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  Jan 2016 JEM jAZzY WATERS
katie
my lungs are heavy again; it pains me to breathe and my eyes have most likely lost their gleam. I’ve been burning candles in my room to try to put the light back in them, but the scent is burning my nose. This reminded me of how my throat felt when i tried to hold back the tears in class the other day when my hands kept shaking like my body was having a mini earthquake. they’ve always told us to “duck, cover, and hold” during earthquake drills at school, but what the hell am I supposed to hold onto if I’ve lost myself?
  Jan 2016 JEM jAZzY WATERS
Myaja Black
I've always been a fan of art.                   Some might even call it an addiction
   I allowed few to draw over my heart
   They left nasty graffiti and unspeakable memories But then I met a real artist
   she came and made it a blank canvas
      She asked if she could paint something beautiful I said yes but take your time
  At first the image appeared to be us
     But then the colors started to run         together and I couldn't figure it out
        No one could not even her
 But art is never understood until its completed Now we are finished and the paint has dried And I finally see
       That you created a masterpiece
I miss you
And I know it all
Seems as if its
Just abstract flirtation
And hopeless poetry
For the spirit of romantic gesture
And that it isn't truely...
That deep craving
Of endless oceans
And time weathered shores
Of waves cashing
With every beat
Of a heart
So desperately
And sickly
In love
That it could
Never die
Or be
Broken
And the simple
Madness of the truth
Isn't able to be
Writen or spoken
With any alphabet
Or language
And I could
Never describe
The how or when
Of it all
But I do
Know I will
Always be falling
Here
In this place
Where
I miss you
  Jan 2016 JEM jAZzY WATERS
Leslie Jade
isn't it painful?
how all your bricks fell down
the strength you've built
all become nothing?

when you needed support
but people chose not to
it's painful, to see how they crush you
all your efforts becoming worthless

you wanted comfort
but you chose to be silent
cares if they need
supports when they're in pain

isn't it painful?
how useless you are
no matter what you do
you will be who you should be
It's alright
If you decide
To be in love
With someone else
Or that you were
Mistaken in the notion
That you somehow
Needed me

I know that my heart
Is heavy to hold,
So if your fingers
Have gone numb
Please just
Let me go
As gently as
You can.
For when you change your mind about me.
Come Holy Spirit, come gently
Peace always flowing from your
Mercy for me

Where power and victory come
They are brought by the wonder

Your Spirit, majestic in all the world
Holy and precious, loving and abiding

Forever with truth and healing
Whenever we pray to you

In mighty wonder, come Holy Spirit
Come dwell inside of me

Bring me to heaven to worship
The glory and beauty

Of who you are, Jesus


                                    BY:  Leona Chaput
"Terence, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head:
We poor lads, 'tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad."

Why, if 'tis dancing you would be,
There's brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God's ways to man.
Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter ***
To see the world as the world's not.
And faith, 'tis pleasant till 'tis past:
The mischief is that 'twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck I've lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.

Therefore, since the world has still
Much good, but much less good than ill,
And while the sun and moon endure
Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure,
I'd face it as a wise man would,
And train for ill and not for good.
'Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale
Is not so brisk a brew as ale:
Out of a stem that scored the hand
I wrung it in a weary land.
But take it: if the smack is sour
The better for the embittered hour;
It will do good to heart and head
When your soul is in my soul's stead;
And I will friend you, if I may,
In the dark and cloudy day.

There was a king reigned in the East:
There, when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all that sprang to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white's their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt.
--I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old.
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