Dreams are like bubbles
Fate is a fact
A destiny, a mystery !!

in poetic form

It was my intent to pack and leave
I was sorely wounded, grieved
I was very angry, peeved
At what Wolf Spirit had ill received.

But i was talked to by a friend
I should have prayed,
and not pressed "send"
No matter how roads wind and wend
It's The Lord's call in the end.

I should be Christian in my ways
Do what Bible teaching says
Avoid the darkness and the grey
But i will *LOVE my enemies
For we are in the End of Days.

So I will stay and pay the cost
Help the hurting and the lost
Endure the comments and the frost
Jesus Christ. His Love comes first.

I'll be there when you're chains clink
No matter if you cut or drink
No matter what you care or think
At evil I won't tip a wink

That doesn't mean I hold a grudge
I won't berate. I WILL NOT JUDGE
Through the mire. Stinking sludge.
I'm a soldier. On I trudge.

I have put on soothing gloves.
To minister with care and LOVE
The kind that comes from God above
I will TRY, push comes to shove.

Precious Seed is what i sow
God's Fruit of Spirit's what I'll show
So I won't leave. I will not go
Until The Lord tells me so.

I will work and seek His face
I will show His patience. Grace.
Of rancor there will be no trace.
I'll never tire. I'll run my race.

I'm here if you hurt today
I'll show you there's a better way
No matter what folks have to say
I will LOVE YOU. I will PRAY.


SoulSurvivor
(C)1/25/2016

Does anyone know what happened
to The Victorian Cinderella? ???

She messaged me goodbye!
Cancelled her account.

I messaged her back begging her
to contact me. That was a few hours ago...
NO RESPONSE.

PLEASE PRAY/THINK ABOUT HER!!!

Received my copy of Timothy's first book of poetry today (Reflections in Short Poetry) and am already thoroughly enjoying it! There's nothing like having pages to turn...
It's pictured in my cover photo and can be purchased from lulu.com.
Thank you to Timothy for this wonderful book!

Hello Poetry is our bohemian site
For the new counterculture
Of the contemporary beat.
The works are here.
Ginsberg's long gone.
Kerouac took to the road
Not taken yet by us.
This is our Greenwich Village,
And I can stay at home.
Now, and some years ahead,
I'll say I met and read
The likes of you,
Here,
On Hello Greenwich.

-
I’ve been walking this long hallway
for over a year
Reading the gilded framed
poems lining the walls,
verse after verse of
beautifully written words

I have made some good
friends along the way
Met some wonderful poets
who I have learned from
as well as learned to respect
and admire (watching far too many leave)
these meetings I will cherish

I have also crossed paths with a few
who didn’t care for me all that much,
hated my dreadful reviews, (blocked me for that)
misundertood my attempts at humor
or didn't appreciate the love poetry
I tried to slip in amongst the fighting,
but that’s okay, it takes all kinds

I've counted the masks worn,
there are more than two reasons
aren't there?
Some smiling, some not,
all there for their own reasons,
which it is not for me to judge
or anyone else, though that doesn't
seem to stop it from happening

Still little by little I have
headed towards a faint light
The soft glow at the far end
of this prose tiled floor
Each day the light became
a bit stronger, brighter
That tiny glowing square
in the distance
bigger and bigger

My shadow leading or following,
longer or shorter
depending on if I walk facing
forwards or backwards,
hop scotching over the hate,
sneaking past the accusations,
hiding from trolls (he found me anyway)
and the finger pointed whining,
hoping to pass go,
(you can keep the two hundred)


All the while sadly realizing
I am slowly becoming
smaller and smaller,
barely visible to others here
Disappearing a little more
with each passing day
Till now I am nothing more
than a forgotten minute speck
at the furthest end
of this meandering corridor

An insignificant silhouette
of a poet who once was,
now slowly fading
out through the opening
to stand in the bright sunlight
And as I refocus my eyes
to my new surroundings
I turn to wave goodbye
to what I so enjoyed
only to see a sign that reads…

*“Thanks for visiting Hellopoetry, whoever the hell you were”

If you cannot be bothered to sift through the ****
You don't like, then there's no sympathy, not a bit,
That you get as you announce such pompous airs,
Declaring your work to be better than theirs,
When clearly it's not, and your criticism fails,
To amount to much more than an infants wails.
O maybe, just maybe, if I saw you had written,
Something worthwhile yourself then all would be forgiven,
Talent aside, if you'd chosen to write
Something constructive, instead of such trite,
Then the words that you said on deaf ears wouldn't fall,
But that's not the case so they're worth ****** all,
So next time you see someone's work you don't like,
Before you comment, here's a tip - learn to write.