My lov’d, much honour’d, much respected friend!No mercenary bard his homage pays;With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end,My dearest meed, a friend’s esteem and praise:To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,The lowly train in life’s sequester’d scene;The native feelings strong, the guileless ways;What Aiken in a cottage would have been;Ah! tho’ his worth …
Anger fills my heart and soulAnger takes a mighty tollAnger lessens but can never leaveAnger you hope to never receive,Anger stays forever withinAnger acts with the might of all sinAnger is deadly to all aroundAnger gets mad at the thought of soundAnger is the thoughts in my headAnger that’s mine all should dreadAnger for me …
So this guy comes up to me and says,“What’s the vision? What’s the big idea?” I open my mouth and words come out like this… The Vision? The vision is JESUS – obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus.The vision is an army of young people.You see bones? I see an army. And they are FREE from materialism. They …
By MO H. SAIDI For Tristan I My father was tall, plump, old and cruel. When he was late returning home, we’d joke that he’d been taken to the morgue. A story teller, he often would say, God Loves good tales with happy endings: …
Halloween or All Hallow’s Eve as it is known by many ancient European countries is something that is celebrated world over. Trick or treaters. Carving pumpkins. Horror movies. All these have the single goal of celebrating the scariest month of the year. This ancient tradition goes all the way back to the Celts who believed …
RUTH STONE In ’29 before the dust stormssandblasted Indianapolis,we believed in the milk company.Milk came in glass bottles.We spread dye-colored butter,now connected to cancer.We worked seven to sevenwith no overtime pay;pledged allegiance every day,pitied the starving Armenians.One morning in the midst of plenty,there were folks out of context,who were living on nothing.Some slept in shackson …
NABANITA KANUNGO It would try to lisp a dumbness sometimes—the language of welts rising slowly on the panes,a cracked blur of riot-torn air,confused which year it was. The last time it made a sound was whenit crinkled on its way into a bin,a great plot of justice. I wasn’t born, then;my father was. It must …
Did you hear about the rose that grewfrom a crack in the concrete?Proving nature’s law is wrong itlearned to walk with out having feet. Funny it seems, but by keeping it’s dreams,it learned to breathe fresh air. Long live the rose that grew from concretewhen no one else ever cared. This poem really spoke to …
It’s a long and silent street.I walk in the dark and trip and falland get up and step blindlyon the mute stones and dry leavesand someone behind me is also walking:if I stop, he stops;if I run, he runs. I turn around: no one.Everything is black, there is no exit,and I turn and turn cornersthat …
A lot of people have this plague of a disease. Yes, it’s a plague. I speak from experience. I’m on Omegas and Neurovance just so that I remember to make my parents coffee or what tasks to do at work. If I make a mistake, I don’t even remember doing it. Yes, I know it …