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dreamweaver

I MAY NEVER MEET MY MUM


22nd FEBRUARY 1912*29th MAY 1989
I lost my mother on 29th MAY 1989, 26 years ago.
It feels as if I lost her yesterday and I still
have not come to terms with my loss and I don't
think I ever will. Pain of missing her has increased
with time. A poem for my mother* "I MAY NEVER MEET MY MUM"
I MAY NEVER MEET MY MUM

I would love to believe that my Mum
Is in heaven and when I die I will meet her.
Then
I would be happy every passing day that
the time of my meeting my Mum
is getting nearer by every day passed.

I would feel even great for any
Heart condition that threatens my life
because it will reduce waiting time
to meet my mother.
But
I am not sure what happens after death.
My religion talks about heaven if
karma is good enough and bad one
could take you to hell.

I am sure my Mum would be in heaven
but not sure about me if I have done
enough good karma to go to heaven.

I wish I had faith to believe in all these
without any questions asked.

Unfortunately being a scientist proof
requires evidence as per my training.
So far I have not found any evidence
of things I have mentioned here
and that breaks my heart.

26 years ago on 29th May I lost my Mum
and my stupid logical mind stops me
from believing anything without any proof.

I wish I ware like most people
having faith and believing anything
they are told about life after death
Without any question asked.
But
I am ME and I cannot change.
I may never meet my Mum even if I die.
I miss her so much every day.
If I could meet her by dying,
I would gladly die today.

Kris ~Dreamweaver
www.poetrypoem.com/Dreamweaver.



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poet5170

THE PAIN GOES ON




THE PAIN GOES ON

Well we have arrived at this date again
And still my heart has no relief from the pain,
Time goes by and the years may come and go
But how much I miss you no one will ever know.

To think of you still reduces me to tears
Even though it has now been six years,
But time is not healing my aching heart
I`m just left with a void now we`re apart.

The children still miss you I know they do
They talk of the things that you used to do,
They laugh at the antics you got up to
But I cry inside if they only knew.

Listening to them makes me miss you more
When they go my tears just fall to the floor,
When will the pain stop is what I want to know
Truly speaking I don`t think it will ever go.

My time left will be spent missing you
And your dying I`ll wish I could undo,
To be without you is so hard to bear
As we were an inseparable pair.

Sweep you are thought about every day
And in my heart you will always stay,
A piece of which you took when you went
But you took it with my full consent.

You rest in your favourite habitat
I still sit by your grave and have a chat,
I tell you how much you`re loved and missed
And from this habit I`ll never desist.

Sweep June 1995 * 30th May 2009

~~~~

Loved and missed always

copyright´2015 Elsie

Elsie`s Poetry ~*~ Poet5170
http://poetrypoem.com/poet5170



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sirricky

Beware of Requirements



You received Christ Jesus the Lord,
So keep living as His people;
Worshipping as loved and adored,
As is stated in the Gospel.

Sink your roots deeply within Him,
And build on Him your foundation;
He will give you vigor and vim,
For He has fed you salvation.

Allow your faith to be strengthened,
And overflow with thanksgiving;
Your perseverance is lengthened,
Giving you hope in your living.

Be careful not to let someone,
Rob you of your faith and your trust;
Enticing you in having fun,
With the desires that you lust.

Nor through any misleading deceit,
That they may claim to be hallow;
For their doctrine is not concrete,
As their rationale is shallow.

They follow human traditions,
A worldly way in doing things;
And having no inhibitions,
Of what immorality brings.

All of God is living in Christ,
And God is being made complete;
For no longer to be enticed,
You feel agony of defeat.

It is not a circumcision,
That is performed by human hands;
Rather by His supervision,
By abiding in His commands.

Through baptism you had been dead,
And had been placed within His tomb;
But was brought back to life instead,
Given new birth not through the womb.

Copyright © 2015 Richard Newton Sherrer

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author3877

COURAGE




COURAGE

Please stop living in the past

The past is gone; it did not last

And the future isn't here, my dear

It's as distant as was yesteryear..

If you have the answer please take a bow;

Yes, you're living in the here and now!

Cherish every single day

Your love for life is here to stay.

P.S. If you still do not know what to do

Remember that God is watching over you.

Annette
5/29/20



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roberthaigh

Out of Cigarettes


Out of Cigarettes

There's a woman
Who works at the store in town.
Not young * not old.
Good figure, but not classically beautiful.

She wears her hair pulled back and braided,
Accentuating her features.
Steely*grey eyes * perhaps a little cold.

Mouth full of slightly uneven teeth,
But they are pearly white,
And her smile is surprisingly warm.

She has fine, high cheekbones
and she fascinates me.
She turns me on.
I can't stop thinking about her.

If we were lovers
I'd be happy to shine her shoes,
And she could polish my pain.

Should I let her know I'm interested?
Or should I spare her that dubious honour?

I'm out of cigarettes.
I need to go to the store again.

Copyright Robert Haigh, 2013



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poeticbearlovestowrite

Lisa and Salina Are Two Special Ladies and C N A's




Last night there was an incidence that happened that was really troublesome.
Living; in a nursing home, changing residents is a one of the protocols.
Well, I hadn´t been changed for twelve hours and I was a shameful mess.
These two ladies found me this way and did their best and succeeded to make things right with me.
They profusely apologized and let me know their heart was out of concern for me.
I have had the privilege of having both ladies toi take care of me at different times.
These two are honest and dedicated to their positions as care givers to all te ones they needed to be taken care.
These two ladies will go far with their professional careers and will be well liked by people like myself who care for them already.
Lisa, Salina, I am most glad you are here for us and ask that you remain here for a long time to come.
(© Poeticbearlovestowrite 2015)


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matthewholmes

Fitness to witness


Wine is cheap and so is bread,
His blood and body keeps me fed.
I headed down my grantless track,
A witness without want, though lacks.
In youth I tried sell my soul,
That was the price for fame.
The devil said that my ma was a good woman,
So for the rest of my miserable life the lord has blessed my name.
That which is priceless overcompensates,
And what we inherit we carry for good.
Having two heads is valued by those who want you around.
The impossible can't be reimbursed, but is when you are loved and understood,

And I know god listens.
Your greatest, oldest ancestor fogs the air of his heard
For reality is a bit impaired
When god hangs on your every word.
I cannot buy a new one,
This birthday suit permanently creased,
But when I write, the world is silent.
God grants me peace.

I kissed the earth, licking the dirt off
My lips, planted. What could I express
In ways of wit, and I meant it.
If nothing else, let me witness.
I won't be upset if my participation
Is not wanted. I'm not great.
In a game strife who can fight for life
When your soldier is as weak as water, overweight?
What I witness, I shall pen,
Left without audience but god.
Deep down I crave attention,
But the modern won't often offer to the odd.
Once a little sickness was required,
Some addiction almost expected,
But not adorned in Lowe's big men's section.
If not trim, blonde and blue. Rejection.
I see not to attach myself
To all the torture devices,
Racks and cranks, sweat spanked and stank
From the gym trainer's advices.
If he knew the fibres of my history's tree,
And I could safely confide, He'll see,
In hell, free,
God listens to me.

The fibre, they think is a willing sin
As their teachers have unforgettably told.
Trialled, hung, stoned and diagnosed.
When god inhales, you exhale as your books shut and close.
At least I hold this in my defence.
Who knows, maybe I am no good.
Maybe I do deserve the time of a judge
From where every pointing finger stood.

Leave me to write for my confession
Maybe in my words, even god learns a lesson.

Be it a grandiose lie or a desperate cry,
These works, god is my truest fan.
Every night alone, no welts from stones,
in fact to my violin, a coin, god throws into my pan.
An applaud to strum further chords,
To the voice from the life god gave lends a hand
To the vocals and lyrics of the song
Only the 'I am as I am' can understand.


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poetic2050

Soup Ladle Ruth




There came a fair maiden from Brrrrmooth
She called herself Soup Ladle Ruth
She´d sit on a branch of a sick*a*more tree
To swig from her bottle of vermouth

It was said that she lived with a boisterous clan
That took over the town of Do*Drop*Dan
In this far*away city near some place close by
Came Soup Ladle Ruth from a close*far land

She fixed her face with chalk and red clay
She wore pigskin boots ´n´ a hat made of hay
Singing do wah diddy*diddy dum diddy do
And ridin' ole´ Mule with a swing and a sway

Her hair was like seaweed, colored jet black
Her blood*shot eyes kept talking back
She was Soup Ladle Ruth who picked dead flowers
She was a winter*long smile in a summer*size shack

Suddenly she vanished on a road to somewhere
Some said she´d joined the corn*pone fair
Others said she´d left with the one*legged mayor
She was Soup Ladle Ruth sportin' sea*weed hair

*

May 28, 2015

Author's Note: I decided to step out of my box and stir up a bit of humor.0_o



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