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  Jul 2015 Evie Hammond
TigerEyes
I am just a child but my mama say I wild
she say I best get dressed for Jesus or, I gonna burn up in hell fire
So mama n' me we got dressed up n' walked to Jesus land
cause we goen to a Jesus house n' listen to the holy preacher man
They gonna pass the basket round'n' round'
while them choir boys sing they sounds
cause we supposed to give everythin' we can
Yeah, give everything we got to the holy preacher man.
In Jesus land we give n' give -
give it all to the ol'
preacher man.
Don't got no money for food
we sure ain't got no money for rent
cause we be live'n by a river in a ****** ol' torn up tent
but preacher man he say to bow our head
yeah,  to pray n' then repent
I am just a small child but this sure don't make no sense.
Yeah, I am just a small child n' my mama say I wild
I sure don't wanna burn up n' what they call the lake of fire
that ol' basket sure got full real fast
when dat' basket went on past
mama, she put her last quarter in --
to protect us from all our sins
and, dat' devil sin'n man
Now I know that I am just a child of five
but I don't think dat' make me wild
preacher man he the one drive'n a big ol' fancy car
Yeah, he drive'n a big ol' fancy car with they shiny white wall tires
So dats' why I gonna grow up n' be a preacher man
gonna tell them folks of wild child's....
to give everything they can.
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Krisselle S. Cosgrove July 28th, 2015It

It is not my intention to offend anyone with this poem. Flannery O' Conner was so ahead of her time. I love "all people" of every race, color, religion, and creed. This was inspired by her work that I read last summer.
  Jul 2015 Evie Hammond
Mike Essig
Only the dead know the end of War.*


The truth at the heart of combat:
those who have seen war never stop seeing it.

There is combat and there is the rest
of your life. Nothing ever measures up
to the mad rush of combat; nothing in
your life can compete with that
heart-rending, dire intensity.

Explosions, fire, everything extreme,
the melding of terror and pleasure
into an apocalyptic ****** that rocked
your soul, your mind, your body.

Not the sort of thing you encounter
at the office or in the factory.

So some small part of you never returns
and in deep secret longs to feel it again,
to return to that holy, redemptive horror.

War is life increased exponentially;
it is life on the brink of insanity;
it is the most alive you will ever be.

The truth at the heart of combat:
those who have seen war never stop seeing it.
  Jul 2015 Evie Hammond
brandon nagley
In mine own death I shalt find solitude
By the river of heaven
Wherein I canst not be cut, hurt, and bruised.....



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
  Jul 2015 Evie Hammond
Kahlil Gibran
Then a lawyer said, "But what of our Laws, master?"
And he answered:

You delight in laying down laws,
Yet you delight more in breaking them.
Like children playing by the ocean who build sand-towers with
  constancy and then destroy them with laughter.
But while you build your sand-towers the ocean brings more sand to the shore,
And when you destroy them, the ocean laughs with you.
Verily the ocean laughs always with the innocent.

But what of those to whom life is not an ocean, and man-made laws are
  not sand-towers,
But to whom life is a rock, and the law a chisel with which they
  would carve it in their own likeness?
What of the ******* who hates dancers?
What of the ox who loves his yoke and deems the elk and deer of the
  forest stray and vagrant things?
What of the old serpent who cannot shed his skin, and calls all
  others naked and shameless?
And of him who comes early to the wedding-feast, and when over-fed
  and tired goes his way saying that all feasts are violation and all
  feasters law-breakers?

What shall I say of these save that they too stand in the sunlight,
  but with their backs to the sun?
They see only their shadows, and their shadows are their laws.
And what is the sun to them but a caster of shadows?
And what is it to acknowledge the laws but to stoop down and trace
  their shadows upon the earth?

But you who walk facing the sun, what images drawn on the earth can hold you?
You who travel with the wind, what weathervane shall direct your course?
What man's law shall bind you if you break your yoke but upon no
  man's prison door?
What laws shall you fear if you dance but stumble against no man's
  iron chains?
And who is he that shall bring you to judgment if you tear off your
  garment yet leave it in no man's path?
People of Orphalese, you can muffle the drum, and you can loosen the
  strings of the lyre, but who shall command the skylark not to sing?
  Jul 2015 Evie Hammond
Sherry Asbury
Small house
isolated, scabrous.
Chickens in the doorway,
half-naked children in the yard.

Never enough.
Gone before it gets there.

Echoes of laughter
mark the morning.

One child after another
darts inside to beg
a mother’s kiss.

Daddy swings his kids
round and round, throwing
them over his shoulder,
where they giggle with glee.

I guess they never read
the government pamphlet
that diagrams their
socio-economic space
at the bottom of society’s
pyramid.

Don’t need no pity here!
Happiness is a commodity that flexes with circumstance.
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