Poetry Poems

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Light Up Your World

You have always obeyed,
Not just when He was here;
And you have never strayed,
Because of having fear.

Continue to work out,
Your salvation with fear;
Never hold any doubt,
That the Lord is not near.

It is the Lord that makes,
Action and desires;
In pleasing Him that takes,
That light up your fires.

Do all without complaint,
Never try to argue;
Have emotive restraint,
Always say what is true.

Then you will be blameless,
Innocent and humble;
And filled with blessedness,
Since you do not grumble.

Then you are His child,
Not having any faults;
Not like running wild,
That Satan locks in vaults.

People are so corrupt,
Crooked in many ways;
They rudely interrupt,
Sticking you in a maze.

But you will shine like stars,
Amongst them on the earth;
He will heal all your scars,
Since you have a new birth.

You experience strife,
But straighten and fly right;
Hold firmly to your life,
And be a shining light.

Copyright © 2014 Richard Newton Sherrer



Mom and Dad Were Happy to See Christmastime

Mom and Dad were happy to see Christmastime for it was a special occasion for the two of them.
I remember so well when we were younger my parents would put our gifts into the separate chairs they sat so I got the ones Mom had placed and my brother got the ones Dad had placed; in his chair.
I know Christmas was always a special time for us as a family.
Jesus was the Reason for the season as He should be all the time.
I am happy Mom and Dad instilled in us the importance of having Christmastime in honoring Jesus as the One Who it was and is for.
I am pleased my parents were happy to see the holidays for us as we were growing.
It made it something special and lovely for us to share the time together.
When I started working I had a great time of decorating the house.
The tree and the wreaths for the doors all were the things the Lord allowed me to do.
This is something that remains special within my heart and life.
Praise the Lord for the holidays and for Christmastime.
(© Poeticbearlovestowrite 2014)



The Last One: Homage to The Carrier Pigeon Martha

She was the last one.
Last of her kind.
Martha never knew how to test her wings.
Nor that she was wild.
She might have envied pigeons if she had known a bird.
But she didn't know any.

She was born alone in a Brookfield Zoo and moved
to the Cincinnati Zoo later in her life.
Martha bore the undignified privilege of having
millions of human eyes peering at her during her lifetime.
The effect may have been considerable
and quite cumulative for one small Passenger Pigeon.
Especially for one who was the last of her kind.

Back in the 1860's the skies of Ontario Canada
were filled with Passenger Pigeons.
They massed at near 3.7 billion.
Forty years later, only a few Passenger Pigeons
were ever reported or observed.
What wanton useless slaughter.
They were culled by the thousands at a time.

In her last solitary days, Martha's fragile feathers
and wings slackened and drooped as she
was seen to tremble in her cage.
Birds are not meant to be by themselves.
They are social animals.
She died September 1, 1914 and her body was preserved.
The last of her kind.
A kind of sample.

Now they want to resurrect Martha.
Bring her back like the great woolly mammoth
by using her DNA.
They did not really ask her permission.

I wonder how will she feel about this?
Will she be forgiving like Christ?
Or will she remember, in her moments of reanimation,
her past life, and all of those long years of loneliness
in the lifeless thick glass cage?

Martha deserves much better than that.

Copyright 11/25/2014 November 25, 2014 All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells/Meloo/straight from her Tilt*a*World

this is truth, not fiction, my reaction to a scientific article I read



One Price Of Free Speech

We don't complain about the fighting For these days we are volunteers Willingly giving our service for An agreed term of years. And we put up with the hardships The stress and the strife The real possibility that Each may sacrifice his life. And we accept whatever happens There'll be very little gratitude, And we accept the indifference Of the general public's attitude; We don't make any judgment of Rights and wrongs of any cause We just follow orders and Fight the politicians wars. For the military don't declare Any conflict, they just fight, Don't have the luxury of Deciding whether it's right. It's our glorious leaders who Decide what's right and good And are then prepared to spill The last drop of another's blood. We know our grateful government Will do everything on the cheap, Giving minimal help and support To those thrown on life's scrap heap. We endure the constant criticism Of those who shout human rights Or Geneva Convention for Action taken in the heat of fight. Those armchair warriors who Don't see the price paid For their freedom or show any Thanks for the sacrifices made. Their very freedom of speech Is defended at the cost Of the injured and the wounded, Of those lives destroyed or lost. We don't complain about the fighting For these days we are volunteers Willingly giving our service for An agreed term of years.



Hickson's Run

Sit for a while on the hungry mile, atop of the high steps.
Your mind turns to the Great Depression.
These were the men who did not eat in style.
Their minds grew dim their bodies slim.
Starvation & salvation went hand in hand.

Ordinary folk of the Great Depression.
Most were family men, it was not a time for confession.
Each day before the dawn, they headed for the finger wharves of the Darling Harbour.

On Hickson road “the hungry mile”,it was a mile long & very wide.
A landing strip for the hungry looking for work, like pelicans they flocked.
It was not a hand out they wanted.

Up to the gates they went two by two, heading for an Arc run by Noah, yeah right!
Their faces all sullen & hands of steel, with minds of granite rocks could not & would not feed.

Their hearts in their hands because they were wretched working men.
They are the wearers of the Stevedore strap with hooks for bales.
The ships of the line, were loading wool.
The devilish hungry men needed to lift a mountain, these heavy wool bales.
Stinking of wool grease, almost stale!

Bluey the basted taller than a tree.
Stared into the eyes to seek the men of a week knee.
Because he was the keeper of the “Bull system”. like sheep in a run the job start would be won or lost.

Bluey, of course did not give a toss!
If you are not fit, I'll give you the drum.
We will see you another day, on your way!
Blasted mongrel muttered the man as he went on his way.
He had escaped the slavery, but would not draw pay.

Colin * Sept 2006




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



v a n i s h e d

it’s entirely surreal sometimes you being so astray if eternal rest had snatched you sensibility would exist but you designated this prospect with unclouded intention sometimes a bewilderment overwhelms me questioning your justifications and a sorrowful sensation resides with the unknown answers of whether or not you’d even feel any shame (or remorse) if one of us, like you unexpectedly vanished




~My Darling~

My Darling you make my heart beat so fast
Just racing within me each time hear from you at last
You have not the faintest idea at all the way
That you make me feel from head to toes each day

You've changed so many things very deep in me
Well with you I feel more alive now than ever you see
That's because you live in my heart forever
And in the very deepest of my mind now forever and ever.

My heart races so fast and because of you I get so warm
In my mind just thinking of you I feel so good in every form
How great it is that you make me feel oh like this all the way
And that in my heart and soul with me I always just have you.

Here in my heart no matter what I'm always smiling
And day and night I just release to you all my loving
Daydreaming of just kissing your very chocolate lips so sweet
Your sexy lips that are just waiting for me oh what a treat!

Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000



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