Poetry Poems

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sirricky

Surrender



In view of all that we share,
On the compassion of God;
How He shows that He does care,
By cleansing where we are flawed.

I urge you to surrender,
Yourself and be sacrificed;
Being humbled and tender,
No longer being enticed.

Devote yourself to the Lord,
Do what is pleasing to Him;
Once you are in one accord,
No longer will you feel grim.

This is a kind of worship,
That is set aside for you;
Improve your relationship,
With the one God that is true.

Be not like those of this place,
Rather change the way you think;
Not like the ones that disgrace,
Are amoral as they drink.

You will know the desires,
What is good and pleases God;
That perfection requires,
Showing Him honor and laud.

The kindness of God has shown,
Never put yourself as first;
Just do what He would condone,
Which keeps desires from thirst.

Good judgment should be from thought,
For keeping God on your mind;
Just what believers have sought,
Being with God as aligned.

God gave you a certain gift,
That is different from others;
Each inspires to uplift,
All the sisters and brothers.

Practice gifts to perfection,
With being humble and meek;
To feel godly affection,
In everything you seek.

Copyright © 2017 Richard Newton Sherrer

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dreamweaver

KILLER CURIOSITY




Please, visit the site for the poem. Text on Picture is not visible here.



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poetry2071

Have a GREAT ATTITUDE


Have a great, attitude, no matter what your circumstances, ARE
With an *ATTITUDE, *of *GRATITUDE*you will achieve GREATNESS, and*GO*FAR

No matter what the *CIRCUMSTANCE
Stay* MOTIVATED, *and *POSITIVELY*DANCE

No matter what, your CIRCUMSTANCES, may be*RATHER*WELL*or*ILL
Stay*FOCUSED*POSITIVE*and*MOTIVATED*with a can do, ATTITUDE*and*POSITIVE*WILL

Keep a good*POSITIVE*ATTITUDE*of*GRATITUDE
Worry, and fret, not, about others, who are ruthless, unkind, uncaring, selfish, and*RUDE

Have, and, maintain, an, ATTITUDE, of GRATITUDE, and*EXCEL
Be POSITIVE, PRO*ACTIVE, MOTIVATED, FOCUSED, and with a GOOD*ATTITUDE, no matter what the CIRCUMSTANCES, are*BE*WELL

By john d Jungers
22 nd ofFebruary 2017

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dandy1

1938



As any child
Born in 1938
I knew nothing
of the world around me
My circle began with Mom
I cared nothing about war
My neighbors were my friends
Nightly sirens disturbed my sleep
My crying disturbed my Father
The Japanese enemies would hear me
Six foot nine he was a coward
The country needed him he hid from duty
Grandpa entered my circle at about five
He preached loving thy enemy
I had heard Socialists and Commies were bad
My Grandpa was none of that he loved his neighbors
So at night the enemy after dark came to our door
They were Americans just like us
They had babies who needed milk and food
Grandpa gave freely as I watched
As a child I learned to use a ledger
Yamada milk and eggs Ivan oil for his car
They hugged me and I played with their children
But soon they no longer came to our door
As an adult I learned of enternment camps
Treated as the enemy my friends and neighbors
We preach forgiveness their story should be told

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smallsteps

Brick Wall


May the Good Lord preserve me
From having one of those days
When folk appear to be listening
But dont hear what you say.
There they are, face as
Expressionless as a wall
And sadly you know
They didn´t hear much at all.

Hey Ho that´s life
And they really need to know
So take a calming breath
And give it another go.
At least you´ll have tried
But down in your heart
You know they´ve only heard
Such a very small part.

And when they Facebook
And when they later tweet
And report a conversation
Only half complete.
No use getting upset
Or banging your head
Its the world of cyber slowly making
More progessively brain dead.

Take another breath, realise
That, although it isnt nice,
Sometimes it´s necessary
To say things more than twice.
Its not necessarily certain
That they´ll take any in at all
But with a bit of luck at least more
Will penetrate that brick wall.

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orcuttconder

"Hot Dog on a Stick"


“Hot Dog on a Stick”

The two boys sat across from,
Hot Dog on a Stick.
They both ordered one or both,
Of the only 2*items,
That they sold their,
Fresh squeezed lemonade,
Or a hotdog,
Dipped in batter,
Deep fried,
On a stick.
They both loved the mall,
But their favorite place to go,
Was Hot Dog on a Stick.
It had the Hottest girls by far,
Of any place in the whole mall.
The girls at the giant cookie place,
Came in 2nd,
But it was a distant 2nd.
The two boys had been coming,
To the mall since they were 13 years old.
One hour and 15*minutes each way,
On their bikes,
If they peddled real hard.
Once they got to the mall,
They would take one quick lap,
Around the mall,
Then straight to Hot Dog on a Stick,
And they have been coming back,
Ever since.
Now they were 16,
And in high school,
Driving a beat up VW bug.
They cut the drive time,
Down to just 7*minutes each way.
They could still spend over an hour,
Sitting on a 2*foot Wall,
Surrounding a bunch of trees,
On the other side of the walkway,
Across from Hot Dog on a Stick.
Now the boys liked,
The sweet lemonade,
The hotdogs were,
Like no other in town,
But it was the girls,
The girls were the reason,
For a 2 ½ hour round trip,
Bike ride.
The girls were always,
Between 16 & 20 years old,
And like a sports team,
Every year new rookies would join,
And well*loved veterans,
Would disappear from the roster.
The boys knew all the girls names,
And would fire off,
Each girl’s stats,
Like that of a pro ball player.
Blond hair,
Blue eyes,
5’9,
Southern accent,
And a 38*inch bust.
With that last stat,
Seeming to get quoted,
More often than any of the others.
They would talk about the veterans,
From years past,
Rattle off her stats,
And the little interactions,
They had with her.
Or maybe that new hire,
Dark tanned Vikki,
So bubbly and perky,
And talks like a valley girl,
She’d be perfect,
If only she had better numbers,
In that one all*important stat category.
The official uniform,
Was another popular topic of conversation.
It was red shorts,
A striped halter top,
And for some strange reason,
A big oversized hat.
The boys spent countless hours,
Sitting on that 2*foot wall,
Discussing where the girls,
Got their red shorts.
They couldn’t just be some standard,
Bulk Company issued,
Medium sized red shorts.
Each girl seemed to fit into them,
So perfectly,
As if they were hand sewn,
On to each and every girl.
Now the halter tops,
We’re not tight at all,
In fact they were quite loose fitting,
And depending on,
Each girl’s induvial bending style,
The tops tended to hang down,
Quite a bit at times.
So that some of that,
Soft and pretty lace,
Of what the boys thought to be,
Or thought they knew to be,
Was clearly visible.
The boys fought and augured,
Over what exactly it was,
Each boy swore they saw.
Those stolen images,
Stayed with them,
Long past the ride home.
The boys hasn’t said anything,
For the last 20*minutes or so.
Neither one had any comment to make,
Or stats to compare.
So the boys slide off the wall,
And started to pick up their trash,
Then they both walked towards,
The Hot Dog on a Stick.
One wiping his mouth,
With a napkin.
The other one trying to get,
One last swallow,
Out of his drink.
As they put their trash,
In a small trash can,
Next to the Hot Dog on a Stick counter.
As they started to walk away,
They both glanced over,
One last time,
For a look at the girls,
Before turning away.
Leaving behind them,
Both the girls of,
Hot Dog on a Stick,
And one of their favorite,
Boyhood fantasy’s…

Tom Allen…02*17*2017…



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mypoemstomw

dime a dozen grill


Come on in, Pull up a chair, Broken hearts and shattered dreams. Can't tell the two apart. She left him,he left her. Down and to the right, You'll have a lot of company. Most will spend all night. Broken dreams, Are to the left. Wallowing in their drinks, Sit right down. I'll get you one. Misery love's its company. Broken hearts, Shattered dreams, Just to name a few. We got plenty of room for everyone, At the dime a dozen grill.

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glasshouse

With egg upon my face... Revisited


I have witnessed the gray divide
where sequins meet a licorice sky
just as the man inside a ball of ash
makes his faint charcoal appearance

I have written once or thrice
upon the grains of dead wood
with an exquisite delicate quill
that I had ripped from an angel

There's an owl atop an crooked steeple
he looks down upon me and shouts
who, who, who,? you stupid girl
I am, for that stupid illusive boy

My shadow stretches ahead of me
fading into cracks of cold cement
am I suppose to follow that exit?
damn these bending hallucinations

I curled into your form last night
as you are my disease of choice
that lights the path of this glow
and glimmer that holds your eye

Just I dust your sleeping eyelids
with your long awaited visions
of a woman harvesting your words
filling a hole of a wounded poet

Tears have fallen like vacant rain
when all is but behind those gates
of a world grown with unworthy seeds
that emulate beautiful but poisonous

Here within these far fetched thoughts
I sit humbled at the feet of Mozart
my personal colorful fabrication
he brushes my hair as if I am his pet

This morning I cracked a sunrise egg
the sound led me into another frame
where your life is within this shell
here I taste you with my velvet tongue

Written by,
Abby lynn
´
2011/2017



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