Hanging in a place where it can be clearly seen. Delicious to the eye and tempting to the soul. Beauty unequaled, it is what you know you cannot have. Forbidden fruit no matter what the form, is always an enticement.

Stomp, stomp, stomp goes the elephant as it rampages through the countryside. Trumpet goes it's cry as it runs over it adversaries. It's Ivory tusk glisten as it lunges towards the top of the hill from which it will survey the land. Leaving a path of destruction in it's wake, it thunders to supremacy over the width and breadth of it's habitat. Looking at all who are under it's shadow, it vows to never forget.

Jingle bells, Jingle bells, Jingle all the way. A hybrid will be in the driveway on Christmas day. No more dashing through the snow in a one horse open sleigh. Global warming has melted it all away. Deck the halls with bows of Holly, not when there is a protected bird that lives in the plant, the EPA is not that jolly. No coal in a stocking because they don't  mine it anymore. No Yuletide greetings or songs of mirth that tell of a ****** woman giving birth. That is thought of as offensive you know, she didn't have planned parenthood or other places to go. Forget about the Christmas lights unless they are LED and powered by wind or solar oh what a sight that would be. They won't look great at night but they will shine during the day, though you can't see them if the wind doesn't blow or clouds get in the way. An at last their is the Mistletoe and the Christmas tree, you must get the proper permits to harvest them you see. So fill out the proper forms and send them by January for the government to see and perhaps next year you will be approved but not this year you I'm afraid. So have a fun time going green for Christmas this year.

Stranded in a barren desert, I wandered across the burning sand. I was lost and in desperation when I came upon a man. I asked if he could help me, he said no but I will show you where to go. He pointed towards the setting sun, so I tiredly walked on. After much labor, I began to lose my mind. I saw what I wasn't sure sitting what seemed miles away. I then stumbled into the massive object, with the fading light of day. I stepped back several paces to see what this thing was. It had the face of a man and body of a lion and looked so regal, that I stood in awe. Then I saw something move, it was part of the giants paw. I fell to the sand in fear, think I was done. Then I heard a voice say welcome to my home. Startled I stood up and the massive being said what do you think. It rose up on all four paws and gave it's head a shake. I replied that I am not sure, what am I supposed to think. I am very thirsty I said, can I have something to drink. As if by magic, a lovely maiden appeared. She brought me water and a cold beer then quickly disappeared. I gulped down the water and delightfully savored the beer. I smiled at the giant beast and wished him good cheer. I then went black and some hours later, I found myself inside a pyramid. In a magnificent room, covered in marble and gold. I woke up and tried to stand only to find I was naked and cold. I wrapped a sheet around myself and I am happy to report, that I wasn't in ancient Egypt but had found Luxor's casino and resort. I put on a hotel robe and called some one the phone. It was long until a nice you man came up with my laundered clothes. I ask him with a puzzled look, what had happened to me. He answered with a great big smile and a great amount of glee. He said that our staff found you out back of the resort. You were lying on the ground between our icons feet. A waitress said you had ordered a few drinks then passed right on out. I asked about the giant statue and why it talked to me. The young man we get that a lot when our visitors have had too much to drink. So I lie here pondering a hanger over and massive bar bill I think, as I try to solve the riddle of the Luxor Sphinx.

Concrete sidewalks are lined with shops. Neon lights flash in windows. Shop merchants sell what every you can afford. Music blares out from back alley clubs and people drift in and out looking for a good time. Girls stand on the boulevard and wave at passing cars, they offer a remedy for their loneliness for a price. The soul of the city beats slowly, and people blend into the background. Images are lost as night becomes day. The shadows cast in neon are replaced by the sun shining off of towers of glass and steel. The mirrored surfaces shield the people who sit high above the concrete sidewalks from the truth of life below. Like a thousand dots people rush about trying to make a living, hustling for the coin of the realm. Then the sun arch back towards the west and shadows fall again. The landscape transforms back into it's previous form. Renewing the urban life of those who call the city home.

Scratches on the wall, each one a tiny indention of my life. The bars that I look through are not my prison. The thoughts inside my mind are what hold me. Remembering the tears of my children as I was lead away in chains. Hearing the screams of my mother as she disowned me in anger. Feeling the separation from the emotional ties that bound me closely with the ones that used to love me. Knowing that someone else is filling the void that I left in the wake of my incarceration. Each scratch in the wall, is a day off of my life. Each mark in the hard concrete reminds me of the things that I should have done. All I am doing is marking time, in a prison of my own making.

Speaking gibberish and tongue twisters huzzah! Peter picked a something. Look there comes a pink dog, no wait it is a cat. Words have no meaning then they mean something else. Language is confusing, what was I saying. Never mind, I think I will move on to something else. Emotions get tangled with gum in my hair. I don't know whether to cry or scream. Nothing goes right, just look at Picasso's blue period. How depressing can you get. Just cut off an ear why don't you. In all things be vigilant and clean up your room. What is the point of life, I am not sure but I think it is ice cream.

I love shoes all shapes and sizes. Flats and pumps, sandals and wedges. A closet the size of a Cathedral might be just enough room. Bogos are my favorite things, even on the high end. I could spend a day buying a hundred pair, then spend the next year finding ways to wear them. Such is my curse, I love shoes.

Between the pages of a leather bound novel, I keep pieces of my past. A flower from a first date, that has long since dried from being pressed between faded parchment . A picture of a first child, so small and frail, that has grown up to be a healthy and strong young adult. A bubblegum wrapper whose content was used to fix a broken heel on our wedding day. All special bits and pieces of a life well lived, between the pages of a quiet book, that I revisit from time to time as I look through my book of memories that is so much an intricate part of my life.

People lie dying in the street and we look the other way. The innocent are murdered in their mothers womb and we have noting to say. Children and women are abused and we turn a deaf ear. When we come to our end, what will we say? When we are called into question, will their blood be upon our hands?

The world screams about the insanity of violence, want and need. The world kicks and screams in a fervent rage against order and justice. That which is deemed right is not wrong. Persecution is everywhere and a different opinion is now a crime. All has become chaos and many scream for salvation. Many want a savior, but not on the saviors terms. They want salvation tailor made to their specific needs. In all of the tumultuous ravings the simple message is getting lost, the salvation that they long for is already here and God hasn't gone anywhere,we have simply stopped listening to what God has to say.

I can't believe I did it. They say not do it, but I did it anyway. I hope it will not hurt me, but how can you really tell. This morning my head is pounding and I have gut wrenching pain. I can barley walk to the bathroom. I will never do this again. The last time I did this, I said the same thing. Oh it hurts to breathe, I wonder if it is in my gut or my head. I can't imagine it can really hurt me, I mean it was supposed to be dead. How can something live in Tequila that is 100 proof. I hope it was dead and that is the honest truth. They told me you shouldn't do it, but I guess I will have to learn, that you should never drink so much Tequila that I swallowed the worm

Chatting, tweeting, snap chatting, and photo bombing, where did we go wrong. Intimate moments have been lost to the electronic domain, we have forgotten how to relate to each other. Emojies tell others what we think and not our own words. We are analyzed by corporate number crunchers so they can market to us even in our sleep. We are photographed and video taped with in an inch of our lives. Our privacy is on display for all of the world to see. Electronic books and blogs have taken the place of a good novel and a quiet conversation over coffee with friends. All of it is tracked and digitally quantified. What if we all unplugged for just one day, would the world come to a screeching halt? Perhaps the brain trust that wants to monitor our every moment would come to realize that we do not want to be face booked to the world and just want our privacy back.

When all eyes can see beyond our own prejudices. When all hearts openly embrace another's ideals. When tolerance is not a watch word, but a way of life. When agreeing to disagree is not in our vocabulary, then the human equation will finally add up to all people being equal.

Elect me, no reelect me is the cry of the parasite. With fangs sharpened ready to pounce on a federal budget and drain the life out of the public, one dollar at a time. the political vampire vies for position to be the next in line to feed.

Whizz, whir and buzz the computer came alive. The internet was born and the doors were opened. Pathways were now available that were not there before and knowledge's door was open wide for all to walk through. For good or ill, the genie is out of the bottle and what we do with it is up to us. For some it is a weapon or a thing for malicious intent, but for many it is hope and the breathe of life. The chains of oppression are broken when free and unfettered knowledge is allowed to be exchanged. A brave new world was shaped the day the internet was born and life as we knew it will never be the same.

What if there was no third cross on that faithful day? What if Jesus said this to hard, I will find another way. What if the blood was not shed by Gods perfect lamb? What if ten legions of angles had been called to break his bands? Where would the world be right now and how would we live here below, knowing that we were found not worth his time? What if he had said no?

Standing on the corner of hopelessness and despair, there is a house with shattered glass windows and a cracked stone walk way. It is often dark with little light making it in. Inside you will find the floor littered with the tattered remains of aspirations and hopes. Once vibrant goal now left abandoned in a dark and desolate house. An empty shell of a building, where you can find anything and nothing at the same time. A place where lives go to die a little at  a time, inside the house of broken dreams.

Around a sharp curve on a urban highway there are red splotches and streaks. What to some appears to be random marks are a testimony to the lack of care some people take. At high speeds and under the influence of various things, unsuspecting souls have left their mark on the high stone wall that supports an overpass. One by one they have left graffiti on the wall that was stained with the blood of the unsuspecting souls who did not heed the warnings and took the curve way too fast.

With the fields of flowers swept by warm southern breezes, the pixies come to life. They twirl and jump from blossom to blossom spreading their magic as they draw nectar from each bloom. Jumping high into the sun in colors of every shade, they spread their wings and glisten like diamonds. For a few brief moments they dazzle nature, putting all other things to shame with their grace and colorful displays. From mid-day until the final rays of the sun, they prance and play. Then as the south wind fades and night falls, they fade as distant shadows and become one with the landscape again. Until once more they are enticed forth from their hiding places, by a brisk southern wind and the warmth of a golden sun.

I was born in a quiet town in America, my sister came from a desert in Sudan. I have a brother in Mexico that likes to play soccer and another in China who likes to swim. We are all of one race, that call human. Though we come from different places, we are all the same. We were born under the same sun and crave the same things. Our hopes and our dreams are not so much apart. When I speak to one of my siblings, I talk of the same dreams. A longing for family and freedom. Distance cannot separate what we feel. Skin color can not change where we are from . We born of the human race, filled with the same fears and basic needs. To everyone with whom I connect, you are my family, brothers and sisters all of human kind.

I hate you and I want you to die. Your immature and you cannot be responsible. Back and forth the words fly. Doors slam, and tempers flare. A child rebels and a parent cries. Plates are shattered and harsh words are said. A door slams shut and a heart is broken. Lives are torn apart when we sling arrows of discontent at one another.

Upon worn cobblestones barefoot I go. Prancing by a babbling brook, across an ancient bridge, of like manner. Old mortar and well worn stones beneath my feet. The coolness arises through me giving me a chill, as I watch minnows dash about below in the clear dark water. On the path I go, exploring the dark wooded trail. Looking at thickets of bushes, wondering what mystical creature might be hiding there in. Onward I go on my journey, until the path comes round again to an open way. A clear gravel road gleaming of white stones, I leave the path and venture onto it, wondering where my next journey will lead me.

I sit on my front porch quietly and watch the rain drops fall. I see glints of faint light through thinning Grey clouds. I look at the rain as it sparkles like a thousand diamonds coming from the sky. Silver lights dazzle me in a spectacular show of natural wonder. I look at the beautiful silver tapestry that is painted in the sky. I reflect on my life and what is still to be done. I feel so small compared to greater scheme of things. I let myself blend into the wonders of nature and become a part of the tapestry like the silver in the rain.

Hair covered in white flakes like a dusting of jewels from heaven. Cheeks rosy red from the cold. Mittens and a jacket tight upon her, her laugh is like music of another world. Filled with joy as she tosses snowballs at me, eyes full of light and life. A smile that could melt the coldest heart and a soul as gentle as the first snow fall. Her embrace is like spring in December. A love that has no end. The light of her caring brings joy where ever she goes, to her everyone is a friend. What could I have done to deserve her caring and attention. Only heaven could have made such a perfect love, a snow angel sent from heaven to love me and give me a gift that I do not deserve.

With my voice I scream at what I call injustice. I pound my keyboard and cast words into cyberspace. I look at images of people I do not know and places I cannot be, but I feel a connection to others I have never met. In a chorus of voices I join a protest that makes no noise. With the force of a tidal wave our anger and resolve races across blogs and webpages. In a silent riot, we demand change and push for our place to be recognized and for our voices to be heard.

The canopy comes alive with sound, as the sun begins to rise and the forest begins to rouse. Parakeets and Macaws spread their wings and welcome the warmth of the golden sun. Flamingos rise from their hiding places, a new day has come. The tree top canopy is alive with song and chirping, a delicate balance has struck natures cord as life begins a symphony. All things resonate in harmony moving at the simplest ripple. The steam rises from the forest floor giving cover to magnificent butterflies that spread their wings to fly. The dawn in the rain forest brings a wondrous world to life.

Long, tall and dark made of glass or plastic. Bravery in a liquid form, 100 proof or more. Like a shot of fire going down, after two or three you don't even feel it burn. Whiskey, *****, Gin, or Tequila, all loosen inhibitions. The lines between wisdom and ignorance are blurred. What in one instance could be courageous, has now become fool hearty. It is amazing how many hero's there are when a bottle of courage is around.

Twitter Snapchat Instagram Pinterest Facebook and emails full span. Social media belongs to the left of right-wing opinions it is bereft. If you speak about Jesus, if you say that liberal protests are filled with hate. Then you're called a fascist and your accounts they will delete. So if you're on social media, be wary of the Trap. Being a conservative is not where it's at.

Rich spice embodiment of fullness and flavor of enhancement. Giver of knowledge revered aged teacher. Both give flavor to life. Both can turn the ordinary into the extraordinary. One brings out the fullness of food, the other brings out the best in their student. The revered word carries a dual meaning, but both are intertwined. To know both is to know a unique experience. To become both is to become enriched while enriching others. A person can be as the spice, seeing the potential in another then adding a little something extra to help that person achieve and become better. This makes the individual both the spice and a teacher, thus a Sage.

He came in great humility, not having a name of prominence. His family was of a simple kind, or to the the world it seemed. Yet his father had a kingdom waiting for him to return. He gave up all he had to walk on dusty roads, from Bethlehem to Egypt, then again in Nazareth. All he did with in sacrifice, and for the fathers will. What it cost for him to sacrifice, no one can ever tell. The stories about his great deeds have been written and retold, but to many the truth remains unknown. For what he did wasn't for fame or fortune you see. He was beloved from the beginning, he was the first you see. He came to offer redemption, he came to set the captive free. He came and died a sinners death, because he so loved me.

The streets run red with blood. The war has at last come home. The watchman has failed and the battle is on our door step. In a fight for our live even our way of life. We unfold our armor and raise our banners in preparation for what may be our last fight. In the halls of reason, our words have failed. The tide of carnage is too great, the hope of peace has sailed. So gird your ***** for battle, stand for the innocent that cringe in fear. Let ring the battle horn and see that battle is near. From corner to corner through out every street, let our prayers rise up and shake the heavens until our enemies suffer defeat. Let our nation be returned from the hand of the oppressors and the deceitful, let righteousness once again prevail. Let not the streets run again red with blood, let not our faith fail.

When no one is different and we all are treated the same. When everyone has the same chances. When there is no hunger or want and no one has more than another. When our children play safely with each other and there is no separation or division between us. When one person does not judge another and no one oppresses another, perhaps then we will be living in a perfect world.

Like a Black Dahlia, she sits in solitude. Her Essence is intoxicating and draws you in with her mysterious ways. To touch her is a delight, but be careful you don't get lost in her. For what may appear to be a delicate flower, is simply an enticement to get you into her web. In truth she's poison, she has been the ruin of many men. So if she happens to Blossom in your path, beware the dark flower.

Jazz belts out of a smoky club, as people dance outside on the street. Neon lights flash and displace the stars. The air is filled with the smell of Creole cooking as the atmosphere is alive with electricity. Old buildings adorn the streets, as ancient Oak trees adorned with Spanish moss stand as witness to all that goes on. The party goes on through the night and people revel in mirth and history of an old city that is filled with history and southern life. A flavor of many cultures that make New Orleans a wondrous place indeed.

Filled with wretched things and overflowing with poison, a black heart is deadly. Lacking compassion and mercy, it is not a thing to be toyed with. Like a constricted serpent, it waits to bite it's next victim. If you fall into it, you may never be seen again.

Like a serpent, so is the tongue when it is not tied down tight. It stings like a Scorpion and bites like the venom of a Viper. It cuts like a knife made of Obsidian and can splint the bone from the marrow. It feeds the fire of rumors and cannot be easily quenched. It can destroy lives and bring wars to fruition with only fables. So beware the tongue and all of it's devices, because it can be the purveyor of destruction and will even turn on the one who lets it loose.

Putting on red heels and traversing a mile of a journey, doesn't equate to what a woman feels. When she is taken for granted and berated of her worth. No sacrifice a man can make of his humility or time can undo the pain she feels. All that you can do is make others aware and offer a helping hand. Then do all in your power to make sure abuse never happens again.

The sun is setting and doors are closing behind me. One road I have walked is worn out and I am tired. Soon the horizon will begin to fade behind me and I will look at another direction. Seeking a new path is never easy, but there comes a point when you know it is the right thing. The task you had to do are now in the hands of others and they will do just fine. So with a sense of new purpose, I see to see new places and start a new journey in my life.

Circular white stones specifically placed to accentuate the lay out of the land. A masonry separating the patch of earth from the outside world. Delicate roses planted in a specific place. Dark earth exposed to the sun mixed with the right compost. The dank smell that permeates the air. Beautiful blossoms of all colors that glisten with dew in the morning sun. I place I like to sit and think while enjoying the fragrances that blend with the smell of earth. Flowers of elegance, that give me such joy in my rose garden.

The Sky becomes dark and gray and the wind howls and turns cold. The sun is covered in a dark Veil and it's warmth cannot be felt. Distant Thunder tells of a coming storm. The horizon turns to a misty silver as the fierce raindrops fall. Many people run for cover and hide in the shelter of their homes, but a Dusty and tired farmer Stands in his field alone. He picks up clumps of parched Earth and then falls down to his knees and he sits quietly as he listens to the Thunder and feels the coolness of the breeze. What to one person may be a disaster to another is a bounty. For many days he's waited for the clouds to roll in and for the rain to fall. In what seems to be a dark hour, this man's blessings have come to call.

Oh Christmas flea oh Christmas flea, why did you bite upon me. Oh Christmas flea oh Christmas flea, where did you come from? Did you sneak in upon my tree, perhaps you hid on me? Oh Christmas flea oh Christmas flea, please stop biting upon me. Oh you are a painful bug, perhaps you hid in my designer rug? Oh Christmas flea Oh Christmas flea, please don't bite upon me. Now because of you I think that I have the flu, I hope that you get it to. Oh Christmas flea oh Christmas flea, I think I will have to fumigate thee.

If you are of a mind to dig yourself a hole, there are a few things you can do. The first is to tell your wife or girlfriend you haven't been listening to a thing they said. If this doesn't put you deep enough in the ground then here is another tip. Stay gone on a special day with your buddies on a unannounced trip Any birthday or anniversary will do. This will dig you in really deep, at least a foot or two and you will need somewhere else to sleep . If that still isn't deep enough and you want to be buried deep. Just tell the truth about anything involving what she wears or eats. Does this dress look ok, no it is too tight, or when you go out to eat just ask her why you ordered that and she will hear you think I look fat. This should put you truly deep, well inside a cave. A place so dark and deep, you will need a flashlight just to see. So when you decide a hole is what you need. Just remember the advice I have given, and give it another read. For truth be told, digging the hole is not so hard. It is when you must crawl out again, that your real work will start.

I stopped on the side of the road today and helped a young woman change her tire. Yesterday I gave a lost couple directions so that they could find their destination. Through out my life I have stopped to lend a hand, I have offered directions or just listened to the troubles of a friend. Through all of the things I have done, the person I helped will never realize that I gave them my most precious gift, which is a moment of my time. For time only moves forward, it does not move back. Once it is gone you cannot buy anymore. Unlike money which you can earn or things which you can use money to buy, my time is the most precious thing I have to give and it is what I give freely to make simple changes in ordinary everyday lives.

Denied what is rightfully mine, treated like I do not exist. Called a crazy *****, ignored when I complain. Treated like a used pair of shoes, berated to my kids. There is only so much you can stand. When all else has failed, there is only one option left. Take matters into my own hands. Without anyone knowing, I begin to lay out a plan. I learn how to hide in the open, and follow his every move. Taking notes of all that he does, and waiting for a chance to strike. I plot and scheme to take back my life I wait with great patience and care. In one instances a plan falls into place. He never saw it coming, oh to see the look on his face. The photos arrived at his new wife's office. The IRS gave him a call and wouldn't you know it but his credit has been canceled with just a single call. He was only in the store for a few moment's but he left a kid in the car. He comes out to a fire truck and police, I wonder just how expensive those car windows are. He is hauled away in hand cuff's, oh my isn't that a switch. Now I have started fighting back, who is the crazy *****?

When you kneel to pray, forget me not. When you are in times of joy, forget me not. When you are sad and feeling lonely, forget me not. When you are seeking answers, forget me not. When you have lost all hope, forget me not. In all things remember me, for I am with you always, so please forget me not.

Dawn comes too early, I am not in the mood for morning. Like a grumpy cat I sneer at daybreak. Noonish is a better to start my day. That is why coffee is my first thing to do everyday. Home made Java, that old cup of Joe. Steaming hot aromatic and black. I mixture to stir the senses, just what the doctor ordered. A shot to perk me up and revive me to the world. From no whip latte to the espresso double shot. From Colombian dark roast to French Vanilla, what ever it takes to jump start my heart is what I desire. So if you hear weird noises at 5 am, don't be alarmed. The world is not ending, nor is there an earth quake. It is most likely me and my coffee *** whirring in an attempt to make espresso for myself.

Pens have been silenced and quills no longer spew forth words. Chirps, tweets and post have taken the place of polite communication. Letters are now seen in a museum and one blurb can be around the world in a moment. Oh how it grieves the soul to see the art of relating diminished to nothingness. Were Shakespeare to see the folly, he would shake his head in disbelief. Samuel Clemens might lay down his pen and return to a river boat captains ways. Lord Byron would lament and Mr. Poe would brood in a dark and morbid way. What shall become of the future generations, who have lost their way. To even be able to form two coherent sentences may be too much to ask of them. Oh how do you mourn the death of the written word?

Sitting on an old creaky porch wrapped in a shawl. I open a faded photo album and begin to look at the pictures with in. I see images of youth where I had great beauty. I see toothless smiles of children. I look at birthdays and weddings and pick out who was not there. I remember the laughter, joy and sorrows as if it were yesterday. I turn each page with care looking at each one as if  were a priceless gem. I relish my book of memories as a treasure to be kept and passed on so others may relive the days gone by and keep a part of their life with them when they to have grown with the passing of time.

Jumping and diving over rocks in a struggle for life. Magnificent creatures seeking to return to their place of birth. Noble creatures of bright and splendid colors fighting against the force of nature itself. Swimming to exhaustion, driven by some unseen force. From the cold waters of far inland rivers to deep oceans then back again. A course of life that is planned out by generations of selection through natures process of survival. Each fish must run it's course and finish where it started in order for it's species to survive.