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 Nov 2014 Grace Pickard
Creep
Wake up in the middle of the night
for inspiration,
new ideas,
thoughts waiting to be poured onto paper.
ever notice how its at night when you get your best ideas?
 Nov 2014 Grace Pickard
Helen
you don't fool all!

you might hide behind
a glass of mesquite
but most people (beings)
read beneath your depth

that may be as shallow as a puddle

but don't we all muddle
through the rain?
and see our feet get wet?

However!?

There are roads that most won't
purposely walk at night
because on such desolate paths
things are wont to cause fright

However

Our Gonzo sits in the middle
of the path
a drink in one hand
and in the other?
Part of an old soul escaped
just looking for the other half
telling jokes about himself
that make others laugh
and he sips their happiness
from a half empty glass

Gonzo is just a paperweight
that sits heavily on a boney frame
John Patrick Robbins is an amazing writer, flesh and blood
A lover, a fighter
that leaves little rays of sunshine
on the path to Insane
and he deserves all the love and respect that we just want to drown him in :)
#*******
Consciousness is a point
where lights are absorbed
concentration is tested
nothing should waver
from the path
alone and lost
only the still
and silent
gets the key
to unlock
the world
where you
and you alone
a realization
beyond
you and the point
will be
one
 Nov 2014 Grace Pickard
Krezeyyyy
It's like a bird kept in a little cage,
Or a notebook kept in a drawer,
A life not lived fully
Or nights when dreams cease to exist.

It was sad and lonely and cold
I was.
I've forgotten the fire that burned deep inside
I've forgotten the dreams, I've forgotten my wings.

It wasn't because of my identity,
I was destined, I was made for something great
But I was too scared to move
I've forgotten I was loved.

But this man saved me from myself
Not because He wants to put value in me
I was valuable even before the world began
I am His happy thought, He is my Abba.
desire
like pyre,
like
a piece of wood
i am,
ignite
the spark
with love
if not,
with hate
-- but
remember
deep in
is the spirit
of phoenix--
like
the fire,
hidden
in wood--
It was a letter written by a little child to St. Nick
It had to be at the North Pole pretty quick
The little child felt a certain toy had to be the right pick
The child wished on a falling star
He hoped that his wish would extend really far
But let the story in detail unfold
Come on in and look behind the curtain of told
Little John stated, “ I want a toy train set”
I want it to be my own train set no one has ever seen
Santa reading little John’s letter felt he would do the next best thing, he would give little John a personal ride on a real train, and he would be the only passenger aboard to visit me in the North Pole
This will be more than a wish
Little John was fast asleep, but Santa entered his bedroom, “Awaken, Awaken little John”
He awoke, but couldn’t believe Santa was actually standing there
Santa told little John we have a journey to the North Pole
The train was called, “WISHES DELIGHT”
The steam engine had turned on its headlight
The signal was given to “ALL ABOARD!”
The train started to pull out
It’s a Christmas joy with anticipation to shout
The steam was flying in the air and the train’s whistle could be heard in the distance
A little heart that can’t compare
Suddenly it starts to snow
The Christmas trees were all bowing from below
But the train had still miles to go and it was the North Pole bound being the flow
Travelling up steep hills and the mountains looking like movie stills
Yet the steam engine being determined in its own will
Finally a sight in a child’s eyes
NORTH POLE, but too a little child, “TOYLAND”
Little John steps off the train
It was his fascination that remained
Santa escorts little John into his workshop
There were many toys sitting on shelve tops
There were toys among toys, and there was plenty of them to give any child joy
Santa was constant thinking he must have little John home by midnight
But Santa was considerate and polite
Little John was amazed at Santa’s place
This was something Little John will never ever erase
Immediately following little John had fallen asleep
He was dreaming in my soul to keep
Stars all shining bright
They are telling everyone Merry Christmas and have a good night.
Oct 25th, 2014 12:00 P.M. in La Quinta Hotel in Brooklyn Park, my second day visiting Minnesota. Today I'm suppose to see my father who lives in Plymouth Minnesota, and finally see my sister and her husband who lives in New York.  I haven't seen family for a year now, but today was the day to have mother's memorial service with the family and relatives. I got into my rental car, and drove through memorable highway 169.

It was a month ago when my father told me we would have a memorial service for mother one last time, and in that phone call before he hung up, he asked me if my sister ever told me about his girl friend.  Then my old man asked me to take my mother's rings and other jewels, and carry mother's memories. I was shocked at first, and super dumbfounded. Since it was only 3 years ago mother passed away from cancer, and in my mind all I thought was "35 years of their marriage only equated to three year of mourning for my father?"  Clearing my throat to respond, and finally getting my composure together, while putting things in perspective through my head I answered honestly no! My thoughts fizzled, while it became cold and numb.  A speechless betrayal in mind, but I knew my old man was weak alone.  I remember when I used to live in Anoka Apartment in Minnesota, I visited his home in Blaine, my old man crying alone to sleep.   Maybe he has suffered enough, and thought to myself how can I judge this man, my father who lost his wife through cancer. To feel desolate for three years must of been a lonely life, and finally he has someone to fill the void he has lost.

So here I was in Minnesota, to my old man's new apartment.   After looking at the Email he sent with the address to his home on my Ipad, all I wanted was to get this over with.  Lot of memories I wanted to forget, and this gut wrenching moment that made me feel weak.  As I walk through the hallway to my father's apartment, I see an open door with the scent of Korean food!  As I enter into the Apartment, I did not see my father, but a lady who I have never met cooking in the kitchen.   Completely surprised by this unknown person, I simply said hello!  It was unexpected that this is how I would have met this person, the lady who was my father's girl friend. I knew the moment I came in, but I didn't know how I was suppose to act or respond, this lady who may take over my mother's spot.  Million things went through my head, but I knew it wasn't her fault, and she is living life like anyone in the world.  Humans live for the moment, and without taking life for granted, who am I to judge her?

In a moment of awe of the situation, I started conversation with her by asking how she met my father to how long they knew each other, and where was my father at this time.  I felt so out of place in my old man's apartment, like something was completely amiss.  Then she tells me the unspeakable that would have never crossed my mind, and tells me both will be getting married tomorrow!  Luckily for me my sister gave me a call to tell me she was lost , and no timing was greater than then.  It gave me an escape, to take a breather!  So I told my future "step mother" I needed to excuse myself, and help my sister get back on the right road.   I think I smoked about a five cigarettes in a minute outside apartment entry way, as I gave my sister the directions.

It was good to stay outside that day, it was Minnesota's finest air and sun light breeze.  It sincerely helped me cleared my mind, and when I saw my sister in the vehicle coming into the parking lot, it was extra pleasant sight to see a familiar faces. When I approached my sister's vehicle, I final saw her daughter for the first time.   As my sister and her husband walked with me to our father's apartment, I had to ask if she knew our father was getting married very next day of the memorial service.  Sure enough my sister knew, but she then tells me not to get mad, that she only knew a week in advanced. Still numb by this whole experience, all I could ask was why couldn't my own father tell me he was getting married, and as usual siding with my father my sister defends him by telling me "he probably didn't wanted us to judge him!"  Of course I would have judged him, but I would have been less angry at my old man if he came up front. As we all gathered in the apartment, we had a meal that my father's girl friend has prepared, and it was sincerely surprising to hear my sister ask questions to our future step mother of various questions I would have asked out of curiosity.   Then it dawn on me my sister knew nothing about this lady who my father was going to marry, and it became evident my sister who was closest to my father didn't know nothing, then I understood my old man was afraid that we would judge him!  

As we finished our meal, time came for us to pay our respect to my mother who laid six feet under.  How can I explain the irony of this predicament, my father's girl friend will be joining us in our mother's final yearly memorial service, and tomorrow she will marry my father!  In my mind this is the stuff you read about in fictional Hollywood scripts, or some kinda ****** reality television show, but here it was in full glory.  

I will say one thing about this lady I knew very little about, she seemed very nice, and her cooking were amazing. After clearing all the dishes, step mother grabbed my mother's memorial picture, and told us this is what our father recommend for us to bring for the service.
Continuation of the original Journal "Return to The Memory Lane, and Open Heart."
So much to write, and this isn't finished yet! I'll most likely update this with progression of the story, but I promise you it will get better! I know I could have kept this in my draft until I was finished, but I am unsure when I maybe deleting my Hello Poetry page!
 Nov 2014 Grace Pickard
Gossamer
Why won't the tears flow
why can't I cry
I am numb from the cold
and slowed by the alcohol
running through my veins,
my brain;
there is not enough
alcohol
running through
my veins;
my heart still aches -
I can feel it.
My pulse still shakes -
I can feel it
in every part of me.
And he was beautiful,
and i told you that,
and you drank a little too much
and showed me how it's done,
how i'll never be as pretty
as skinny
as enchanting

and that other boy is
beautiful,
too,
but he'd never think twice
because he's a good guy

i thought the first one
was a good guy
but he was just good
at making me feel
special

i thought the second one
was a good guy
but he was
no different
from the first

i have felt used
and i have felt
wanted

but i have never felt
needed,
never felt
loved

and sometimes
when i feel the heaviness
throughout me,
I feel like maybe i'll
find someone
who will make me
believe i'm worth it,
but it's nights like these
that make me question it,
make me wonder if maybe
i was meant to walk home
alone
in twenty degree weather
in a skin tight dress,
catcalled,
called a *****,
because apparently loneliness
equates to promiscuity,
and i suppose if i
was worth it
i wouldn't have to write
about being lonely
because i wouldn't be lonely
if i was special
if i was worth it
if i was worth
anything
i will probably forget about this later oops
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