The power of HOPE
Away from all worries, all tensions, the hectic schedule and all we know about the bad world, I was lifted to fairy land-one that resembled in Walt Disney’s animation .There was fog everywhere, all that I could see was white light scattered that reflected purity. It was a pleasant world-just as God had created for Adam and Eve. I wore a white robe very wavy and frilly as if I am a fairy! There was a soothing music that played in the background. As the music grew loud and intense, I could see myself climbing marble steps that illuminated as I put my foot on it. Everything was peaceful, pleasant as if watching with rose-tinted glasses!
These stepping stones have become a part of me.
They have seen me through my story….
…As a little girl playing with the frogs…
…As a lass reading to escape the mediocrity of my world…
…As a young woman falling in love…
…And as an elderly lady leaving this world to spend eternity with him, the one she loved…
I found them at age three.
Daddy took me to see the frogs.
We played there for hours and we laughed.
But as I got older, daddy and I didn’t have time together.
…We grew apart…
…Away from each other…
…Away from being father and daughter…
But the steps stayed for me.
At 13, I was a lost young girl. Home wasn’t a place I wanted to be, so I took a book and ran to the steps…
Here’s the road but where’s my path
Here’s the sign but what does it point to
This part here is strewn with stones
That, a little further away, looks smooth
Or is it empty?
How is it that the smooth stretch seems rocky
While the stones arouse an animal instinct
To test strength and taste blood
It’s maddening to decide which is mine
How do you decide
when your eyes are shown rocks
And your dream is shown reality
Your heart hopes
And your brain struggles
to see what is unrelentingly clouded to you
Tuggler the Juggler loved to bowl
He’d strike those pins, and– what do you know!
Right down the lane, into the pit,
that ball would roll– and it would hit!
But Tuggler was a funny clown:
He’d put those pins upside-down
And–what do you know! He’d bowl again
He’d knock them over: even then!
But that’s not all! He’d get a thought:
he’d stack ‘em up: hey, why not??
then he’d wind up his lucky arm
Man’s hair: red
specks of grey
His head was filled with big dreams,
eyes search for love
His fruit: none
dreams are dead,
purchase things,
live better:
the ways of sin-old people
with no dreamings
and no lovings
and no livings
Live loving
Love living
be dreamers!
Posted on : 2010.06.12 | By : crazymoose | In : Poetry
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To think the trees are all knowing
When the days roll by and soon turn into a forbidden song
Millions of multicolored angels dancing in the never ending music.
Many experience the release of their wings
But cannot comprehend the movement that is classic.
Seeming as the wishes of the guardians
Prayed upon the ground that held them on the Earth
And this graceful calling of an Anglican.
The thought of ending this miraculous dance,
And stopping on multicolored angel,
And to put a pressure on a wing without concern,
And thrust my hands and arms in the song
In front of a thousand other’s dancing grace,
In the angelic whispers of them all in their own special language.
And the wind will join in the enchanted fun
By whirling and carrying the dance and song
I have no doubt I would end by grasping none.
My pages are printed on with black ink.
I am stories of life, whether they are true or not.
The eyes of curious creatures explore my reaches.
Some are kind and take care of me,
Making sure I am on my shelf and comfortable.
While others are rough and injure my spine or dog-ear my pages.
I have done nothing to deserve this mistreatment.
I am one’s perfect story, and another’s worst.
There is an insurance based essay contest currently being held at Affordable Insurance Options. The contest is free to enter, there are cash prizes being awarded to the top three entries, and the contest is open to anyone who has a true story to tell about how insurance made a positive difference in their life.
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Chapter One
I have nothing to say. So what do you write about when you have nothing to say? Should I write about how I feel? I’m angry. I’m crazy. Keep me quiet, it makes you well.
Should I write about where I am? I’m really no where. Slapped down in this hole. All this whiteness. Then the memories come red appears and the walls start to bleed. Lights start to flash in the corners of my eyes. My throat is dry. I cross the room to the sink in the corner and cup my hands under the faucet. The water is warm, but still I gulp. I rise from the sink and look in the mirror. I see nothing.
Born and raised in Chicago, that’s where the walls start to bleed.
I leaned about love from the T.V. I learned about sex from the adults around me.
I graduated with special achievement awards in grammar school. I graduated High School, barely.
I’m terrified. I need to shut off my imagination. What comes next?
Do I continue? Why did they take it all away from me?
Chapter Two
My family and I lived in a two bedroom apartment.
