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 May 2014 Margaret
Poetic T
I am a love machine, I'm pre lubricated
for your enjoyment  as wet as you wish
me to be. I can morph to what ever you
wish me to be,  fancy different parts I
can do this optical changing retina, I
can be green, ocean blue, I can have orange
or black that would scare others but not
you or her or me.

I can be blonde, brunette I can be green
haired or as bald as you want me to be.
You want a man or a woman a half and
half just tell me what size and  Ill surprise
you I'm programed not to harm unless
you want me to.

I'm a love machine, you can strangle
me, cut me I can die like its real while
your still inside fulfil your sickest
fantasy, I can bleed on the silk sheets
I can fulfil your funniest, scariest fantasy
I am just a machine I am programed to
show you what you want to see lets talk
or **** its no difference to me.

I'm just a machine, don't expect love or
think ill leave with you, as long as you
pay ill make you happy. Then when you
leave,  I'm washed repaired, ready for the
next desperate soul that wishes to fulfil
their  next fantasy...
the future is cold and metallic synthetic skin warm on the outside but never love just a program that lets you see that which you want to see.
 May 2014 Margaret
Brandon
Untitled
 May 2014 Margaret
Brandon
When I write
I think I am more influenced
by the the depths of the ocean,
the gradual crawl of clouds,
the impression your body leaves
when it's wrapped into mine;
than I am by any other concept
or external force.
 May 2014 Margaret
MD
i. because I spend hours thinking of what would be "safe" to wear
ii. because no matter how I dress, I'm still stuck with the fear of being attacked
iii. because I'm taught the way I dress causes ****, not rapists
iv. because I get told I have no self respect when I wear "revealing" clothing
v. because I'm taught to hold keys between my fingers when I walk alone
vi. because I'm tired of people telling me "I'm asking for it"
 May 2014 Margaret
Chloé
we
 May 2014 Margaret
Chloé
we
We are thinking too much about our lifes
But remember your life could be somebody elses dream...
 May 2014 Margaret
SG Holter
Riverside camp
Site plans.

Stones smooth from
Currents of centuries

Surrounding ditch
Dug for bonfire.

Driftwood shelter
Tied with fresh willow twigs,

Tiled with leaves and ferns.
Location for personal business

Decided upon and upheld.
The choice is mine whether to

Watch the weather, the fire,
The sunset and its mirrored twin

Where dinner skips for its own,
Or the spaces between it all.  

I have shovel, axe and a knife
As sharp as a scorned woman's

Tongue. Sleeping bag, and salt.
If the fish doesn't bite

I'll sleep hungry. No worry.
My surroundings always

Provide. They tolerate me;
I address them as I would

Any mother.
 May 2014 Margaret
Elijah Almond
if every color
could be explained
by an action

if every action
was determined by a letter
could we...

perhaps get a color to be better
when we spelled
something completely profane

the circle of four
colors swim together
but offer no wisdom
rotate around your broken heart
you remain nothing
a blank rock in an empty solar system
how long is forever?
will i ever find you.
scotch tapes and
mashed potatoes.
(10w)
 May 2014 Margaret
A
Deluge
 May 2014 Margaret
A
A thousand bees 
Swarm o'er me
Pique flesh
With liquid fire
Flushing my body
In naked vermillion
 May 2014 Margaret
Jon G M
Walking sixth street
Your beautiful  smile
Was stunning
You looked as you walked by
We stopped and said hi
You were with your girlfriend
Had the same Beauty

We stopped
Didn't interrupt your night
Maybe will reach you
Worth a shot
Your amazing
As your smile
 May 2014 Margaret
John Stevens
He was a young lad and in the fourth grade
Struggling hard for the grades he made.
Everything he tried seemed to vanish in the air
For he could not read and there was no one to care.

The teacher made fun of the young boy’s plight
No compassion, understanding, was ever in sight.
The days were filled with doubt and fear
He was told to repeat grade four next year.

Starting the fourth the second time around
A new school, a new teacher, made his heart pound.
For the world to see, on the card it came
The very first day he had to spell his name.

J - E - E - R - Y came out of the pen
The letters did appear to be correct just then.
The teacher bent close and whispered in his ear
“One E and two R’s, I think you meant dear.”

He fell in love with the teacher that day
She knew his heart and just what to say.
She knew the pain that the young boy felt
And all the embarrassment the past year dealt.

Miss Hagness, the angel, had come to his aid
He sensed her love and was no longer afraid.
Like the gentle Shepherd, reaching down from above
She taught him to read by her affection and love.

He went on to college to prepare for a life
Giving to help others with trouble and strife.
Pastor Jerry’s the Shepherd of many a heart
With love and compassion from the fourth grade did start.



===============================================
Teacher­ Part II
The story told in verse is about my pastor. It is about the struggles of a lad who was ridiculed in school because of a reading disorder called dyslexia. It is about how the system would have let him sink into oblivion but for the personal interest of a young teacher who came into his life the second time he went through the fourth grade. A teacher who had compassion in her heart for the boy and helped him discover the talents that lay hidden deeply within him. The talents that allowed God to develop within him, developed a compassion for others and a giving of himself first as a youth pastor for many years and then for the first time as a senior pastor.

It is also a story of how indifference toward others can lead to destruction of a young mind to the point of total loss of self worth. It is about the deep wounds that can be inflected by the harsh words we speak. Such words can never be retrieved from the abyss of time. How many times do we fail to see or ignore what we see because it does not conveniently fit into our schedule and in the process, contribute in the destruction of a life?

If we are teachers, mentors, leaders, or just breathing, we can share the pain of others to ease their burdens and encourage them in the difficult times. As we share the pain of others, we gain the right to share the joy in their triumphs and successes.

The story came from a message delivered on Sunday morning May 1, 1999. The poem wrote itself from the words spoken in that message. Can we do anything less than what the young teacher did for the boy? As God leads us, let us listen to the still small voice. The voice may be the voice of a child pleading for help, the voice of our Father directing each of us in the path we must travel. Be ever aware of the opportunities that God lays in our path. Maybe just doing only what is required and not seeing beyond ourselves we miss seeing the potential of a young mind. Could this be the greatest disservice we could do to our Father?

Oh God, give me the wisdom to see the promise and potential in others and be led by Your hand in molding the young mind.

It is written, “Though you have done it unto the least of these, you have done it unto me.”
© May 1, 1999
John L. Stevens
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