Today I found a friend,
Who knew everything I felt.
He knew my every weakness,
And the problems I've been dealt.
He understood my visions,
And listened to my dreams.
He listened to how I felt about life and love,
And knew what it all means.
Not once did He try to change me,
Or tell me I was wrong.
He understood what I was going through,
And promised he’d stay long
I reached out to this friend,
To show him that I care
To pull him close and let him know
How much I need him there
And now I realized that this perfect friend I found
was nothing but my mirror.
Jackie Paulson is a qualified paralegal who holds a two-year degree from Kaplan University in Chicago, Illinois. Her 20 years in the hair care industry as a barber, manager, and entrepreneur taught her the importance of customer service. While possessing an underlying intuitive, psychological and spiritual approach to life and relationships, Jackie helps clients manage their time, energy, money and environment. http://stayingpositive2010.wordpress.com
Bird
By Paul Barnett
A pile of discarded dreams lies on the side of a sidewalk
Next to a busy street
An old birdhouse stands, worn and empty
Testimony to a former life from a time
When music swung and pictures were hung, dusted on the wall
The spark which had shown brightly
So many years ago
Faded ever so slightly as the leaves of time
Fell quietly, unnoticed
The bird having long since
Flown free
Go Get the Pliers
Is that blasted thing broken again?
It seems we just fixed it a short time ago.
Go get the pliers, the hammer and wrench.
Oh heck! Just bring the whole toolbox this time.
We’ll see what we missed on the last repair.
Tweak it and tune it up just like a pro.
Clean it and glean it til it shines like gold
With nary a hint or a speckle of grime.
Worst case scenario, we fall short,
Our futile efforts fail to convert.
Then we need look for an alternate means
For achieving the goal to which we aspire.
But you and I are a crafty lot,
Not afraid to go diving in dirt.
Fearless, undaunted we rake through the muck,
Knowing the prize that can rise from the mire.
We never know the tools we possess
Til challenge steps up and we call him a liar.
Website: http://www.iwritesome.com Lulu
Storefront: http://www.lulu.com/dsmartin
Plays: http://sites.google.com/site/playsbydennissmartin/
Stealing Time
The picture on the nightstand
Reminds me how it used to be
Before fate came calling
And silently took you from me.
Those last days were precious,
Though hard to get through.
I treasured each moment
That I spent with you
Stealing time…
Hope for tomorrow.
Stealing time…
Live for today.
In my mind I block out the sorrow.
To savor the days we have left is like
Stealing time.
Time is a treasure,
A measure of the love that we earn,
And memory the jewels to be found
In the lessons we learn.
But keepsakes don’t matter
When rules start to bend.
And all that’s worth keeping are
The days that we spend
Stealing time…
Hope for tomorrow.
Stealing time…
Live for today.
In my mind I block out the sorrow.
To savor the days we have left is like
Stealing time.
~ Dennis S Martin
Ballad of Big Man
Big ole boy I used to love; he died.
His Mama called to tell me; we cried.
The last time I saw him was on T.V.
And he was as big as big could be.
He was on one of those strong man shows.
What made him do it, no one knows.
He was benching stacks of the iron bars.
The crowd was screaming; he was the star.
He was pressing a ton of weight.
The crowd was hungry; he was the bait.
They say he was taking lots of that shit.
The stuff the boys take to make them get big.
The stuff the girls take to make them run fast.
And they don’t care that the glory won’t last.
So they do what they do, find their place in the sun.
And their names are in lights, when the sun is done.
So they do what they do, and then they are gone.
And they leave us to mourn, and to try to move on.
Big ole boy I used to love; he died.
His mama called to tell me; we cried.
We cried for his beauty; we cried for his youth.
We cried for his searches for meaning and truth.
And the longer we live, the more we know.
It was never the arrival; it was always just the road.
Jan Bossing © 2010
Joelton, Tennessee
It’s the Life
It's not the tear, it's the howl
It's not the pain, it's the wound
It's not the destiny, it's the road
What is first decreed and evident?
What wraps you first in its belt?
What stirs more and what is felt?
The sky is clear
Its strip untouched
The clouds are not the barrier…
...even their haze is long wrenched!
The rays are still beaming
Isn’t their task much bound?
Eyes are witness, captured is the soul
Intent is inclined, trust is the core
Clogged is not my Merry
Death is not for my love
It's not the color, it's the fauna
It's not the return, it's the life!
~ Naima Saleem
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