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Archive for January, 2011

Pots of joy

I sit here alone,
And wait for the sun;
Another day beckons,
Full of fun, fun, fun, fun.

She will come out today,
With a big bag of dirt;
All spotless and perfect,
Till it spills on her shirt.

Oh, here she comes,
With her tools all in hand;
To create something special,
never boring or bland.

Dipping into the bag,
She starts filling me up;
Scooping time and again,
Filling me up, up, up, up.

What is this she is doing?
A small hole she now makes;
Reaching around to her side,
A small flower she takes.

Such a wonderous sight,
With the colors of morning;
It will be hard to wait,
To see the pedals adorning.

She puts in the flower,
And dirt clear to the top;
I am so full or joy,
I could hop, hop, hop, hop.

The little flower is thirsty,
It droops in the heat;
She sprinkles down water,
So the small flower can eat.

A spot on the porch,
She picks just for me;
So all that pass by,
My little flower they see.

My flower has bloomed,
And beckons all to enjoy;
I sit proudly with others,
Pots of joy, joy, joy, joy.

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The little white church.

Back in a nook, all tucked away,
Sits a little white frame;
Wood and glass catch the eye,
But strangely enough no name.

Just a small little place,
Unassuming and meager;
But holding great promise,
To the old, young and eager.

What a quaint front porch,
With a few little stairs;
It beckons an entrance,
With serenity in the air.

Who shall come to this place,
This small little haven;
With its promise of light,
For those sleeping shall waken.

The colors of light,
Shining in from the glass;
Defrosting the heart,
From the wrongs of the past.

Who built this place?
This wonderful sight;
It seems to radiate out,
Mustering with all its might.

The young ones will come,
Seeking guidance and truth;
Pure hearts not forsaken;
This place yearns for their youth.

The old ones will come,
Bearing scars in their minds;
Trusting time has not weakened,
Searching, needing, wanting to find.

Many people pass by,
This little white church;
Standing quietly alone,
Never ending its search.

It longs to be filled,
With the benches a bulging;
Love, light and joy,
Will it all be divulging.

Come one and all,
It crys out in silence,
For this little white church,
Shall bring solace and guidance.

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Chart a course.

What is right and what is wrong?
Where is the beginning and where is the end?
Does the brain have the control?
Or is it the heart that stays your friend?

How long do you wait?
Do you take the leap of faith and jump?
Do you dare tip your hand?
And take the risk of being the trump?

Why does everything have to be outside the box?
Is it not allowed that our box is familiar?
Must it always be an uphill journey?
Waiting for the noon bells as the gunslinger?

Who has the necessary words?
Where does the comfort come from?
How do you get up and go?
Instead of reaching for the rum.

How do you keep the stacks from falling?
From caving in on top of you,
Is strength the answer, time perhaps?
But in the meantime, what do you do?

Nothing is right, all is askew,
The top is the bottom and the bottom the top,
There must be a point of light,
Like a moon dog just at the right spot.

Do we take out our mechanical pencils and start to chart a course?
A path perhaps to that one thing we need?
Do we even know what the thing is?
At some point, somehow, there has to be a seed.

A stone must be laid in the foundation of our lives,
Then, you can build the hearth and have the wood fire.
You are not alone in your journey,
There is a will, and that will, will lead to the desire.

And the happiness.

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A fleeting moment.

The mind wonders aimlessly,
Awaiting something to catch the eye;
No direction or purpose,
Then the small fleeting moment dies.

No spark of thought,
Just a cavernous empty void;
Nothing coming in, nothing going out,
Until all hope is destroyed.

Staring up into space,
Barely taking a breath of air;
No sound comes forth,
There is no one aware.

Unable to move,
Nowhere to go;
Why bother with anything,
For a meager hello.

Staying quiet and still,
Blending in background;
Light fading away,
Will never be found.

Despair has hold,
Lids closing on eyes;
The tunnel has ended,
A fleeting moment dies.

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When you woke up this morning, what was the first thought that popped into your mind?

Was it:

Did I actually set the coffee pot last night?
What DID I do last night?
Why do I only have one eyebrow?
Only 10 more hours and I can get a good ride in on the bike.
Who is THAT?
Bacon or sausage?
Why is the room spinning?
I don’t remember this quilt?
Man, what a night last night.
I am so freakin happy.
I love watching her sleep.
I gotta pee.

Or was it more along the lines of:

Did I pay that bill?
Damn this meeting is gonna suck.
Gotta get the kids to soccer on time today.
Butter, eggs, milk, bread, what else do I need to pick up?
How I am going to make $10.00 last until Friday?
If I don’t get that report done, they are gonna fire me.
They must have turned the electric off again.
I wonder if she is still mad at me.
Why did I yell at the kids like that last night?
I hope the car starts this morning.
There is no way I can get her that dress she wants for her birthday this year.
Are they going to foreclose on the house today?
How did we get into this mess?

Or maybe you thought something like this:

I wish I had a blanket.
Will someone talk to me today?
I just don’t know how I can take it anymore?
Maybe I can find something to eat today.
Everyone hates me. I just know it.
No one will ever miss me.
I had to do it.
I need some more stuff bad.
Why me?
Just one more step and it will all be over…I can jump, I know I can.
God, please help me.

So, what WAS the first thought that popped into YOUR mind when you woke up this morning?

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All worked up.

Quiet and unassuming,

Waiting for the chance to run;

Sitting silently in the black dark,

Will the next sound be the one?

Never asking for a reason,

Just accepting to be alone;

Anxiously awaiting the time,

Again becoming the throne.

The weight of the world,

Is pushing in all around;

But freedom and peace,

Are not far to be found.

A touch or glance,

Will never suffice;

When contact is made,

You will not think twice.

The power to move you,

Is all there need be;

Trembling with desire,

With the want to be free.

The fever is rising,

The urge grows too strong;

Must find the outlet,

Must hear the familiar song.

I know where it is,

Where the release awaits;

I have been there before,

My soul yearns to recreate.

Control is now lost,

I am consumed by the need;

No man can fulfill it,

Not by words or by deed.

The black dark is illuminated,

The shine bright and true;

Always ready and waiting,

The bike that was one is now two.

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