Poetry Poems

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There are no short cuts to earning the trust.
There are no set routs for gaining the trust.
It takes a long time in building the trust.
It's equally difficult maintaining the trust.

Trust is like a pan full of milk so perfect.
It takes just a drop of lemon juice in milk
and the milk would go bad by the lemon juice .
Impossible to undo harm once done to trust.

Trust is like a thin fragile pane of glass.
Takes a small impact of something hard
to shatter the pane of glass into pieces.
Trust could break like the pane of glass
even a small thing could destroy the trust.

Be trustworthy so that you can be trusted.
Treat others the way you like to be treated.
Once glass is broken it can not be mended.
Once trust is lost it can not be regained.

Kris ~ Dreamweaver




So many hurdles to become a man Like riding a byke, driving a car Or, surreptitiously unfastening A young lady's bra. The one who invented That series of hooks Should be named a criminal In all history books. One hand only said the code. As I struggled she would giggle Try to help maybe by Giving just a little wiggle. Nothing moved as My fingers went numb Then Jesus wept Bloody cramp in my thumb. In despair I would desist Tradition wouldn't Let her assist So we'd sit there Unwillingly chaste With my arm Around her waist.
In those days you seldom did What you didn't oughter Cos in those days a dad Looked after his daughter. One goodbye kiss Seldom more Cos he could be waiting Behind the back door. Stay too long And he could appear To fetch you a clout Across one ear. Romance 1950's era Standards didn't let you go too far Like those damned little hooks That fastened that bloody bra.



A Man Called Tsuris

every October it
would be the same
his troubles would slant in on him
like rain

I asked him
because I knew him
or so I thought I did
why had he traveled so far across the country
to a land where it rained
the way it did

he didn't have the answers
he only said how it rained
and that the rain troubled him so
he didn't carry an umbrella
nor wear a mackintosh
nor an oar
to paddle his boat
he wasn't collecting animals 2x2

he was
for all that rain

he called himself
I heard him say it
very loud and
very plain

he was irascible
he was grumbling like the thunder
he was as unpredictable
as the weather
he didn't know it

he was the rain.

Copyright September 20, 2014
All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells straight from her Tilt*a*World
All ideas/prose/poetry/rants are the legal property of this Writer

There's a person who bears partial resemblance
to this poem. He's a bear of man. Yet I adore him.
We are all, in our own ways, are we not,
unpredictable, grumbling, irascible. No one
escapes this. It is what makes us human.
We love people in spite of their flaws, why?
Because we have them too? Well, partially, yes.

Tsuris is the Yiddish word for Trouble.




I stood beside myself in silence
pivoting inside a vacant room
upon my curled and naked toes

Shadows streamed thru my window
weaving shades and playfulness
they danced upon empty white walls

Seamless light filtered thru darkness
and I swore there were celestial angels
surrounding this daughter of distress

Glitter filled my eyes and space
layers of contrast shed from me
I counted levels of sense of self

Dusk fell upon my windowsill
and I lit the paper lanterns
as to surrender my obedience

I lift them to the universe
as if the stars were aligned
just and rehearsed for my day

.and this night of epic visions
such the rite for a blood*less virgin
absent her world and where she step foot

Would there be a pillar of proof
or still and standing an electric proposal
as long as I draw breath .someone elevates me

Written by,
Abby lynn
SEPT. 20



Hope of the Prophet

Remembering my suffering,
And of my aimless wandering;
And the poison in the wormwood,
All the afflictions as they could.

For the misery and the gall,
In trying to cause my downfall;
My soul persists to remember,
What did happen in September.

These things try to discourage,
Remembering my heritage;
Because of the source of my fruit,
Has always been God as my root.

I continue to try to cope,
For I am able to find hope,
So I keep this one thing in mind,
For mercy and grace keeps me kind.

We were not completely wiped,
Compassion that will never doubt;
And I always patiently wait,
The faithfulness of God is great.

It is new every morning,
That is coming without warning;
As the Lord is my lot in life,
For combating toils and strife.

That is why I find hope in Him,
Never stressed out or feeling grim;
The Lord is good to those who wait,
Knowing that He will compensate.

Anyone who seeks assistance,
Will believe in His existence;
Continuing to hope and wait,
Not worrying about their fate.

It is good for you to endure,
Any burdens till God do cure;
No matter how long it may take,
Because God will never forsake.

Copyright © 2014 Richard Newton Sherrer




At night when the wind whispers low
your voice is carried past the light
and somehow finds my heart slumbering.
I hear you in that far and distant place
where dreams are always kept alive
and hope is scattered amongst the stars.

At night I feel an angel's breath
that sweetly blows fragrant bouquets
of lily, hyacinth, and roses.
My heart is filled with love's familiar scent
and leads me to the dream of you,
loneliness is swept away by our sure faith.

At night God speaks of my true love
and assures me that my love is out there
waiting for his heart to be awakened too.
We share that same night sky,
you lost in your dreams of me
and I waiting on the wings of God's promises.



May the Singing of the Morning Birds Never End

May the singing of the morning birds never end for they bring such joy to our hearts.
It is a treasured gift of love from the Father that is emanated through the birds.
Take joy; in what you may hear and allow the Lord to speak to you through them.
Giving joy to whomever is close and knowing too the Lord is responsible.
Never think for a moment that the Lord doesn´t hear the birds for He is always awake and hears everything.
It brings Him joy to hear the morning birds and it will help you as well to be happy.
I know for it has happened to me.
Praise the Lord for the joy that is ours through the morning birds.
(© Poeticbearlovestowrite 2014)




Happy Birthday To My Terry

Once again the calendar
Has slipped into September.
An occasion meant to celebrate.
A time to just remember

The day you made your entrance
Into my startled world.
I was not at all prepared for you
I expected one more girl.

Girls were so predominant
In your father’s family.
And, actually, in mine as well,
So you really surprised me.

I brought you home in frills and lace.
I just never stopped to think
That I might wrap a man child in
All those pretty shades of pink.

Happy? Thrilled? Of course I was!
My heart was filled with joy!
I still recall the doctor's words,
"Smile, Mama, it’s a boy!"

This was so many years ago
Yet it seems like yesterday.
I love you very much, my son…
Have a great, God blessed birthday!


Doris Jacobs*Covington
September 20, 2014

2 Timothy 3:15
And that from a child thou hast known the holy scriptures,
which are able to make thee wise unto salvation
through faith which is in Christ Jesus.

John 16:21
When a woman is giving birth, she has sorrow
because her hour has come, but when she has
delivered the baby, she no longer remembers the
anguish, for joy that a human being has been
born into the world

I don't care how old you get to be.you'll always be my baby.


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