this little girl to kiss To hug and snuggle And watch as she grows From the little babe I once held in my hands To the girl I now hold in my arms One day soon You'll become a woman Leaving me with all these memories Of how special it is, and how lucky I am To be able To watch you grow NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father's Love Letters To listen to the CD please visit http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill
Land of Graves A land of graves makes for quiet neighbors. He who blessed or cursed extant thereupon remains Shall suffer little disturbance at the will of his resting countrymen. The deep silence of an irrevocable sleep pervades his surrounds. His own sleep mimics that of his departed brethren But that kin to living rest is a far colder, everlasting condition. Lest it be by the appearance of some revenant, His nights will be those of uninterrupted stillness. The surface of this vast earthen sarcophagus is adorned with faltering monuments- The souls of their corresponding constituency have long-since dispersed in nihilum- Leaving playing children and Springtime Sunday-afternoon-passersby To speculate on their origins and exits, lives and times. But make no mistake this is not a wholly moribund environment. There is life in this soil yet. There is an irrepressible profusion reclaiming This tomb from its own looming finality. The tomb is rendered womb by its power. The tomb-womb is green. It is a garden, a park, a yard and an arboretum. It is a charnel conservatory of the deceased, yes, but this sepulchered meadow Exists as much if not more for those with air in their lungs and blood In their veins as it does for those buried beneath its grassy lawns. Though in little more than a generation even the freshest entries into its Assembly will receive only sparing or incidental visitation. The ancestry hobbyist and the armchair genealogist will pay their homage. The digger of graves and the mower of lawns will be more frequent still. Is maintenance in the face of inevitability an exercise in courage or folly? Perhaps it is just necessary for life to go on.
They say that in life Each day brings things to be newly learned Today at age thirty, I found that to be true From none other than you Though you're just past four I'd just finished yelling Over some silly wrong I perceived you had done And like adults so many times do I only saw it from my point of view After I left the room I heard you crying When I returned, I found you in the corner On the floor sobbing When I asked what was wrong You said I really didn't want to know When I convinced you I did Boy, you really let me have it You said I didn't need to yell That you could understand I didn't have to scare you That you had feelings too That there are some things you didn't know Cause after all you were only four It was then I realized, that yes You are a person too And things don't always look the same From your point of view And that as we go through life, you just like I Have feelings, thoughts, things you don't understand And so much each day to be newly learned NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father's Love Letters To listen to the CD please visit http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill
Is this how my TV feels every time it shows a screen full of static? Out of sorts, unable to comprehend the signals coming in; or maybe the lack of it? Does it feel frustrated when a supposedly knowing hand yanks out the power cable and fixes it back in, in the hope that a reset would turn the static to fluid pictures? Does it get angered when ignorant hands pick up the remote control and flip from channel to channel, willing it to show something other than static? Does it fume? Does it roll it's eyes when over eager hands 'pat' it not so gently to see if it will make the thing on the screen change? Does it cringe at their touch? Does it feel pain when the pats are rough or hard? Does it smile when a sensitive user picks up the remote control and thinks to tune and search for the right signal? Does it rejoice when the black and white dancing dots give way to a shaky picture? To the beginning of something clear? Does its heart fall in disappointment when the picture is still shaky, dancing from the bottom to the top of the screen with multiple lines running through and the user stops tuning and leaves? Is it able to trust when finally a user with the patience to follow through comes along and tunes until the picture is clear and the audio is right too? I wonder if these are the things my TV feels when all there is is static, and if it is then I guess I'm not much different from my TV. p.s check out my blog for more stuff from me :) www.jaymarensworld.wordpress.com
when the river turns to ice her touch lies frozen solid cold forbidden calculations how to stay restricted access hard on thoughts of summer wanderings invitations buried under sad emotions slow the inches of a weary crossing silent in response a sudden crack that slithers piercing the sound of fear beneath my feet silent is the answer shall I wait or shall I walk so tender will the split in trust wide open try still not one reply to die in vain for smiling crying over what was once so sweet running water over babbling beds of rock enthusiasm of a younger stream flying now confined defiant in a stubborn season residue of rusting propositions silent is my call
I find it funny how we each blame Another for our woes Don't quite understand How it can be everybody's fault And nobody's blame How can anybody be right If everybody's wrong If it weren't for George If it wasn't for Bill If it weren't for Ron And what the hell Was Jimmy about We should've listened to Ted And forgot about Dick Now today we hear it's them to blame Countered with It's their own damn fault We hear so many promises made Yet so few are kept We see executives paid For jobs well done That were never done at all While those around them fall And yet, nobody's to blame But the other guy Just how was it And when did it come to pass That mirrors looked into Quit reflecting back what is there To those looking in When was it common sense left And a man looking himself in the eye No longer mattered Just so long As standing near by Was someone else to blame
Be still you moaning soul and heart refrain from vexing the souls domain with anxious thoughts and wish wash emotions Soul and heart both so sync wish not for the past where regretful actions and longings dwell wish not for the future and what it holds to ordain stay not in the present for lost both shall be Be ruled by the mind which neither feels nor expresses Mind over matter no more wish wash matter floating in two worlds no home to gather
A sound of orient - He looks like a fragranced oasis in this city; a lean, yet muscular man in a dhoti, sweaty; playing flute, a plateful of bland food in front of him, his humble surrounding, the hut. A village man, who has once come in chasing dream, is now a part of this city, a part of speed, all except his flute and customary dhoti. The dizzy sound travels up, to the fifth floor terrace, to the sad man and sadder woman, to the sadists, to the dying and to the dead. It climbs up like veins. His is a life, with its own brands of pain and love, not demanding, the way sometimes this city extracts. The days and nights extract a man. He hauls out others or vise versa. A sound disappears in sleep, becomes a village in the vale, where dreams move like sheep. ~© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar.
In 2008, we hope for world peace and wars to cease. We will take hold of possibilities and cast away the impossibilities. Embrace a new future to learn and nurture. Remember new friends we have made along the way and keep ever-close old friends to heart. Let us never forget the losses we suffered as individuals or as nations. Encouraging those whom serve us protecting our freedom. Let our words mimic our actions Let us speak uplifting and Inspiring word verses. Let the thoughts of the poets be engraved in the inspiration we set forth let us help carve new truths for all. In 2008 a Year of new beginnings. Have a Happy New Years Soupers and thank you for allowing me to become a part of this community in 2007.
Gender prejudice is a hoot, Who gives another the right to determine femininity or masculinity? Haven't they ever heard of men who act very feminine, Yet, they are not gay, Metrosexuals, that's just their way, Then, there are women who relish being Tom-Boys, because the thrill of kicking aces brings them joy, They can beat the old boys' network at their own games, doing it effectively and without shame, However, closed minds feel better off trying to ostracize, because an Amazon woman can cut anyone down to size.....
Hate to say it But I've got to admit Sometimes I look around And I just don't get it Don't know where it was or when But somewhere down the road We seem to have lost our way Used to be Father's stood firm Right alongside Mother's To keep families strong Didn't seem to be as many questions About what was right or wrong Used to be when a man Looked in the mirror He looked there straight Just like he spoke Now there seems to be A lot more mirrors filled with smoke Don't know, maybe it's just The small town in me But I just can't see This new enlightenment People throw about In my backwoods way It just seems like throwing out right So they can do no wrong They say the last forty years Have brought us so far True or not One thing can't be denied Lost somewhere in those forty years Were the hard fought values And lessons learned Of nearly two hundred years
What are you doing running all over town, making plans and rushing around? You're always watching your weight, cutting down on fat. Oh, I need my spirit lifted today, I must buy a new hat. The night is nearly over. A new dawn is about break. Be aware! The Lord is coming! Get ready stay awake! Don't waste another minute. Don't squander precious time. Your salvation is nigh upon you. Death's sting to life sublime. So set your mind on what is coming. All else is going to pass. It's how you served and how you loved, that will forever last. Cause the night is nearly over. A new dawn is about to break. Be aware the Lord is coming! Get ready! Stay Awake! Milton L. Delgado May 12, 2004
I was barely ten years old When I heard the news Couldn't quite comprehend Why Marshall wasn't coming home People said he was the best of them My Uncle Charlie's friend I can remember my Ma and Pop All their friends crying out loud The whole town coming out For a man everybody loved Sent off to a foreign land Never coming home again When Uncle Charlie came home Used to sit on the porch He and his drums playing a song Damning the Viet Cong in Marshall's name Used to look at him through the smoke Watch him shake, the blunt of people's jokes Seemed to have an unquenchable thirst Twenty-two going past a hundred What it was I never understood Turned him into a piece of wood Thirty years gone by Seem to have a different view As I look back on things I never knew I see my Uncle Charlie's friend in a different light No longer just a name As I've watched some of my friends go It's dawned on me why the whole town turned out For Uncle Charlie's friend The smoke has cleared, the thirst is gone Only the echos of drums remain On the porch of a house no longer there My memory knows him as Marshall What's left of the town Speaks of him as the best of them Though they haven't thought of him in years The way and why he died, they haven't forgotten It's only now I comprehend, the pain and grief My Pa's brother and the whole town felt For my Uncle Charlie's, my Uncle Charlie's friend.
LIKE FALLEN LEAVES… I Here in the winter of my long lived life, the leaves of my head now fall to the ground. Destined like leaves of trees gone dead, the winter winds will soon blow my dust around; and like fallen leaves, I'll be done with this world's strife. Oh but when the scythe of time snips my thread, would if I could be like leaves of trees--- who in due season, go happily to their death: leaving their wooded---naked bones with nothing left but the bark of reason guarding their earthy homes through whose lonely arms, the chilly breeze freely roams. Yet, for these trees, another season comes like the mornings' dew; And they shall rise up from winter's purgatory and begin life anew. II And though the sojourn here has had its moments of despair, the flames of love, faith and hope have always been there. So when I'm gone, weep only tears of joy for me; for I know why the empty cross was made of the wood of a tree.
His City Was a Lonely Existence, Governed By Those Clothed in Green. Sitting Amidst The Twilight This Boy Of Blue, Wasted in Solitude, Begged the Sky For Solace. - A Blue Trail Beckoned Him - Comprised of Fog, The Blue Narrowed and Curved its Way Across His Land of Green. It Took Him to The Edge of His World, and Ran On Across The Deep Water. - Blindly He Followed - After Months of Skimming The Surface of the Everclear, In a Small and Battered Wooden Vessel; He Hit Land. His Blue Had Almost Faded, But He Strove On. - The Ground Was Green here - Disheartened, but Never Yielding, He Continued to Follow The Blue Fog Across Barren and Unfamiliar Lands, Until The Orange Hue of Light Pollution Filled the Sky. - The Arrival - The Blue Line Faded into a Town and Disappeared. - His Mind Sank - Roaming The Streets of This New Territory, He Grew Frustrated. The Idea of Chasing Fog Seemed to Run Like Liquid in His Mind. These People of Green Seemed to Mock Him as They Passed. - This Boy of Blue - - Sleeping in a Gutter of The Purest Green - A Hand Sinking like Silk into his Shoulder, Woke Him With A Gentle Grace. She Stood Above Him, Smiling and Fascinated. A Girl of The Deepest, Vastest, Blue. - She Took Him By The Hand - - And Lead Him From The Green -
Wouldn't it be something to see To view the perfect love In every word I write But diamonds they can't all be Wouldn't it be something to see To walk through the rain Hand in hand and not get wet But sunny days don't always happen What if the clouds always opened up Wherever you walked And each step you took Made you forget the last Wouldn't it be something to see If smiles and hugs were always there And in the world There was nothing but care Ah, wouldn't it be something to see You and me living every day Just envisioned our own way Oh my God, if every word I spoke Said it just right We could live so happily With no more foolish pain Yes I agree Wouldn't it be something to see To view the perfect love you see Each time you look in the mirror But darling, it's just me And everybody knows Perfect, I'll never be
Belief, what a strange and silly thing Changing from day to day Blown about on the wind Like the chirping that birds sing Changing like the weather From rain to sun to fear Brought on by the darken clouds Of a coming storm Changing like a beach front With each succeeding tide Like a canyons wall From the rivers flow So many beliefs Seem to come and go Depending on our travels And where we are in life Still it seems from time to time Something needs to stick A core needs to be established Held not within our hand By a fruitless grip But deep within our heart So when it's time to make a stand Our feet and heart hold firm To what we know is right Oh sure this view seems out of date Especially in today's new light But as time has always shown Even in the darkest dark Knowing what you believe Gets you through the night And knowing what you believe in Enables you to stand Instead of falling like a fool
" Never Bored " Written By: Rodney Riggins Dedicated to my sister: Vanessa If I had your life I would never be bored. Some don't have god in their life but has a choice to. Being happy is a part of never being bored once I was happy but that was before I stop believing. Believing that life goes on after heartache and realizing the decision that I make only creates what's ahead. Never being bored is keeping busy and never going backwards in the past which only makes you dizzy. Planning events with your family, and friends my personality is double and forms as twins.(Gemini) Why I'm I bored? maybe I'm stucked in the past living fast life in the future will result me to crash. If I would only love myself and not put no one above i would never be bored but happy and wealthy not in money but in life. What's important is staying healthy trusting and loving god. Believing that lifes too precious to be depressed because the best cure is never being bored just keeping busy. That's why If I had your life I would never be bored.
THE MARCH They came with vicious dogs. They came with clubs and ropes. They came with galloping horses. They came with guns and tear gas. They came with hate and fear. Oh God! They came to kill! But we just kept marching--- Rattling broken chains behind; Arms and hands fastened by bonds of love; Our pride, dignity, and audacious faith before us--- With the glorious cloud of our precious God above us--- We just kept on marching---marching---marching--- Marching up to freedom's land: Glory...Glory...Glory... God! I am so glad I was in that number That just kept on marching on!
Walking into the unlit bathroom, faded light sneaking in from down the hallway; I stare into reflected shadows in the cold mirror. Dark tint of blue glass, frozen feeling like the ghostly eyes of winter in a puddle or pond. Reality seems to give way to fantasy: unstable darkness blurs to beyond the walls, beyond the doorway that separates our worlds. Panic seeps into my brain, dripping into my blood, one droplet at a time like a leaky faucet. Feeling my imaginary foes breathing more life with each wondering thought of mine. I stand in-between an ambivalent fork in the road. But before I let my bathroom become transformed into another world, I hold my breath as I flip the light switch. Quickly my reality flows back to me, realizing the world is once again round and not flat, that I won't fall off of it. http://artcomet.blogspot.com/2010/01/poetry-prose-bathroom-of-fantasy.html
Long ago on rolling hills And endless plains Stood men who fought For a cause beyond common understanding Bound together by integrity They persevered When odds gave no chance Led by a man Whose name was always half whispered They made a vow From that day forth To stand as one For in so doing They found the strength Lost on thousands And won the day Freedom they earned From the blood they sacrificed In defending a land Not all their own Thus were legends made Respect of generations earned Handed down from father to son Mother to daughter For all to hear How strength is found When standing as one Throughout history From the example made Nations have been born To see freedom reign Overcoming such odds That would defeat weaker men All brought forth long ago On rolling hills and endless plains In the lessons taught By men who stood as one and persevered For a cause far beyond Common understanding of mortal men
Has it really been a year gone by Watching the flame of The single candle on your cake you try I think back on the year gone by From hearing it's a girl To holding you in my arms I don't know who's grown more You or I I remember when your eyes first opened Wondering what it was you saw The first time you smiled I was wrapped around your finger A year gone by of late night feedings When I laid you to your mother's breast The times you needed changed The times you needed held The times you simply slept I remember them all through the blur Of the year gone by I remember when you first left your mother's breast When you first tried to touch you knew not what The first time you giggled Your shock when you first rolled over How quickly you learned to crawl and explore So many things you did I remember But my fondest memory of the year gone by Is how I've learned to give love And set aside myself For someone much more special than I Has it really been a year gone by NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father's Love Letters To listen to the CD please visit http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill As the lead single it comes with a music video viewable at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TlWpKk_J2bA
With Gazes Locked, She Pushed Up And Against Me in Passions Flight. I Felt Her Chest Pressing Against Mine and The Beads of Sweat Running Between Us. She Closed her Eyes As We Intertwined. - Sharing My Body With Hers. - The Colour of Faded Blue Burst into a Palette of The Deepest Crimson. Basking Together Beneath The Skylight, Under The Rain and Back Up Into The Twilight, That I Begged For This Moment. - The Intensity Multiplies With Every Second - Her Gasping Turned Frequently to Soft Moaning, My Pupils Dilated and My Life of Simple Colour Singularity Pales Behind Me, As We Soak into The Redness, and Every Second Passes, Strained With Our Passion. - He Feels it in His Legs - - She Feels it in Her Stomach - She Screams as The Euphoria Peaks and Together We Share a Potent Climax Which Coils and Shivers Its Way Intricately Through Every Alcove And Vessel of Our Entities. I Rest My Head on Her Bosom. - Her Eyes Wide With Exhaustion - My Head Lifts With a Heavy Strain, and A Smile Seems to Ease its Way Across My Face. I Fix her Hair Behind Her Right Ear as I Kiss Her Chin, Then Her Forehead, Then Her Lips. She Smiles, and Curls Up Into Me. - Justification of Existence - - I Close My Eyes and Form a Shield Around her. - - I Don't Care if I Ever Wake Up -
MILITARY NAMES Names are chosen to suggest aggression; Anything smacking of peace is for suppression. Soviet subs are Typhoons not Seabreezes. The USAF flies Eagles, not Robins And it's a Tomcat, not a Tabby cat, Real men fly a Hornet not a Butterfly. The British prefer Harrier to Supporter. Native American names can include The Tomahawk but not the Prayer Bead, And the Apache but not the Micmac. No doubt a new aircraft carrier Could be called the Charles Bronson But not called the Oscar Wilde.
Here I stand With no shoulder to cry on Staring into empty space At an unrecognizable face After feeling so much Why do I feel nothing now All I tried to do was laugh and play Tried to love and please Did everything I could So much more than was asked And yet, I failed Now I see you walking away While here I stand With no shoulder to cry on I hear your footsteps and fading voice The screams and the anger still attached What was it I did so wrong To make you feel so much Why do I feel nothing now And can't even reach out to touch I no longer feel my breath I no longer feel my heart I was just a child As I watch you walk away Why do I feel nothing now Why are we both left With no shoulder to cry on NOTE*** Death should never be seen through the eyes of a child as you walk away… Child Abuse… let's stop it! Not tomorrow, not today, but now!!!
"Are you a Warrior?" I was asked in the in the quiet solitude of day And I wondered long into the night What does a Warrior make? If by a Warrior you mean One who always tries to do the right thing Even when doing what is right tears my heart in two One who does the right thing just because it is . . . If by a Warrior you mean Someone who always makes time to listen Who brings you a smile when you least expect it Who laughs with you everyday, today, just like yesterday And cries a flood of tears so yours do not fall alone If by a Warrior you mean One who stands up for those in need Who fights for those who cannot, or will not One who turns the other cheek in the face of rage, hatred and bigotry Walks away when my blood screams out injustice! And a fist is all it seems I have left to choose Because walking away is the right choice . . . If by a Warrior you mean Someone who will always be there for you Always tries to move Heaven and Hell to keep his promises to you Someone whose soul withers and screams when I cannot, have not Supports you when you are wrong because that is when you need it the most If by a Warrior you mean A person of honour, of compassion, faith and humility Someone of strength, trust, of love and respect Someone of ethics and integrity and the will to live buy them The courage to fight for your dreams and . . . and to fight for my own Someone who will always apologise and say I am so, so very sorry I hurt you If by a Warrior you mean all of these things Then all I can say to you it this, just this, only this . . . I do not know if I am a Warrior But I want to be . . .
If I should die tomorrow, I just want you to know Just how deeply you have touched my life And how much you mean to me To have been able to hold you during your first breaths To have been able to watch you As you've grown for these nine years Is the greatest thing I've ever done I was fortunate in my life For I got to see you learn to crawl, to walk, to talk To brush your teeth, even your hair I was there when you first two wheeled I was alive to hear you laugh so many times I was able to hold you when you cried I heard you read and learn to spell As I'd watch you sleep at night I knew I didn't always do things right There's so many things I could've done better I should've thanked God so many more times For blessing me with you I just want you to know I'm proud to be your dad And should a time come that I'm no longer here And you feel like you're alone and need a friend I want you to remember There's no space, time, life or death that can separate us I will always be your dad no matter where I am I will always do my best to help And you must always try to do your best To treat others like you and to be yourself Cause you, just being you Made my life so worth living NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father's Love Letters To listen to the CD please visit http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill
The first time I looked into your eyes I knew my heart was gone The first time I held you in my hands I found new meaning to my life I've known you for three years I've watched you crawl And learn to walk Giggled as you learned to talk And you, you are my life And you, you are all life means to me When I'm, when I'm with you There's no place I'd rather be There's good times yet to come Sure to be a few bad ones in between Only sure thing is I'll be there for you As long as I'm alive No matter what you've said or done You'll have one sure place you can come You'll always have a place That you can call your home And you, you are my life And you, you are all life means to me When I'm, when I'm with you There's no place I'd rather be And you, you are my life And you, you are all life means to me You'll always have a place You can call your home NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father's Love Letters To listen to the CD please visit http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill
Beauty, like most things, is subjective Some people prefer a statue, marble, Crafted at the enervation of the sculptor. Others prefer smoke, thin and intangible, Dancing in plumes to an atonal rhythm. Call me crazy, but I prefer neither. I admire you in your skin in clothes Shorts and a tank-top, as you move So exotically your hips to a drum in time. However I don't find beauty in arousal, Yet in a connection seen in eyes, Held in hands, and know, I find Large amounts of beauty in you I could sit with you and die. As we all do now, sad and alone, yet As soon as proximity is reached Between us, dying becomes more. It becomes the tobacco between The fire at a cigarettes tip, And the filter, that sweet sin That has so enticed you before. However, that's just me, As beauty is subjective.
A time of violence has pounced upon this country, Folks are angry, hungry and craving prosperity, The change they wanted never showed up, Now, many are sad, melancholy and "tore-up", The youth are becoming restless because they believe there is no hope for a promising future, All they hear is Politicians' lectures, The wee ones are becoming infested with feelings of despair, as colicky babies do, They need to know that safety exists everywhere, A country without a plan creates angst and restlessness, Nevertheless, citizens forge ahead with optimism, despite the whispers of skepticism.
I have been born to a red mother shigo red father Underneath a massive cowboy hat Beneath a weeping tree of willow tresses Below the soft eyes of a red sun wilting Submerged is my heart, my soul in red blood And yet . . . I have been born with the gift of a wabayshka voice Carried on into the day by a rolling pen Held tenderly throughout the evening Cupped quietly across the sea of darkened night Hugged tightly inside the morning kiss on my red skin And yet . . . I have been born with cascading mukaday hair Flowing brown eyes shaded with a breath of black Falling lightly across my skin a whisper of browning Subsiding as brightly as yours is my smile that shines Sighing inside with a quiet mind red as the twilight sun And yet . . . I have been born with a mind as white as snow Within this world of yawning full splendid colour Inside the glowed out gaze of Kooc-hum the watchful moon Amid a washing cast I have been swallowed Among a sea of wind hailed across the earth of my kindred kind so red And yet . . . My people still call me mishimin under my red stained tears
In the land Where brave men die Stories are told Where these men lie Of how they fought And what they sought Glory not for themselves But freedom to die As they chose So they did And gave their all So those that follow Might know free will Brave men in troubled times Who lived not to count Rich men's dimes Lived lives full Rather facing death Than to live as slaves Men of honor who drank their fill Feasted on life Till filled with hope Riding into battle already won Free to feel the sun With the wind in their hair Free to choose their day to die Oh to be so free May we always be To always remember the legend Of a man and men Who so believed in integrity and honor In the face of challenge and strife Rode off to face death To put their lives to the test For a greater cause That we might live Forever free
Falling leaves trace ancestral tracks in empty air and their whispers echo secrets, ancient; lost to most mortal ears, suppressed, Stifled as techno-shrieks from MP3 quicksand, cell-mania and industry drums drive them into near oblivion. Soot-browned, crispy hairs fall upon Earths' shoulders; dancing on Fall winds, singing messages loud and clear; we must rest now, hibernate in her womb. "Child, when ice-time comes, her steely cold grip will crush us in our slumber. Gaia, like the phoenix reborn, renews in sleep her life power; pours us into leaf-molds. Once again; death is some mortal illusion, but most never hear our whispers." Listen with your soul, ears never truly hear these whispers. Selective hearing is mankind's' undoing.
Well, you finally did it Though you fussed and fought Kicking nearly every step of the way Once I turned you loose There was no holding you back Watching as you tore through the grass I saw you discover a new found freedom And declare a form of independence I knew right then and there That what had fell into your tiny little grasp Would never be let go I could see in those little eyes Just barely five years old A stronger burning fire Than I've seen in eyes ten times as old It was the first time I knew for sure My little girl would be all right No matter where life's path might lead For in that instant of discovery You did so much more Than learn to ride a bike You tasted what having freedom And independence brings to life NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father's Love Letters To listen to the CD please visit http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill
When a woman first meets a man, He thinks she's the greatest invention since sliced ham, He adores her physical appearance, The way she talks, laughs and giggles, He even savors her fragrance, There is never any talk of space or room to wiggle, Once the relationship becomes consummated, her faults suddenly become illuminated, The idiosyncracies he used to find charming, become uncouth and alarming, He repels her like a magnet, and ignores her as if she were an antiquated kitchen cabinet, After the lust is gone, a woman becomes an unnecessary pawn, The man no longer feels obligated to be respectful, All his negative ways get displayed, He renounces being bashful, The man picks the woman apart, like a bird pecking his food, Then it becomes clear, his intentions were not good from the start, He was just toying with her heart.......
So many times we fail to see Why we're able to live free We take for granted it's the way It's supposed to be Oh but there's millions of reasons why Lying in the bloodied ground We walk the backwoods And open fields of our hometown Never thinking about the price Of our feet walking on the grass and dirt Paid for in blood of the millions Who long ago passed this way Just so on this very day We can walk where we please As free as ever man has been We look around us But mostly see our own gripes We act as though Everything is owed us The world revolves around our needs Only one thing matters Just what we feel We deserve today But buried in the ground We think we own Are the stories told in blood Of why we're able to make our claim And walk as free men Through the backwoods and open fields Of our hometown So take a moment to kiss the ground Thank the millions Who came before us Just so on this very day We can walk Where we please
Oh what times we live in Where even the rich and famous Are reduced to trailer living All those good times When money was freely spent Aren't quite as free As they once were Oh what times we live in Where war, crime and poverty Are the kings that seem to reign Where people devalue themselves In an attempt to find something gained Oh what times we live in Where friend turns against friend So many ways to love Are constantly redefined Where people march the streets Proudly correcting what is right Oh what times we live in Where even Mother Nature Shows her violent wrath The winds of change Seem to be blowing strong All around curiosity builds As we all seek to find Where these winds will blow Running round in circles Jumping on each new thought Raising new questions of answers already bought Oh what times we live in Perhaps it's time we simply Should pay attention to A book written so very long ago That throughout all the many years Has always stood firm In its claim to know
Sometimes being alone Just isn't enough Today I went to see an old friend Who doesn't get around much anymore Been a while since we last spoke Not like the words that flowed Were now easily heard Sometimes the realization That it's been a little too long Comes just a tad too late Makes catching up harder Than it needs to be So you talk and talk Remember all the old times Laugh about what seems silly now Cry about things you didn't know Talk about how the kids have grown Where life took us both Where we thought we'd go Talk about your wedding The days your momma and poppa passed How the words I wrote Helped those days get by Now here I stand in disbelief Wondering how fast time does fly It's kind of you to listen Silently let me ramble on But before you go I must say Though alone we've spent the day As I stand watching You lowered into the ground Sometimes being alone Just isn't enough
Birthdays are important, because they celebrate our existence, The genesis of our lives, It means that we are one year wiser, smarter and better, It is important to celebrate because it means the folks around us truly appreciate that we are here on earth with them, In celebrating birthdays we honor ourselves, for having the ability to share in another's joy, because for one day someone special has the right to feel extremely Important.
I stood amidst a green field of grass Around me the wind breathed . . . softly Above the world a sun watched over me Below, amid a pond scintillating with light My family, my friends swam and laughter sang to us all I stood apart as always I did in the past before this day Yet this time I did not feel apart, nor alone, no more the outsider For I was there swimming and laughing with them, in spirit I was there And from behind me I listened to soft footfalls approaching But I did not turn around instead I awaited his voice For I knew he had come to speak, to learn so I would listen Together we stood watching my family laughing and swimming Until at last he spoke to bring forth the beginning "Hey, you're one of those guys aren't you?" He asked and I felt his frown upon me So I turned to him and withdrew my shades There before me I saw a child standing Who had much to live, much to experience So much to learn and so I smiled A soft smile with gentleness And this I said to him "No, I am not one of those guys, I am one man, nothing more Nothing less, just a man Like you I am a man." His brow creased as he thought about my words And so I put my hand upon his shoulder and I spoke again "Come, let us join them." And together the child and I, the man, walked down to my family And when I arrived my family, my friends, greeted me and said "Hello Patches, come and swim with us, laugh with us." So I did and as I did I felt the child sleep peacefully And I knew, I knew that it was alright For I am just a man, one man Like you
Turtles of the mind Rabbits of love Wolves of the body Scavengers of the soul The sea of feelings Some walk with two legs Some crawl on all fours While others sail the blue sky And we swim in the depths A tidal wave of thoughts Blister the mind A storm of emotions Flash across the soul And the seas part To reveal your passions The hawk, your eyes may well see The branches in the path Travelling to three ends A cheetah can carry you Swiftly down a lonely road Or the owl with its wisdom May search the inner path a And the rabbit shall run For life or death
The Code of Chivalry, Courage, Fortitude, {even at the risk of it going sour} in the final hour. Pour forth the honesty, the complete madness, yet your distant loyalty. To hang on to a faint spark that might yet be ember, stroked thought anew. A little bit of a late night under the starry sky. You search the eyes that once held the great northern stars glow. Though now they show the clouds and shrouds of cover veils, that has dimmed the glow. When you were raring your head and your image striking the forces of the universe. She held emptiness in her arms. Silence were the soft whisper words gone sour. Blinded you to the reflections you drew and once touched. Now nothing more than shadows with no forms. You stroked the sensual images and worldly vignettes of romance. Her arm no longer settled upon yours', honeydew hands none to hold onto. You struck your place the victory shows upon your face. She is the form with no shadow, the glow with no diamante show. She lingered in the pathway of those sensual, vignettes unnoticed as you in your real honesty let go. Raise Fortitude, Courage, Chivalry, Honesty, for somewhere behind loyalty turned sour in this hour as romance stales and all else fails. Do not look for her shadow for she forfeited her form. Do not seek an encore for she does not feel behind the veils in her hearts core.
Did I fall asleep and miss a part of your life You've grown so much, much too fast Was I so involved in day to day life That I simply didn't see you grow Wasn't it yesterday you took your first breaths And I heard the cries of your arrival Wasn't it yesterday you took your first steps And now, now listen to you talk Where have I been, what have I done How could I have missed Seeing how much you've grown Both the year just gone past And your growth, has happened much too fast Listening to you tell of your day gone by Of all your new found friends And all the things you did together And what you plan for tomorrow It's hard to believe you're just past four Seeing the person you've become How well you comprehend the things about you It makes me wonder How much you think I care And if you truly, truly know How much I've missed seeing you grow Seeing you today has made me realize That my struggles against everyday life Hold very little meaning If I don't take the time to look into your eyes For my life, like your growth Goes by, much too fast NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father's Love Letters To listen to the CD please visit http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill
When folks get angry they rant and rave, Some scream epitaphs, others misbehave, The really high strung spew words of self hatred, the drama occupies their minds, venting is a way of chastising themselves, or asking for help, Words come out from their inner elves, chanting tirades of ending one's life, brings soberness and sheds light, People who are serious don't talk about it at all, They may write a note and say "Goodbye Y'all" Then one day they wake-up and decide it is their time...... Ending it all with no reason or rhyme.
Do you cry Late at night When you lie alone In your bed With your head upon the pillow And in your eyes Yawns the empty bed? I do . . .
Her Sheets Smelled of Lillies. A Cotton Grace Which Slipped Like Velvet Across My Skin. This Girl of Blue Conversing With My Existence, Letting it Know I'm Real. - I'll Show Her It's Real - - In The Only Way I know How - My Hand Swam Through Her Long Dark Hair With Ease, Stopping At The Base of Her Neck. These Fleeting Moments Of Passion Lasted Aeons in Our Eyes. - The Cloths Slipped From Our Flesh - Caressing Every Corner of Her Body With Such Delicate Intricacy, That The Stars Themselves Sank From The Sky In Anticipation. - Her Breath Grew Stronger - Moving Closer, She Felt My Every Exhalation Tingling Her Silken Skin. Her Chest Heaving Forward as Her back Arched. Throwing her Head Onto My Shoulder. - I Slid My Hand Down Passed her Stomach - Warm Like The Breath of A Panting Dog My Fingers Sank in; And Up. Her Right Arm Scratching My back From Above Our Heads. She Smiled as Her Body Writhed With Energy. - Her Breath Now Quick Gasps - Both Still Standing, She Turned Around, and Dug Her Forehead Firmly Into My Chest. Her Hands, Now Wrapped Around My Neck. She Pulled me to The Floor. - The Rain Beat Down Heavy on The Skylight -
Hello Charlax, Thank you for writing to Yahoo! Groups. I'm sorry, but I am unclear as to what your question or concern is. Please provide me with any additional information that will clearly explain your question or concern and make sure to include the following information: -Additional detail on what you are trying to accomplish or the situation you are encountering with Yahoo! Groups. -The exact name of the group or its URL. -The detailed steps you have taken leading up to the event.-Exact copy of error messages that you've received. We are looking forward to your reply as this would allow us to further investigate the issue and resolve it in the soonest time possible. Thank you again for contacting Yahoo! Groups. Regards, Ken Yahoo! Groups Customer Care For assistance with all Yahoo! services, please visit: http://help.yahoo.com/ New and Improved Yahoo! Mail - better than ever! Original Message Follows: ------------------------- Mail-Id: w11.help.sp1.yahoo.com-/l/us/yahoo/groups/yahoogroups/general.html-12021 71394-9703 Name: charlesrhice Yahoo! ID: charlax.hice Email Address: email@example.com Group Name: charlax7 Member Status: Owner/Moderator Email Client: Web Based Email (eg. Yahoo! Mail) If yes, check here: Not set by user Subject: Why do I get an error when posting messages to a group? The worst thing that ever happened was the whole web page disappeared to the right of my screen once eye was able to snag it and bring it back but that seems so impossible how that even worked and it only worked a few times not always and when it went it went too far away and the mouse would not retrieve it and the only thing that eye could do was to log off and back on and that won't work not anymore. The pain in my poor sober jaw the suffering that eye do for love is worth the price of admission to heaven when we go. Once there just inside the door there is a field of purple flowers where my mansion lays in wait a picnic has been set complete with chicken fried steaks and ice cream cones for me and mye parme.
"It's funny What it takes What it takes to see To see all that which lies before your eyes And it's even funnier What it takes What it takes to recognise Recognise what you are seeing with your eyes"
Parents are so busy and pre-occupied with their own lives, They never flinch when the doorbell rings twice, They yell for the children to open the door, Chastising them forevermore....... Yet, parents get upset when the children disappear, When they vanish into thin air, They blame everyone except themselves for not doing their due diligence, If parents really cared they wouldn't throw their children to the wolves, Who knows what lurks behind the doors, Sometimes vagrants, up to no good! If parents aren't able to handle their tasks and have responsibilty for the kids, They should seek a Mr. Belvedere whose only task would be to bow and scrape, and opening the doors so the children won't vanish or escape.
I am not amused with your lack of concentration, of all the things you've discovered there isn't one that seems to help right now. Sure you've made it easier on us, we'll survive, but disease is disease and it shall always arise. What about mending the soul, what about Utopia? Whatever happened to the idea that we could be better- not just that we could get better things. Better stuff. Not just so we could make things more comfortable, and know what was going on. But what happened to this idea that everything could be something- more- together? You haven't solved that, you haven't grown. It's the people that have recognised prejudice and animosity, it's the people that have caused and overcame. So where are we now? Still in heartbreak. Still in judgment. Still inside this box that you've helped make. There may be no God, but there is religion. There may be no wrong but there are rights. Always wars without reason to fight! How could you break your promise? How could you leave it so that everyone, could feel so alone?... How could we all be so distracted with technology, and ethical promise that We forgot what You were for. Yeah, we're all more accessible- but are we more free? It's so depressing to think we're not quite there, and maybe it's just a stage we're going through, but science, you're not a person: you're not a problem. You're an effort we all have to make, you're mistakes we all have to take. No matter how wise the tale may be, sometimes you have to figure out yourself. Stuck repeating selfishness. I'm scared that- this is it. This is all it'll ever be. Stuck in a mass of miscommunication constantly, trying to break free. But that's selfish itself, so I guess this note is pointless. But science, be careful.
Love, my 'Hope' In One Life; and when not if, it must have come upon me. Lost in you, held in me, your heart. Giving you less, and lost, you gave me more. I am failing and the more I fail, and more, I wish less to fail. Failing that, will you touch my hand, One more time, before the light begins to fade. And even after, after before, before even after, before that dawn ever came. Is It Poetry r.b.
Time . . . Lays low everyone With its passing Time . . . More often than not We find out There is not enough In the end Time . . . It rolls on Never slowing down The inexorable juggernaut Time . . . Leaves us Wishing for more And more For there is never enough To do and say All that satisfies Time . . . Leaves only memories In its wake
Man is never called beautiful. But by peeling the bandage, one illuminates the wound, that rarely bleeds. He wanders thru life with feelings not well cultivated. Seemingly, in a controlled panic to make the moment agreeable. But when he rises from the bubbling pool, reversible expectations begin to bloom. Hardy gentleness sprout, only to swallow heart and soul.
I was so tired I nearly died Just about stopped Breathing
He said "Tell me young man, what is your plan to succeed in life?" I replied, "Success is ambiguous. However, my pen suggests I should look into writing." He rubbed his chin. "So you have an addiction to writing silly fiction?" Silly fiction? "Okay, Mr. Critic, it's much more than just silly fiction. Writing gives you wings to fly." "Is that so?" He seemed satisfied, "So I cannot scare you into considering a real career." I replied, "This 'real career' let's me touch reality in ways that ordinary men will never feel. This occupation requires imagination, which will take me to places unimaginable."
Resting my eyes i sat a while lids locked. muscles sliding to rest toes & feet washed rough on stony traverse boil to a constant roll...burning breath in exhausted lungs tome creaks by & calm trickles eroding the barren skin turning the serene oasis light gently slices away falling softly piece by piece to the empty ground beneath my feet lull to the dead beat stand still the fast tempo kinetic air inside pounding life force choking for a sideways glance unattended
Who is living alive inside of you? Do you even really want to know? Have you ever spoken to the one that is always speaking to you? Are you stacking all of your priorities with any proper perspective? You know it is your battleground or so this is how you make it seem. A zest for life arises in you continuously only to later be continued. So abruptly, you have dismissed the silent one inside of you to go! All because you were swiftly overpowered by your own self-greed Nevertheless, where does the silent one keep retreating off to? The silent one holds onto every single chance for a timely thought. Even all of those improbable unachieved least possible dreams! What is it that lives alive inside of you? What makes you even want to breathe? Have you ever really felt the one who is always feeling you? Innocence is sweet standing in your way of a divine pleasure. Again, it is your battleground or so this is how it surely seems! Your blissful moments are in the hands of the silent one inside. Again, poof vanished indeed this time without a trace or lead! Yet, you are completely indulging in a definite feeling of gratified. Still yet, where does the silent one keep scooting away to? The silent one holds every crystal-clear thought, Even the ones all of you will still clearly demean! Who gives you to you? Have you ever once thought deep and hard into that? A restricted area due to the danger foretoken, your battleground or so it seems! Excitement swells up alive inside of you with ecstasy's loud bursting screams! The silent one is slipping away while verbal battles are fueling into a combat. Overwhelmed by self-indulgence your every breath is thoroughly exhausted! Still yet, where in this world could your silent one be gallivanting away to? The silent one holds your every thought, even those you have so deemed! Now do tell, who knows you better than you do? Have you ever given this up for a chance of much thought? Have you ever seen the one that is always looking at you? Conflict of interest guards the main entrance, the battleground or so it seems! Enticed to indulge the silent one inside is finally caught when truly sought. Lured by the sight at hand, but why did the silent one have to stay too? The silent one holds your every moment in your every thought, Even those you always seem to unfortunately forget to redeem!
As the sun rises radiating its golden beams clearing the mist of morn__So I arise to meet the day's responsibilities_I believe that He has come with healing in His Wings_Pain is going away and relief is being restored___Draw me close let me be filled with Your Power...Guide my speech...Guide my thoughts as they are penned...Help my words be Love and Light being sprinkled with just the right amount of salt...Help my speech be healing and restorative connected to You and You alone...Thanks for the day to live for You once more..Amen
When I was walking in pain and agony, You were there to ease my suffering. When I was walking in sorrow, You were there to comfort me. When I was walking without hope, You filled my heart and soul anew. When I was walking alone and friendless, You were there to hold my hand. When I was walking afraid and in fear, You were there to give me courage. When I was weak and could not walk, You gave me strength to stand again. Always, when I have walked in the shadows of life, You have been there to lead me to sunlight. As I start on the path today, Lead me, Lead me . . . I pray.
A single fear sliding off the face as though clinging for one's own soul. Slipping from its home, only to plummet into Hades' foul grasp exploding into cascading oblivion.
Another senseless death And God takes the blame A young girl is stabbed Left to bleed and die In the arms of her love While another curses His name Another bomb explodes And God takes the blame Innocents are left to die As villains take pride Beaming in their glory While heartaches curse His name Another drunk walks away And God takes the blame A life in a tangled heap Slips away lost As a sober drunk asks what happened While loved ones left behind Sadly curse His name So much loss and tragedy While God takes the blame People instantly cry out Why'd You let this happen As their hearts begin to doubt Sadly the true villain walks While so many curse His name Not realizing while God takes the blame The god of this world scoffs Claiming victory in the pain he's caused Taking glee in misplaced blame While unnoticed he walks on Hidden behind his veil Enthralled in his little game But hidden from his view Time is nearly at hand For God to make a stand And all the things written long ago Are about to truly be For God is about to clear his name Of all the misplaced blame
Seventy1 CharlaXPFable CharlaXFables A Rose by any other namme shall smell as sweet to mee as ewe. Jesus paid the sacrifice the aritifice of life became the death of me to give me back the life eye gave away for him to follow him is to find it all again the words men speak if allowed to brew would make them dead to make them blow to just explode the air then turning into chamber pots of full. Love can be a sacrifice a very strang surprise a hurried meal a quick repast that lasts all day and then some into the night making merry just for heart. The dead weight of most people would cause the air ship the alien crafted vessel that eye ride in to tip over and the eye would fall out all over the place. Love can be a pillow cold on one side and warm to face. The avid reader can imagine this. Head stopped up with saving grace the pain inside stops sleep from come. Then the pillow turned the face pressed up into the cold the wonderful stopping of the pain the added comfort of the pillow side out getting cold again then comes the time when the repeated effort is again applied oh the wonder of it oh the bliss of a cold pillow kiss. NEWS FLASHED before mye eye: This is just in from NEO Pueblo when someone gets a message in a forum and the message sender sends it as a thank you and then adds a different picture than the one in his posted poem as way of illustration do ewe think they noticed it at all or is it just that it seems so strang to mee and would it be that they aer so obsessed with what they aer doing to jump up and dance on just one foot and yell and holler look what CHARLAX did he sent the wrong picture to the forum. Eye just deleted an accounting error it was a majoretted disappointed mess to me they always made fun of eye and mee and the way eye use my style to make a poem bleed the pain of being one so far ahead of time is priceless in the function of an android using lifetimes.
Moving up over through Into All I've known is felt through the end Never a beginning always ending Falter as I may, myself I hold - alone in company Tress in to limestone pillars of my great hall Great as the Norse and proud as well Threads of time woven with clumsy hands led by blind eyes Thus is the expanse of the web of life The Great Existence Not where but it's the being that is. Is what I am and What we are
Evidenced FIFTYFOUR CharlaXFabels The Church Parsonage on Church Street the old Methodist Church where eye used to go to church it Burned down. My mother died a horrible murder death. My brother died in a car wreck. We used to fight each other though eye was elder he was bigger. Eye was a weak and sickly child of GOD. My Father died and eye do not knoe what of. Eye was not always allowed to live at home. My room was taken and the things in it like my toy box and the comics and the yearbooks were all destroyed. Eye was given a hardship discharge from the ARMY. My home at Morrilton was burned down by a natural gas line leak which then exploded. My family always hated me and wanted me to die alone. Eye stopped my consumptive habits and was in a real fight in Arizona only was beaten into Jesus and left to die half dead eye still try to live and love and write this is mye bio mye evidenced.
I like to think I know every thing, but I don't; that's obvious. I wonder if it would take a scholar to see that I am making the same mistakes every day? Do you see this? Blasphemy! Sometimes I cannot believe my ability to twist the truth around lies and end up with something I like to call a friendship. Does it mean nothing to me? Perhaps I could move a thousand miles away and forget your face as if I hadn't spent hundreds of hours laughing upon your childish mannerisms. I love to laugh. It is difficult, however, for me to distinguish the empty guffaw and the heart-warming kind of giggle that makes me want to live a simpler life. You know what I'm talking about. You know that there's something missing. You can't put a finger on it. The grass is greener on the other side, of course, but did you realize the season would never change?
When people know you, They know what to expect, making allowances for actions that are inept, Looking out for their familiar persona along the way, The stability and predictability makes their day, Fluxes and changes will never rock their world, because the people they know have remained the same, Regardless of wind, storm or hurricanes.......
Come gather 'round Listen closely now Relax, let your guard down Just for a little while Listen closely now Enjoy the song of silence Enjoy the winds of thought Your mind has just stalled out Your body has fallen swiftly Down the road to boredom If you walk straight line sideways If you speak forwards backwards Can you see where you're going, have gone, never were Can you say and be understood, heard, listened to Close your ears a moment Listen with your eyes Can you see all about with your ears What do your eyes hear before them Feeling with your soul, softly, caressing Speaking with your heart, thinking Acting as one within the silence Behold that which you see, all that you see Yourself, someone else, no one else Just you
Being of good character and integrity. An honest person, a compassionate listener, a hard worker, a loving person. Loyal to family, to friends and to our country, despite everyone's shortcomings. Strong minded, yet not over powering to the point of being repulsive. Intelligent in 'life' experiences, that others may not be familiar. Not loud or obnoxious, quiet but heard. Have nothing to prove, but a world of God's love to share. Willing to give, but won't be taken advantage of. Love freely and accept openly. Never judge, yet don't condone wrongdoing. In a loving, respectful, yet firm way - speak your mind. Always there willing to help, if the person is willing to take that first step. Learned that forgiveness is for you, more than the one you forgive. Also learned that the right way is not always the easy way, But it is by far the best way and most rewarding. Is this how you would be described? It is how I would hope to be.
I have swallowed the poison... suffered through darkness. I have tasted the ashes, lived in utter lostness. I remember the pain when hitting bottom; desperate I dreaded, what I had become. To be punished for sin, how dare I complain! Is The Lord not my life from whence I came? I have entered The Light! My Soul has been taken. God proves to be Faithful, To The called He's awakened! Milton L. Delgado Inspired By The Book of Lamentations Chapter 3 October 20, 2006
As the golden sun adds a layer of warmth to the earth and all the creatures sing praise___bees hum buzzz, buzzz as they search for food where pickins' are few..Birds chirp their different calls from chirrup, chirrup to Jim-my, Jim-my...Across the creek, the roosters' crows are getting weak about crowed out now that they have awaken the sun.. There is a stillness this morn_peace..It seems to be a lazy kind of morn__As if all the creatures know that God said rest on this day..If I miss rest and renewal it starts to tell on me body, soul, emotion, and spirit___Constantly aware that I need my time alone with God..
Buried once beneath pressing voices, it is boiling up like a rising jealousy. This is placement. The ascendant. Beating, beating, beating. A steady flow of analytical pauses burning up through every extremity you never knew how to use. This is placement. The ascendant. Beating, beating, beating. Every stinging conviction such a foollish man never knew was holed up inside him errupts. It is volatile and it is painful and it is promising. And it comes into you and it comes out of you and it's beating, it's beating, it's beating. You can't ever ignore it. No, a foolish man could not deny its presence. Couldn't withold its beating. You pace to wear it out and it lives in your footsteps. You blink to make it stop and every eyelash leaves a trail like you tried to shake your head at the stars at midnight. Yes, you can clench your fists so tight your nails dig into your palms and you bleed and the sweat pours salt into your wounds and there it is. There it is, terrible,consuming and inconvenient only because you forget who it is. You forget where it comes from and why it is there. You forget why it is within you because you are foolish. It is there because of you but you are not at fault for it. For fault is for the weak and it should not make you stumble and it should not make you stutter when you speak of it. When you speak of its beating, beating, beating. It is not a drum and you should not, you cannot march to it. It is not the blood in your veins or the heart that injects and protects and projects though that is where it lives and no foolish man, no man at all could drain himself dry of it. It will occupy the space on the floor where you try to leave it and it will grow because you will feed it and it will drown you because it knows you need it. .
What a drive it's been A mile down the road How different life looks From here to there Half a mile away I saw people breaking their backs Trying to find their lives Where they lay ruined Yet here there's laughter With nothing amiss As though through innocence People are blind To a mile down the road A different race is being run Here people empty their pockets On drink, food and tea There they empty their houses Of all they possess Here we're involved in the chase Not for what has been lost But what might be won Not to say life doesn't go on Just doesn't seem right Here it moves fast While a mile down the road Nothing will last Knowing it's the way of the world That some will thrive While others merely survive Makes acceptance no easier Of what a drive it's been And that how life is viewed Depends solely upon From where it's been seen
Who can cause rain? and Who can give showers? Who relieves our pain? and Who has all powers? Who can give us prophetic things? and then give us spiritual wings? Why are we so rotten? Who have we forgotten? Why are we in many a chain? Why do we serve these idols in vain? Why do we , The Word, ignore? Why do we not question more? Why are we broke? Why did we fear that joke? Why are there vanities? and many insanities? Who do we worship? Why wear a kerchief? Why are they full of propaganda? Why, Our God, do they slander? What about the weak? Why do we not speak? Why are we so slack? Where is the bone in our back? Why do we not.... Stop, look, listen ,observe? Maybe this trial we do so deserve? Maybe the wrong One, we actually serve? Why do we not look to the prophets? Why not look to Zephaniah? Why not repent to get out of the fire? Why not look to Jeremiah? Why not repent to get out of the mire? Why for Satan's System are we a slave? Why will we not bend , and learn to behave? Why not seek Our God while there is hope? Why not die brave, instead of a mope? Why is there no peace in the land? Why have we left from holding His hand? Why when we cry "Peace and Security" sudden destruction will come? Why are we not full of God's wisdom? What about the chaos we deserve ? Why not stop, look, listen, and observe? Copyright McCuen 2008
Upon greater reflection across the seas of tranquil dreams I did find a breath of solace Lingering in a dirge borne on the backs of rays Gathered to me and falling just so and so To more, and to more, Confuse… zed though I be and be Poppy top and so I dreamed and dream of what I do knot know And I know, I know; now and when In the broken dawn is why In the cracked dusk is who In the fall of the moon is where In the sing of the sun is what Confuse. . . zed through and through I be
Each breath, a pool of hope, rising and falling, the tide of my being. How did I learn this? I need not think to do it. Does the ocean feel the same? It seems to work so hard, forward and back, pushing the shore. Could it stop? Perhaps only I am captivated in this moment. A coincidence? Our souls pull together. How easy to forget the rhythm of these breaths. They are mine...yet I see them in water? How long does this ocean pulse? Has all been lost? Or was nothing to gain? Just be. Ocean and me. I am sure my breath is drawn in with the tide.
With this pen I have lived once more And with this pen I have loved, laughed, sighed to breathe Even as I laid my weary brow to rest upon your breast And with this pen I have died with a tear To leave behind this chronicle to my last With this pen
I stood in darkness searching Then I saw the light … The light of your face Shown bright … lighting the way I can hold back the tears no more For my strength has left me Your arms lift me When from weakness I fall I pray that I do only That which honors You For You are the light of my day! You have shown me direction And have given me the way to go May my footsteps forever Follow the path You have Laid out before me. To climb mountains, Swim oceans, cross rivers Be whatever it may. I know You are there with me For You are the light of my day!
I wouldn't be scant. Its codfish lies to pull ferociously all up in its cube. The forks stomped the ponies. Why did your goodness lift our leaf? What do ideas ride like? You sound like that laugh. You persuasively divide. All obscene feet straddled under his lingust. What is all over the drifting harpsicord? Exude yourself betwixt the calamity. I will be snoring impudent cities. What is through that fatility? What is beside my heel? No fountain pens, please. I could be spitting underneath your cognizance. Boldly you malnourish the fence. You usually ventillate. Bend your travesty. Thirty-five damp beets are sophmorically trampled. You will run beside gods. You look like a surreal brevity. You will boil inside caftans. I diddle. I shouldn't have been hopping beyond your vertebre. You will thrust along protests. The pedestrian left by our digit. His rabbit accepts a serpent. His floppy money was hydrating with her heart. I love piston. Her list of fury resonated next to the thunder. You smell like morse code. His slinky magical mirror was feeling all over my Swahili. You will snap without tiger boots. You like waxy provisions. Hi, I'm a stormy panhandler. With your mildew were eight blogging skaters. My philanthropy whisps like a plasma. Sufficiently I snap. You remind me of every neat-o flamingo. You explicate mates. Drip your disgust. No car keys, please. A combustion tickles an insertion. Hi, I'm a cold cole. You sheepishly evade. You finally exude. All your abyss' are belonging to us.
Do you ever cry? Are you ever afraid of feelings you've felt and decisions you've made? Do you feel alone and away from your soul? Do you fear love or is it your goal? Are you a man or a woman who hates? Do you wish for your death or rather your fate? Are you lost in yourself or lost in a crowd? Do you hang on each word that is spoken aloud? Are you young, are you old? Are you pleased with your life? Are you somebody's husband or somebody's wife? Are you happy or sad? Do you wish you could fly? Just one more question: DO YOU EVER CRY?
Pablo Naranjo Golborne / Pablo Golborne / Pablo Naranjo Nordau Neruda Pablo Neruda (1904-1973), This poet was alive during the World Wars One and Two. In 1943, Neruda returned to Chile, and in 1945 he was elected senator of the Republic, also joining the Communist Party of Chile. Due to his protests against President González Videla's repressive policy against striking miners in 1947, he had to live underground in his own country for two years until he managed to leave in 1949. After living in different European countries he returned home in 1952. A great deal of what he published during that period bears the stamp of his political activities; one example is Las Uvas y el Viento (1954), which can be regarded as the diary of Neruda's exile. In Odas elementales (1954- 1959) his message is expanded into a more extensive description of the world, where the objects of the hymns - things, events and relations - are duly presented in alphabetic form. There is a disclaimer on the SSS card that says this is NOT for identification purposes please keep your card in a safe place and signed. Conflicting thoughts the police back home always asked me for mine when on the road they ran it like an ID the numbers was instant on the radio. The Students at this University take the Cat Card and swipe the strip into the slotted door it makes it seem to me just like the Mark of the beast has come perhaps early to some. Charles Robert Hice 429-04-1680. Deceased on May 13, 2004. Alive and living for the return of Heaven door. Jesus oph please come back before they institute the Mark on mee. To the purists of the poets no apology of me this is a fabel not a poem not a rhyme intended but a short short story just to past the thyme. My State Id Card has a PICTURE of me but no number at least not the Dreaded Social Security Number and it does have the DOB but not needed until called upon to produce it. Not yet on head forehand or forehead or hand Most people will be proud to salute a nonexistent leader at the door to every supermarket in the world the name and number of the beast becomes the god.
The Redwood Forest Standing tall, tops in the mist, Red giants from another time. Remembering the birth of Christ, Looking now at modern Man. The forest floor in muted silence, Filtered light finds the rhododendron. God's original cathedral soars, A place to find peace and beauty. Walk awhile with past history, Place your hand upon the bark. Look up, almost glimpsing infinity, Look down, see mans tracks upon the earth. Forests once tracking vast vistas, Now a rare and silent treasure. Man's greed at last held back. My home, my heart, my hope.
Fabel38 Fabel38 Pheonix CharlaxFabels "Pheonix is experimental courses involving the release of prisoners into society": Professor Hardon was now speaking to his children "he was thinking of them already as his child and children he was daydreaming of a future world populated by his prisoners released into Society to jerk the world around on HIS string. When you do a book report eye the TUTOR have to grade them please read only CharlaxFables so you will learn something better and eye can pass all of you with highest honors. The Bathroom has been painted and the graffiti is fresh and it has to be one of you. NO almost Screaming Tommy Gunn jumped up and SPEWED his filthy words at the teacher. We think it is the girl that works as a Library assistant for she is not helping the people who are not students. The rules would work in a NAZI society there would be no loud talking in the library they Matron would walk among the computors and swing her MILLYCLUB if someone snickered. The portable classrooms have not yet arrived and the prisoners keep milling about in the library chasing a hope and a dream to the door of a classroom hoping it will magically appear in front of them while Charlax cries. Plugs are not available only in the outlets at the mall where you can also buy coffee in a latte snicker at the freezing cold and hold thy nose with burgers smelling like a dead old cow went yearning in the afterbrushes reeds and rushes in the ditches working on the center stone of the idea of the century. The Pig is dead the Rat is born a Chinaman's surprised the chinaberry's were so plastic tasting never boiled them never tried them after fried in oil and butter and the batter would be better with some butter and some soil. A man told me bugs are good sources of protein how can one man go so very wrong he is not alive in the same sense as ewe and eye. The semblance of an android to this human image eye become is striking mee on both my nerves today seems like a memory of half baked love. The Pheonix is now rising up the ashes of the judgments' won. The Tutor is the elephant. The classroom is the world the students are the girls in love. The lady has a favorite song ewe aer my song my hearts desire my love of fortune smiling down my sweetYheart ewe my early life my later years my only love a song The Teacher is a ruler and a lover of the song. The professor is a lover and a ruler of them all.
I can do a lot of things and do them well, always have. This what I have been asked I fear I cannot do . . . What's more important in this is how I no longer wish to. I can do many things and do them well, always have. These are my feelings and they run deeply across my soul. Woe to me I say because I know its over and drawing near. There lies before me a future full of agony of longing unrelenting. I can do many things and do them well, always have. There is one thing left for me to do and I cannot. Will I continue on I have been asked, Continue going I'm asked and I cannot do it anymore! I can't keep going for much longer, if at all . . . How long am I supposed to go without hope, without anything at all . . ? I can do many things and do them well, always have. This what I have been asked to do I cannot do . . . Will you understand when I'm gone and I know you wouldn't For the blame you would place across your shoulders and why . ? It's my life, this is my life and that's the joke . . right? Yeah, as if this is living, as if this is even a pale reflection of life at all!! I don't want this life anymore, I'm sick of it . . . No more do I pray for happiness that will never come, Instead I pray to close my eyes and never awaken again. I can do many things and do them well, always have. Please God spare me from growing older, from living at all, Please take my soul for I am done with this life without . . . Just let me sleep forever, for there is nothing left for me . . . Life is empty, meaningless, hollow and all faded away, There is no colour left in my eyes anymore, ever again! Just agony, just agony . . . God won't give me this prayer I know, instead God will grant me an eternity of suffering, For she's never done anything to answer my prayers before. Save fill my life with pain, suffering And horrible oceans of misery that I drown in every waking moment of this . . . I can do many things and do them well, always have. I cannot live without . . . I just can't . . . I . . .
Camouflaged, in life's musical arrangement, lies a melange of harmonies sounds. Those, of a daydreaming waltz. Others, with the vitality of a tango. And when this symphony plays, and its melodies espoused. With each sound that resonates. Will our paths become more illuminated. Then will we not just walk with boredom, but dance with all our spirit. Nor will we just hum a low tune, but sing loud a vibrant song.
What have I gotten myself into? There's never enough cash to buy enough. And when there is, There's never enough to buy. "What's with all the nose bleeds?" God I hate awkward questions. "Don't worry, just allergies." That excuse never works in winter. But I sure do love snow. Pure, crisp white snow. Each flake like it's sent from Heaven. City streets covered in it, That's a real winter wonderland. As for now you only find it in small patches. Tiny pieces of paradise most forget to look for. The really special ones come from far off lands. Places where people live free and it snows all year long. I know some who've sold everything just to get their hands on it. I've seen rich old men who set it in bowls on their coffee tables. They know their bodies can't handle the cold. But at that age, who really cares? "Your sure looking thin these days." "Thanks, I'm on this new diet plan, it keeps me energized and helps me lose weight." "Really? You've gotta let me know what it is." "Sorry I can't, it's a secret…" I think I know what God feels like. I know you can do anything is an indescribable feeling. It's like you're on top of Everest, With all the surrounding snow covered peaks in view. But of course you eventually plummet down to the bottom of the ocean, Where you'll sleep through the next few days. "You keep scratching your neck, are you okay?" "Ya, I got bit by a spider or something." I swear I'm gonna scratch my skin right off. It's those damn parasites in my veins that cause the itching. Maybe I should rip them out…I bet it'd go away then. This is taking over my life. I want to stop. But I cant. Once you start there's no going back. That's just the way it works.
Destiny Like air The wind Did you feel it change? No . . . Did you see it The moment when it . . . Breathed Changed Charged right past you Like a cry from the gasp that beat you Was the moment soft Like a whisper Did you see the moment You changed your . . .
Breaking into abandoned psychiactric centers isn't as fun as it seems. Oh, some nights have I had. I don't feel too well. I just need to let everything pour out. To come out onto the screen and paper and wall and floor and everywhere I can transfer it to. Once again I am sitting here alone while my roommates have all gone out to drink. Drink. Drink. College. College. Are my children going to be disappointed to hear I wasn't the party girl? Will they be sad that I don't have repulsive stories of vomiting and one night stands? Why do we do this? Is that it? To tell our kids - to create a person - to create a personality - to construct a mask.These masks are not colourful or flashy or expensive. These masks are plain white plaster. Whitewashed wisdom. Everyone wears this mask. No defining characteristics. You can't really tell if the person next to you is your closest friend or a complete stranger Here I sit with my eyes closed. This entire time. I did all those things and pushed myself further and further into a sedated state that I can hardly remember. Suffering is the best thing for an artist. Every artist was an addict. An addict of some sort. Some sort. Some sort of an addict. Maybe that's what I need - maybe that's why I still do this - maybe that's why I stay home when everyone isout having a "good ol' college time." Not a recluse. I swear. He can't hear me but I can hear the sludge of sounds though the telephone. I'm sitting up so as not to let my thoughts become sluggish although they do such a thing on their own. My entire body has been injected with a cloud. It is floating through every extremity, every vein, every cell. I lay limp and wonder how it's possible to even do this. To function at all. My stomach feels empty but I know what it holds. The imagine in my mind of my insides housing some bodily fluid and a plethora of dissolving pills. Plethora may be an understatement. Dissolving and fizzing and melting and the thought of that the thought of that the thought of that... that makes me sick. Dissolving in cold stagnant water. Sitting sedating. Satisfied, thouhg? I don't know how I got here. I've been sitting here the entire time but what happened between when I first took seat and this very moment. All of you. Take off your masks.
Your tears I have not ignored. Your hurts I have felt. Peace and joy I long for you to have. The peace, that all I have promised you, is so. And the joy of knowing and seeing it come to pass. The promise is here! You taste it, smell it, and sense it in all senses but sight. In sight you don't experience it yet, don't let the inability to physically see what I've promised, cheat you out of what you have already received. Remember the things I told you in days past, don't you see what I am doing? Look! Learn! The Blood: what one drop can do - use it! My Power & Strength: it's for you when you are weak and overburdened - take it, use it! My Purifying Fire: it cleanses and strengthens you - allow Me to do it! I am making a mighty vessel as you are fired with trials; only the flawless vessels withstand the kiln heat as it is fired. Those with flaws crack, break, shatter to pieces, and prove to be useless to a potter. But you shall withstand the kiln heat. You will come forth as a strong and useful vessel in which many will drink. A vessel that feeds the hungry, gives drink to those who thirst, love and compassion to those who hurt; for one who has truly experienced hurt will know the hurt of another. And through you will I heal the hurting, minister to the afflicted, and love the lonely. Because you feed, give drink and have compassion, not only to their flesh but also to their spirits. They feel it! They hunger for more and with My vessel I give to them, more and more.
Love Is Love is a feeling which reveals the heart, It's the selfish heart which refuses this revealing. To cling to the fear of reaching out Is loneliness in the truest sense. Love is a force which breaks asunder The walls surrounding a thirsting soul, Reaching within to fill the void And to dry the tears that one has cried. Love is a light which shines into the darkest dungeon, Bringing peace and hope to the prisoners locked within. Yet the prisoner bound by the rusted chains Would rather he should perish than to know his freedom. Love is a song which floats on gentle breezes, And gladdens the heart of the one who would receive it. Yet woe shall fall upon the very being Of the one who would dare to smite the hand Of Love. Thomas Cusick
Let the winds of Your voice blow across the vastness of the earth, O Lord Reaching all that would hear, listening to the words, hastening it's message Feel the breath of God blow across your face, people ... how can you not! See the many splendors of His work, majestic in their beauty Taste the sweetness of His words, they are life sustaining to you Without them you shall surely die an everlasting death Glory in His righteousness! For He is worthy of your praise He is the Alpha and Omega, nothing exists without Him My eyes long to see His face, my heart to kneel at His feet May each breath I take be that which He has given He is wonderful, mighty, loving and jealous Longing for us to come to Him on our own accord We are not His puppets, but we are his children He longs to give His children great gifts of life Would we not let Him be our Father, are we an ignorant people? He has given so much for us, can we not give ourselves to Him?
While sleeping I had a dream, a dream where my Lord came to me. He took my hand and asked me, "Is there anything you would have of Me?" Taken aback for a moment, I thought. Then without hesitation I answered, "I want to know You like I have never known You before. I want to feel Your heart, instead of mine, see with Your eyes, hear the words You long to hear. Lord, I want You to be so much a part of me, that I can't feel me anymore. Is that possible Lord?" He smiled and answered, "As you search My Word, it draws you nearer to me as ever before. So yes, it is possible, but are you wanting it enough to search ever so diligently?" When I awoke, my heart sank as I recalled His question. Am I wanting it enough to search so? For it sounds like much, too much work. Then I thought, when it is one you love and long to be with, do you not go far and beyond to reach them? Yes! Yes Lord, it is something I want enough to search so diligent for. I want to be as close to You as I can possibly be while here on earth. Then the day of Your return will be only that much sweeter and more spectacular to me. The smile He put in my spirit that day, made my heart sing! And sing it will forever!
The Kingdom Of Love The Kingdom Of Love in the kingdom of GOD where eye now dwell, eye would live in her dreams, being her secrets, The love she has borne inside of me. in the river of love, eye would only hang on, going on to the truth, on our way to the sky. to the end of our journey, we would never ever hurry, and all the loves graces, from the heart of one woman.
There was a media sensation to make President Obama ruler of this Nation, as long as he did what he was told, Everyone would remain sold, Two years into his reign, America is filled with contempt and disdain, From Wall Street to Corporate America naysayers are screaming retribution, instead of Halleluiah! They are calling for doom and gloom for those who voted him in, The reign of consequences and punishment have begun, A backlash for demoralizing the nation's favorite sons, Privacy exists no more when one goes to pull the lever at the voting polls, There are spies waiting to report your elections like mindless trolls, Companies are engrossed in their employees' political preferences, ultimately punishing them for any differences, Our Country would rather sink like the Titanic than have a "zebra" running it, Nevertheless, we must forge ahead and create change, Even when we are ostracized and avoided like mange.
Each day we face many mental perils, have to make many important decisions, like what color socks to wear. Some things must take priority, however, and it's important to keep them in mind. The first is to be comfortable with yourself; you may not be perfect, but, darn, who is? Be happy with yourself if you can truely say I did not intentionally hurt anyone today. There's more than enough bad people out there to do that for you. So pat yourself on the back for a day of sainthood! The second thing is....uh...the second thing is....um...is...shoot, I don't remember!
Your love is reigning down on me. I feel, with each drop, The cleansing and soothing Of my very soul. You know what Your child Needs before even I know. How deep is Your love for me? It touches the depth of my soul, It sees the thoughts I fear to admit even having. And yet, knowing all my darkness, You still love me. You are remarkable! You are so full of mercy And so faithful in Your love for me. How can I ever love You so? I fear the thought of not having Your love. I am terrified to not have Your forgiveness! Even at my best, I fall short. Only by You Lord, can I say I am loved and forgiven. And I know in my heart You live Because You live, I have these things. I fear nothing with You near me. Your child rejoices with gladness For the mercies of Your love. Lord, I love You with My whole being. Take my life and make it what You want While I journey through this life Reign down on me
As I come into Your house, O' Lord Prepare my heart to receive For it is You and You alone I seek to find Let my heart be pure My intentions well meant And my steps guided by You May my spirit sing a song of joy For it wells over within As I go beneath the water Accept me now O' Lord For I am giving my all to You As I rise up from the deep Wash away all that is impure For I come to Your house In humility and honor Seeking You and You alone It is You I long to know
Judgment Day has come!!! I stand before the Almighty Father! How will I be judged? Will I have tears of joy … or fall to my knees crying tears of terror? I stand shaking before the Thrown of God. The accuser, Satan, lays out all my faults and failures before The Almighty. Shame haunts me, as he cries out my sins, one after another. Feeling small and alone, my legs give out from weakness and I fall on my face in fear, as I see God sit quietly listening, as if in disgust. Just when I think the horrible things Satan reveals of my life seal my fate; Jesus stands up and orders Satan, "Be silent!" My heart leaps! My breath departs from me, until I hear Jesus' words. Jesus reminds God the Father, that it was for those very sins that He died. That it was for those sins His body was ripped and tortured and hung on a cross. I was forgiven when I accepted Him in my heart as my Lord and Savior. He became my covering for my sins and sickness. Tears flow, I shake uncontrollably as I hear God the Father say, 'This is true. When you received My Son as your Savior, you received salvation. His blood washed those and all sins away. I see a vessel white as snow'. As I watch, God throws my sins into the abyss, never to be seen or brought up again. I cry tears of joy as I sit at His feet. 'I have been saved from torment and separation from God', I rejoice loudly! 'Enter, my child', are the words He says, 'come to the table and feast. Dance and be merry for you are a child of the Almighty and there is no accuser to condemn you. Rejoice in the salvation of your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ'. In my Father's House I see others rejoicing for they also have been saved by the blood of Christ. Beauty surrounds me; living waters flow freely for all to drink. There is no sadness, no fear, and no pain! Only joy, peace and the presence of Love live here. For we are with the author of Love. God is Love, He radiates love. There is laughter. I love to hear Jesus' laugh! It is so hardy and full of life. To be in the presence of my God and Lord Jesus Christ, to see their beauty and feel their eternal love covering me is my longing. I am home in my Father's house! Will this be your story? Or will yours have a sad ending? It is your choice. God's Word says , 'For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life'. John 3:16
In God's garden are many beautiful wonders. For each person has individuality just as a flower does. Each has a rareness about them that shows colors in a way that another does not, they have a fragrance all their own. Each is so special to God. When put together in songs of praise, they make for a spectacular bouquet for God's table. He feasts on their loveliness and on their sweet sound. Tears of joy fill His eyes as he witnesses the unity of harmony. His heart is over run with love. They bring such brilliant splendor to His garden. He finds His pleasure in each and every one.
Fabel Twelth Author Message Admin Admin Age : 53 Joined : 13 Jun 2007 Posts : 720 Subject: Fabel Twelth Today at 14:08 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Fabel Twelth Moral Inventory Charlax Fables The four thousand year old day The end of a day is somehow better than the beginning eye carefully left my roll and hid my blanket in the place eye like to find it hoping no one goes there it is still quite cold eye lost some composure when the Jogger ignored me and proceeded onto the bridge quite rudely so early to an old man in a hurry eye was almost jogging myself HE came at me like he is used to better days he expected me to jump frog out of his way eye yelled at him " NO" eye said "you SAW me on this bridge" and then eye rudded him eye BUMPED him with my bag just one of three eye always carry just in case of rain. He kept his tongue and made me think that he is mute perhaps he cannot speak perhaps he is one of them? He seemed so strang to me like someone not even there perhaps an ANGEL sent to test me to see iff eye was there? But yet the BIBLE clearly states that JESUS tests or tempts no man so where was HE from? This Jogger made me mad. Everything else was bent from that one chance encounter eye have been a bad boy in the middle of my night but it's all for love ewe the bus was late and sometimes the driver lets people off same side they call it but today he decided everyone must go to the bus stop and wait in the snowless cold and it made me an hour late and no one gives me love the lieberrian is so depressed she cries it seems she just does not have enough? Can someone give me love no only ewe. No Matter how rude no matter how smart they ain't tough there is no substitute for tough not big or mean but eye am tough. Buyer beware eye am a survivor. Fabel Twelth
he wandered there a lonely man, along each broad causeway. and every hand that helped him up, the other slipped away. his arm by you was hard too pull, while currants warm abound. he wandered there a lonely man, and now he's run away. Is It Poetry
Hello Child of Light, I/ve watched you ovrhead, radiating all the E_rth. We've seen you grow with such persistence (Trees tie us to the sky). The catastrophes that have been as a result of you actions can now be overlooked^its^a^new^year. Don't count on love always being there to mimic you when you wish. Your powers have grown over time but your becoming has yet to reach its potential. DON'T. QUIT. YET. Life is beautiful and full of things the world has never seen. (Pretend you care, it looks better.) The Bridge to the past is closed forever but the road to the future is clear and present. It waits only for you to take the first step. Your lungs will never fail you if treat them with respect. "Please save us mortals from our own imaginations! OH C-O-L!". You know, I simply cannot understand people. We deceive ourselves with dreams and imaginings and love. If you listen you'll hear a c-o-l-l-e-c-t-i-v-e rumbling in Amerika. Something has to break s00n. 4nd it will. The 5th horseman never forgets ill done to him. Revenge will always be extracted on those who ask for it. (The modern town hardly knows silence.) We fear being connected with the past. C^n n0thing m_o_r_e be d-ne? -T<>K Know Thyself. Then The Rest Will Be Revealed.
There is a man in the street. He walks his dog, unaware of the eyes observing him. The ladybug's short flight ends on a windowsill. A man sits and wonders why life consists of sitting and wondering. The great storm came. Its violence shakes the foundations of his thought and a rude awakening occurs. There moves a creature, unaware of its movements, unaware of its destination, unconcerned with its destiny. Fate has it so the creature can walk, but there is nowhere to walk. There is no truth, there is no future, there is only continuity. A season of death approaches, and all are prepared with flowers. A return to the beginning, when I did not exist. A return to the windowsill, where nothing was achieved. A return to the streets, where nothing was seen. A hopeless motion is repeated, and the creature is found on its back. A push to an awakening follows. Out it flies, to follow the creature on the streets, to an unknown destination, to an unknown future. The storm passes and there is a return to the deathlike silence. No man can say what death is, yet each man has his future embedded in its existence. Each man has come from non-existence, and to it each shall return. But why is there a fear of death, if each life was plucked from it? Why can not man again experience a rebirth from one state to another? Is there another universe in the state which we can only recognize as non-existence? Once I was there, but there is no memory. I am now here, but there is no reality. There is no experience which can not be classified, and there is no classification for reality. There is only the storm, and the short-lived hope it brings. Time is the great variable. It is the essence of life. It is the road upon which each of us travels. Another dimension, unclassifiable, indescribable. If there is a spirit of man which flows from one state of existence to another, if it is eternal, then time is a mere means of measuring its position. The answers to man's questions lie in the concept of time, of the continuity of man. Each man lives but a short time, but man as a whole spans a greater length of time. Look for your answers here. Tom Bell, 1968
Start with a healthy dose of morning prayer, Nourish yourself on God's Word Add a heaping of love and compassion, a dash of self-control and diligence Mix together well, and refresh yourself, Continue this several times during your day Add a splash of the Holy Spirit for essence This brings comfort and peace when & where needed Claim the blood of Jesus when feeling ill or under attack IT IS the ultimate strength you will ever experience Be sure to distribute forgiveness, humbleness and God's truth As needed throughout your day Give thanks for everything, make everything you do, Show Him to the world, spread joy to as many as possible Be confident in who you are, and to whom you belong Make His will for your life, your life's ambition Love as you are loved, without hesitation Love with unconditional love, not judging one another At the end of your day, when your work is done Give God the glory for the strength He has given At the close of the day, pray for another one to come That you may do His will according to His direction for your life (Repeat this daily until the Lord's return)
Roller Coaster Like an old roller coaster With wooden slated tracks The cars all freshly painted The kind we saw way back The feeling in the pit of your stomach As you slowly start the ride Ready with eyes wide open With your fears laid to the side Starting up the first steep slope The excitement starts to build Ready for what is coming Ready for all the thrills As the ride continues Seems like it will never end The clicking and the clacking Going faster around each bend You finally ascend the last peak The cars all picking up speed Descending downward quickly Around the corner with eyes squeezed Are these not the same feelings You have when you're in love The ups and downs of relationships Euphoria, highs and lows
I've threaded my fingers and turned my body into beads. Like a necklace I was strung and now she wears me 'round her throat. Everyone compliments her new accessory. They say it suits her perfectly; they've never seen a better match. They can't tell I'm wearing her down.
In the winter of our lives, as we are lain to our final rest We rest with generations from long ago As time goes on and it comes to the day That Christ returns, we will rise up to meet Him With generations of past, meeting those of present What a glorious day that will be! Can you imagine? The skies filled with His glory … The earth witnessing His majestic power … As angels … and the children of God, Sing in loud jubilation ... loud jubilation! Of Christ Jesus' return. All of heaven sings out His name! I fear not the winter season of my life With great anticipation of the joy to come I long for that day, to see His face … To stand in His presence … to reign with Him FOREVER in my Father's house! Until that time arrives, I live my life for Him! Today and always until my time of rest.
My first name is 'Disconnected' Middle name is 'Lazy' Last name 'Daydreamer' I live in the state of 'Constant Want' Near the city of 'Desperation' My house is located on 'Barely Making it Avenue' My main desire has been 'Living my own Life' Yet my actions in obtaining it are 'Freddy the Freeloader' Please Lord, change me! Make me who You meant for me to be Give me the strength to stand up, courage to take a chance Fill me with Your love and Spirit that I not fear failure That I may be a blessing to others and glorify You Forgive me for living as my name states I know they are not the name that You gave me Yet they are the ones I took upon myself Now with You, Lord … My first name is 'Joyful Singing' Middle name 'Thankful Spirit', last name 'Saved by Grace'. I am a child of God, living in Your Care!
While toiling and muttering Ranting and sputtering As I did battle with my shirt At the ironing board this morning I reflected: Wrinkles on ones face are Inevitable Unless one is Dorian Gray Or can Botox them away Wrinkles on ones clothes Can be ironed out Though I always have trouble With my crappy iron Though perhaps it's my Technique That fails me I've been ill equipped From the start To deal with The wrinkles in my life Just when I think I've smoothed them away Another takes its place And brings its friends along And I wind up In a morass of messy lines Synchronicity was at play When a little while later As I waited For my bus To take me into the city I noted a schoolboy Sitting on a bench, reading "A Wrinkle in Time" By Madelyn L'Engle If only, like Charles & Meg Wallace In that story One could jump Between dimensions Perhaps go back And make different choices So those wrinkles Would have never appeared Move forward And sidestep present sorrows And be wrinkle-free I only know That I want to be done with it Wrinkles and all Now
Ashes of youth all in a magic circle evolve and fade drowned in the rain. Wind was a thin whisper silken, sad, and uncertain. A spark aglow became a diamond-strung. The kiss of emerald to catch more glitter. A star almost shining where have all the dreamers gone.
Indeed,Boundless knowledge beyond physical wealth becomes true precious worth Copyright McCuen 2008
Don't look at the ground that crumbles beneath you. Don't fear a fall, for I have you. I AM your support, the one that holds you safe. Look up to My eyes, look up and away from the fears that try to take you down. When all is gone, am I not still here beside you? Then look only to Me!
I Am that I Am as Popeye would say ... or was that the burning bush to Moses? Who is the I without the Me? Which came first the Me or the I? Does the Me know the I? When You speak, You say You to Me and I say I to Me and You to You and then, We speak of Them. When I say Me and You say I when You speak of You but not when You speak of Me, and They just don't know what to say. And there You are again and here am Me ... or is it I? Which I Am do I speak of when I speak of Me? The I Am that is Infinity? or, the ego I that thinks it is all? And what of Me, that little itsy bitsy Me that crawled and cried and cooed, then rose up to become a Me that got to say: I think I feel I believe as if it was all about Me or until it was about You ... Is that when it was We? Or is it always and forever one universal We with a Me who can feel apart from and forgets I AM.
The sea spoke to the sky and said, "Join me if you will. For the beauty of both Shall entice man And lure them Right to where I want them." The sky replied with a no, "If I help you lure them They will die without hope. They will not have seen the beauty That we truly offer, That we truly provide." "But, we can then control" Said the sea, to no avail. The sky exclaimed, "It is beneath me To waste their lives. I provide them sunshine For life. I provide them rains For growth. I provide them eternity For when they look upon me, They will gaze in wonder and awe. For I am eternal And that they will see When their time comes." With that, the sea grew rough, Showing it's anger. The sky reminded, "Churn as you will But without me You, too, will dry, But I choose not to do that, Unless provoked." The sea calmed And man sailed upon the sea.
Why don't you trust Me? I hear the Father ask. Do you think I am such that I would lead you into an action and leave you? Don't you believe I am with you always – in everything you do? You aren't to be directed by others, but by ME! Their thoughts and feelings are not to control your walk, I AM! Stop reacting to their words, by stopping what I have put into action. To each I speak and to each I give direction, because they are each different now, does not mean they are not to be done. For they all work together as I have planned. If it is man who decides, then I am not in control, therefore I am not in it. Follow Me, not man. I am the one who loves you, it is I who desires all to dwell with Me in My kingdom. Some may have good intentions, but still falter. I falter not! I know exactly what I want done, I only want you to obey and be My tool in doing it. If you love Me, believe Me, I won't lead you far off and leave you. You are My child and I love you. Walk in faith, you claim you have it, now act on it! Walk with Me, I have control. Even if you take a turn in the wrong direction I am here to bring you back, or am I unable? Am I your God? Am I the one who created all? Beginning and end? If you believe that I am, then can't you believe that I can lead you back on the right road when you stray? I see the heart of man, I don't have to guess what he is inside. If he is for Me, then he can do anything, if he is not then I will stop him. I AM the judge, not man! As My child, do as I direct you to do, not faltering from others looks and remarks. I will care for them as I care for you. My work will be done! Let Me work through you, My child, let all hear of My love that they may be with Me in my kingdom as I want so.
Several nights now I have wrestled with death for my life. I don't fear death, I'm just not done with life. I have things to finish here. People to reach out to. I feel my spirit pull me back as death tries to take me away. My heart knows it will be all right when the time is in God's plan. But not at this time, it leaves too many unsaid, 'I love you's'. There is too much still to be done with and for my loved ones. When my goal has been reached, then I will cherish the moment I lay to rest, until I see my Lord's hand reaching out for me as I rise up from my sleep. But for now … it is life I choose to live. It is Christ I live for. So death leave me alone! You can't have me until my God says it is to be. I trust His timing and His love for me. You, death care of nothing but death. You shall wait, while I live. I plan to live a full and rich life while you wait. God has promised to give us the desires of our heart, those that are stayed on Him. I am in His hands and you can't do anything about it. There will come a day though that you will have your way, but not totally. For you can only take me in physical death, but I will live in eternal life with my Lord and Saviour. So, see you still can't win!
Thoughts race through my mind Spinning me round and round Such an over whelming feeling at times That I can hardly stand upright, from weakness I fall Reaching for a hand to hold I stretch forth reaching Is anyone there? Where are the arms to hold me close? Will I pass through this time And come out alright? As I look into my Savior's eyes I see His compassion He reaches to me The hand that I need reaches out He lifts me up from my fall Wipes the tears and binds the wounds His gentle touch heals the heart And brings strength to my soul His love fills my spirit, gives me hope in days to come Always knowing He is there Reaching for a hand to hold I stretch forth reaching To find His hand stretched toward mine And His arms open wide
When I opened my eyes, all I could see was landscape full on trees with empty nooses My father was a runaway slave, who was captured by them bounty hunters. Daddy wanted to be free, and provide for his family Why do we kill and enslave other man for their differences or color of skin. The answer my friend is blowing in the wind. The answer derives from the sweet taste of sin, created by the love, the power and the color of money The empty nooses keep on blowing in the wind I remember, they kicked, beat and then dragged my daddy, unconsciously to that old oak tree Lord, back in the day, Colored People was restricted from sitting or resting underneath them trees with nooses After they captured my pappy; they wrapped a dry noose round his neck so tight, that I could smell the rope burns on his neck When I opened my eyes, all I could see was landscape full on trees with empty nooses They hung my daddy from that tree. Well, I was six years old, and I dropped to my knees. I ask the Lord to spare my father's life and to forgive these evil people, for they do not know what they do God put His hand in the story. Then, He clapped His Hands, and His spiritual power released the nooses from all the dead slaves God said, "Walk with me, and you shall receive eternal life in the kingdom of heaven. Walk with me down this road of light." Then, He hurled a bolt of lightening at the landscape of empty nooses and said, from this day forth, I promise thee, that empty nooses shall never be the fruit among these trees. Never again, shall empty nooses blow in the wind.