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 Mar 2017
Melissa S
I wish to go back to being little
back when things were fun
and just stayed simple
I may be getting older
but I refuse to grow up :)

Today...
I could buy a new dress
I could pretend to be a princess
or not
But I will love til I can love no more
and will always be more thankful
than I was the day before

Do I smell cake? Yessssssss!!!!
Age is just a number
We're beautiful fools
For the true religion is love prophesied
by countless messengers* ...
Copyright March 7 , 2017 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
 Mar 2017
Valsa George
Realizing a fresh life growing inside,
What thoughts coursed through my mother’s mind?
Did she gleefully welcome the news?
Or respond to it with a violent shock?

So sure, right away after her fourth baby
With four little kids still needing care
Like chicks in a coop, carrying once again
Might not have been in her scheme of things

Thus at a time when she expected it the least,
Could she beckon the new life growing inside,
With a pleasant nod of head in assent
Or with a suppressed moan of fright, I wonder!

When from nausea she started to suffer
And threw up each time when she ate
Did she curse her man in silence?
Or grow mad with her children and her fate?

Slogging through those weary days
With no respite from her routine chores
Did she get enough rest or care?
Or did she languish without a hand to assist?

Seeing her with an extended waist line
Did some nosy neighbors behind her back
Teasingly utter in hushed whispers
‘Oh, she has done it again!’

Once when I started kicking inside
Was she tickled or greatly annoyed?
When she heard the first ‘lub- dub’ of my heart
Did she feel as two hearts singing in harmony?

As her tummy grew bigger everyday
And sleepless in bed as she tossed
Was she haunted by nightmares bleak?
Or was she visited by dreams of delight?

Travelling closer and closer to those final days
Did she curse herself seeing her in the mirror
Woefully bloated and ripened into a bulge
Or did she wait my arrival in blissful expectation?

Then suddenly one day when the earthquake began
In mild tremors first, then gaining in force
Did she scream mad or cry aloud?
Or did she endure the pain in austere silence?

Then abruptly when I showed myself up
Did she feel any remorse over my ***?
And see me as another liability
Added up to the girls already in line

No, I am sure she must have cuddled me close
And locked me in the warmth of her *****
For she was such a rare gift sent from heaven
A mother nonpareil in self effacing love
This poem, I thought would be interesting to many of you to have an idea of the cultural difference from country to country and to show how life was in the fifties and sixties for an average woman living in an Indian village

Being wife and mother, life was hardly easy for any woman in a patriarchal set up during those days. Child bearing was a routine affair and taking care of the children with none to help was her lot. Men who were the sole bread winners would be away at their place of work…! Even if at home, they hardly lend a helping hand. Girls were always marginalized and looked upon as a liability as they could be sent away in marriage only by giving huge amounts as dowry! Now things have changed and most of the women are employed and earning members!

  March 8th- when we celebrate the International Woman’s Day, I dedicate this poem to my dear mother whom I regard as a great woman and a paragon of love and care.
 Mar 2017
Anne Webb
Love is strange, don't you think?
I though he loved me
but he loves her more
and it hurts, deep inside
so I put on his sweater he didn't notice I wore

he didn't

Yet once in a while
his love is so warm
now I cry on the floor
with time passing by
hoping he'll find me behind the closed door

he didn't

I know this all might
be just my own mind
simply fooling around
but it hit me so hard
and only he can help me get up off the ground

...?
Because I cannot tell you how I feel...

This poem is not about romantic love, which might come as a surprise. It's about a friendship, that is very important to me. Yet I am not sure about *him*....
 Mar 2017
Cedric McClester
By: Cedric McClester

Slaves didn’t share in the American dream
They were living in a nightmare
And if they dreamed at all
It was how to get away from here
See they weren’t immigrants
Like the ones who came through Ellis Island
And those who don’t know the history
Should simply just be silent

You can’t conflate what slaves went through
With those who followed the dream
Of seeking a better life over here
All of us weren’t on the same team
Some came of their own free will
Others were brought here in chains
Some enjoy the full benefits still
And the fact of the matter remains

Slaves didn’t share in the American dream
They were living in a nightmare
And to try to imply that they did
In a word is insincere
It’s been said that ignorance is bliss
And the words of the ignorant
Provides more grist
for the proverbial mill of bad intent

You can’t conflate what slaves went through
With those who followed their dream
When the remnants and legacy of slavery
Are still here it would seem
Actually there’s no comparison between the two
Yet there are those in high position
Who haven’t got the slightest clue
Are guilty of the sin of omission
















Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017.  All rights reserved.
 Mar 2017
J Robert Fallon III
28 strings hanging from above, teetering and creaking with each of my steps.

The wood below feels as if sand seeps into my skin, making the next heavier, and heavier.

When did the world decide to become so clever?

The marionette is unnamed although the disease is written clearly across the fogged bathroom mirror.

I avert my eyes from the truth as though I could never decipher.

A slap to the face and a fluid ounce of love is all it took,
two floating hands to fix my gaze upon all I could, my own life book.

I suddenly could hear the willows whipping and dripping wet in the rain outside the brook, I was no longer deaf to the pain I caused and took.

The mental games we play are never far from the outsides the lines of our life's coloring book.

Climb to the tallest line of the page with your grappling hook.

It only takes one outside and unbiased look and the keys to the castle are unhooked.
 Mar 2017
Ma Cherie
Here's the thing hate and prejudice,
are both learned behaviors.

I don't believe we were ever birthed,
that way -not from our inception,
from whatever God you pray,
or what you believe in,
because that is-
you doing you
an well I really gotta wonder who
just who am I to say,
what the hell is just so right anyway?

And what about all those religions,
that all say we turn into angels?

We already are then no?
On the inside?

An maybe we don't have the wings to fly,
or maybe we got too much pride,

Whatever the case is,
but when you're walking down the street and another soul is kind and good
they will smile at your spirit,
and you will smile back-
knowing that
you are the same.

There is always that forced smile with the cashier who has a grimace and you know it's just because she's having a bad day,
I smile at her and,
I do it anyway.

And I also believe that I can recognize a bad soul one who is a part of the lost people.

So very..... sad to me.

Sentient souls sing in churches,
but they sing outside of them too.
If we open our hearts we can see.

We learned hatred as a need because of survival in dark times.

So what makes someone wise in old age?
Awareness and in the ability to harness it.

Because anyone has been super aware can feel that it's overwhelming.
I was never aware,
-enough -
and then it all came and -
struck like a hammer.

And I should know a lot about building
and hammers -
as my father was a carpenter.

An wasn't Jesus so?

Even if you don't buy into religion,
there is many valuable things
in his teaching to know.

Many compassionate words
to encourage,
however,
in my point of view,
to open to subjective opinions.

Anything with that confusing,
of translation-
  to me anyway is open
for too much interpretation.

I know personally,
when I have read passages in the Bible,
  it's like poetry-
everyone takes something
different away, no?

I am my own church
and I share it with my family,
an we all are our own Gods in our hearts.

My father was Native American mostly.

Grew up in Vermont all his life-
he was raised dirt poor and came up
from nothing.

His father was sort of worthless-
you might say not a bad person
he just didn't like to work and was pretty abusive. I saw him soften as a grandfather but never really turn into the beautiful soul he could have been. He stayed locked in that hatred in a death dance. I hope his spirit is free now that he has found forgiveness for his life.

My father grew us up different he did not ever abuse his children he worked all his life as a carpenter. Refinished three houses in all his years for us they were all very beautiful. Sometimes working for others and sometimes himself- sometimes the foreman sometimes the boss. He worked 14 hours if he had to including a 2 hour drive. They were very rarely sick days because he didn't get paid for them and even a few occasions he worked out of state and came back and forth on the weekends, anything to keep his family's table full of love.

We shared what we had with so many people- a woman who had M.S. -my uncle who had heart surgery- my brother's girlfriend who became my foster sister -
an Italian exchange student- my friends, neighbors, relatives and strangers
my father well, he knew the dangers
the list goes on too,
there was always always food for everyone.

He endured much prejudice in his own life mostly as a youth, yet again in the Army
but poor hearts are strong though.
Father was a homebody an kind of,
a loner in a way like me I know sometimes I can feel completely alone in a room full of people nothing worse than feeling completely misunderstood as I imagine he did too. I miss him more every single day now that I realize this.

He was a wonderful soul with a fierce spirit there was nothing that he wouldn't try to fix for you whether it was your truck, or your... heart. ❤

I believe I was always a good, decent, intelligent kind person. However I was still kind of lost in my own selfish instinct. Almost everything we do is born out of selfishness the acceptance of that reality is what makes it easier to be happy and contented even in the worst of circumstances . When I cook for others I to cook for myself and I take a great deal of pride in it. I also give it all my heart and hand it to every bit of my brain.

So to me maybe it's not for every boy there's a girl- maybe...just for some.
Maybe when we choose to come here,
when we get into a certain body it just doesn't feel right, maybe we're just not attracted to the people they say we should be. Maybe there's a lot more gay and bisexual people in what we realize- seeing how again, being strictly heterosexual in my opinion is another learned behavior. One that eventually has caused some people to end their life because of the torture they endure I wonder how it feels,
to think you need a "cure"?

Two species were created - however that happened -as a male and female,
are we so sure -certain,
that we're attracted
to the only opposite *** ?
My father taught me anyone who is so certain is dangerous.
Maybe souls just recognize their counterpart in another

Yes perhaps we see with our hearts,
the beautiful soul and kindred spirit behind their mysterious and familiar eyes
we see the beauty deep inside,
finally relieved- we can recognize
that life...is OURS to live.

Ma Cherie © 2017
Yeah but what do I know? ; ) for a friend who feels prejudice- I pray the world changes tolerant.❤❤❤
 Mar 2017
David Noonan
If i wore an elastic red band taut on my wrist
And snapped it often would it help me recall
The first day that i saw you from a distant past
The only face for me in a crowded lecture hall

Or if i was to pull that old instant photograph
Sequined black dress of another graduation dance
Monkey suit, pressed shirt and paisley bow tie
Two who never believed in a need of second chance

If I retook a trip to the wild Atlantic coast
Flew a kite of a deserted evening on Lahinch beach
Standing laughing at another baltic Irish summer
Would i just feel the cold whilst you remained out of reach

Or if i dropped the needle to our favourite record
A glass of Italian red wine and Waits' Blue Valentine
Would i feel you again where so often we lay
Or just hear the Blue as it drowns all reason, all rhyme

Yet wherever i go or whatever i do
I will never be able to recapture that glory of you
They say to move on, don't you ever look back...

Maybe tomorrow those same truths fade to black
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