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 Aug 2014
NuurSeraph
To be so invested in Peace
just to see it torn to Pieces
is tormenting and twisted
I aimed so high I missed it
The current events are packing a lot of heat. It's getting hot in here~
 Aug 2014
Jack
~

We all breathe the same
In whatever way we choose
Dancing to the beats
Of drummers, different in most cases
But breathe just the same

Sometimes we talk
Different mouths, different voices
Still it can ring badly on another’s ears
Complaining, questioning, whining
When all we want is to be understood

Often we fall, hard to the ground
Hardly at all to those passing by
Staring at this writhing body
On the sidewalk of broken dreams
Just waiting to be kicked once more

At times we love
Perhaps too much it seems
Different hearts, different beats, different drummers (again)
Brandishing hope as that marching band
With the new drum major breaks our will

Then we die
Not unlike other’s before us
Lying in a wooden box
Mourners stare exhaling sadly or happily
As they still breathe…in whatever way they choose
 Aug 2014
Jack
~

The night is silent
as evening drapes her cloth
above all that is seen
and shadows sit wondering…
what shapes will find them

Thoughts invade these hours
while fireflies sift through
evergreens now still,
seeking only but a soft breeze
whispering sweet dreams on feathered branches

And I sit here on the lawn,
counting minutes, feeling the emptiness
the midnight skies seep,
longing for what will come
on the eastern horizon

For that is where I shall find you,
glowing in tangerine ribbons,
painting pink clouds in dawn’s blushing brush strokes,
igniting a new day in effervescent colors…
as the sun rises and I smile

As once again we converse,
drinking coffee and loving life, enjoying
what comes from the awareness
that friendship truly does exist
with each new day we face
For my good friend Ana Sophia. Thank you for bringing sunlight to my days.
 Aug 2014
Joe Wilson
While those around him were going mad
he stood completely still
then he saw what he was looking for
picked it up and went to the till.

The madness took him by surprise
it was truly beyond belief
so when he’d found what he wanted
he’d left with a sigh of relief.

Things were thrown and tempers flared
it was well beyond the pail
and that was the only visit he made
to a January sale.

©Joe Wilson – The January Sales (his only visit) 2014
[just a bit of fun]
 Aug 2014
Joe Cole
Yes, a hundred years ago they crossed those ****** fields
Boys of many nations
British, French,Germans, Indians, Africans. Eventually Americans
Did they fight for patriotism. No. For most the army was the only job they could get
And so it is today
 Aug 2014
Joe Cole
You know I'm in the twylight of my years
Not a problems, I will keep writing for one year or ten
It doesn't really matter
We have kids here who write
I ask you to encourage tlhem
Because they once were you
Nervous, uncertain
Me, I don't care just as long as they write
Young poets are the future of this site
Young people are the future of our countries
 Aug 2014
John F McCullagh
When Ebola’s fever begins to rage,
The prognosis isn’t nice,
Monoclonal antibodies
are needed from three mice.
The mice must first become exposed
to a weakened viral strain.
Their antibodies harvested
and combined with those of man.
Strangely the proteins that we need
are grown best in a ****.
A modified tobacco plant
will do the job indeed.
The serum, that derives from plants,
had not had human trials.
(but eight of ten young chimpanzees
endorse  what’s in that vial.)
Our missionaries, sick unto death
were clearly in no position
to refuse to try the medicine
that might provide remission.
Their rebound was miraculous.
To Atlanta now they fly.
Man finds himself in debt to a mouse.
“Good job, little guy!”
Mapp is a biotech company that produces the serum that has apparently saved two American missionaries from the Ebola virus. Their approach involves recombinant DNA to harvest antibodies from mice exposed to fragments of a dead ebola virus. Tobacco plants are used as a host to grow the monoclonal antibodies in volume to produce the serum
 Aug 2014
Jack
Tiptoeing in the shadows,
hiding behind a crusted keyboard
spewing raw threats in freak speak
dug up from the shallow realm
of which they are formed

Beneath a pink umbrella
where cowards lounge
Shivering like babes in snow banks,
tossing stones, targeting hearts
inflicting pain…expecting a laugh

Stand up, be a man (if you can)
Allow me my aim
Dance about if you like in your tutu,
pirouette in your disgust,
my hand is steady

Unlike yours...moving up and down
staring at a screen, pretending
someone actually gives a crap
about something like you…

I’ll find this circus
where tents are pitched,
cotton candy stains the sawdust
and you climb out of that tiny car
with a fake smile painted on your face

And when you feel it you will know
this ain’t confetti,
as you fall in your own stench, and the audience…
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages…
applaud!
My friends, I want to apologize to all of you for this rant, but there is someone who has been attacking a good friend of mine, hiding behind false names and fake accounts, on this site. This person is a worthless and cowardice human being (I use that term loosely) and he or she needs to be stopped. When someone does something like this there is not much we can do except stand behind the one who is feeling the wrath of this individual. This piece of writing is directed at that person…pick on someone your own size…I am here and I ready…come after me if you have this need to hurt people.  Or better yet, have someone put the lid back on the trash can so you can not get out again.
 Aug 2014
Joe Cole
When I was 10, maybe 11 we had a cat
A big old ginger tom
I don't think he ever saw a vet and he probably fathered hundreds of kittens
He hardly had any ears, they were so notched and torn, scars over his amber eyes
Anyway, our holiday fun was in the fields and woods
He would catch young rabbits and we would skin and gut them
Spit roast them over an open fire
Yes even at that age we could prepare a rabbit
After all we'd watched mother do it dozens of times
That old ginger tom always got his share
Come school time he would walk the mile and a half with us to the bus stop
And always meet us there when we came home
He was a flea bitten tick ridden scabby old thing
But he was family
1961 I joined the army and he saw me off at the door
That was the last time I ever saw that old boy
This is a true story from my childhood
 Aug 2014
Ryan Jakes
Today is repost day
it's official
I'm reading and posting at a furious pace
I will share your words until your name is all I see
the ones I loved, the ones you hate, the ones I missed.
Each one a blessing to my eyes and heart.
I do this, not for you but for me.
Me, your friend
sat in disbelief that your name will be no more
that you will no longer sing the words of your heart into my eager soul.
This campaign of hate that has brought about the end, I will **** it's author to hell.
I hope they read this and smile, it will not linger, trust me.
They may hide behind walls and throw stones at your heart, their yellow bellies jiggling with laughter while your tears stain your skin, your light dimmed by their spite.
There is such cruelty in this place of beauty and love.
So today will be filled with you, in the hope that you see that you are so much better than they say you are, in every way. You are loved. You belong here. They do not.
 Aug 2014
betterdays
and tonight it is
the elder, mother god
of which i speak....

she  snores and snuffles
in the lazyboy chair
slumped awkward
and sombulant,
akin to a ragdoll,
carelessly,
tossed aside,
after a day's hard play.

and it is in the cracks
and crinkles, both large and minute that craze and track
accross her well worn,
well loved face
that i see,
the god-dust...
lingering.

and as i gently,
place a woolen wrap
over her tired old body.

i take a moment...
to give thanks and
worship,
her hard earned diety.

and the mothergod...
slumbers, snoringly on.
Hurrying to my work in the untimely shower
Caught my ears the mews but it was rush hour
Must be another kitten born with no luck
Abandoned in the shrub dying on sidewalk!

The day soon rubbed off the mews from my mind
Till my feet trudged home leaving the drudge behind
Once upon that sidewalk in twilight’s grayish hues
I heard it from neath of grass pain’s plaintive mews!

Must be an angel possessed me I did find it out
Picked up took home put warm milk into its mouth
My lady unpleased said our hands are already full
Here you bring another like you isn’t another fool!

But she was the first one to make it a cosy bed
She was the one worrying how it to be properly fed
Yet filled the air its agony’s mews all day and night
She said your taking it here wasn’t all that right!

Its ma must have left the baby in the bush safely hiding
Picking up and taking it home was quite a wrong thing
She must be now crying wild searching everywhere
The baby wouldn’t stop crying till getting back mother!

So the cute kitten I placed back in the hideout on sidewalk
With the prayer it gets back ma wishing it good luck
Leaving it with heavy heart I walked away for day’s work
Sighed the silent sidewalk on my way home after dark!
sometimes the dividing line between wrong and right is too thin.
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