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Petal pie Sep 2014
On a royal visit by chance
Queen Liz spots a crew who breakdance
She throws down her bag
And cries 'sod one's jet lag'
'Dagnammit, I'm gonna get up n prance!'
  Sep 2014 Petal pie
A hero is a person who
has simply done as others do
until a certain point in time
when they step over safety's line.
Then they become something more
than a mere human, and have borne
another person's trial and pain
not thinking of their glory, gain.

A hero's the woman who waits and stays
and watches while the others play,
then takes the drinking people home,
wending her way to sleep alone.

A hero's the teen who looks and sees
a child's kite hung in the trees
and climbs farther than he should dare
to show the kid that someone cares.

The mutt who stays by master's side,
Alerting folks with howls and cries.
He may be cold, have to defend,
But he'll stay with his human friend.

The "Boys/Girls in Blue" this word deserve.
They bravely work. Protect and serve.
Dealing with crime and human woes,
They go where others will not go.

A fireman breaks down a door.
There could be backdraft, but does more,
because the baby in the room
will almost surely be consumed.
He's sustained wounds, and badly burnt,
but the little girl survives, unhurt.

The soldier who's sent to block, defend.
His buddy's met a painful end,
but hunkers down, takes back the field.
'Til the end he will not yield.

Jesus left His Father's home,
went to earth to walk alone.
He endured horrid trial and pain,
He took our sin, He took our shame.
The reason why He was so brave?
So that billions would be saved.

There are many more of us
Who do hard work while others fuss.
The single moms and single dads,
Nowadays parents have it bad!
With no fanfare or applause
work long hours on thankless jobs.
They ensure kids do more than eat.
They can be schooled for greater feats.

And if a person takes the time
to bring some light, to let it shine,
to cheer up people down and blue

well, my friend,

that hero's YOU.

Catherine Jarvis
(C) February 21, 2009
I miss the days
where my biggest concern was how to
carry a sixty-four ounce grape slushie
from the gas station
while riding my Huffy.

Still, not much has changed.
I'm still awful at planning ahead,
and I still act on impulse,
and I still can't ride a bike
with no hands. It feels like the scrapes
on my elbow are open.

Summer was never really my season.
Petal pie Sep 2014
It fascinates to ponder on
what lights a person's spark
What invokes an individual
To create a work of art
Would a sunrise inspire
poetic masterpiece
Or a mere brain ****?

Would the changing seasons
Bring writers blocks and wrongs
Or the falling leaf in the equinox
Make you wanna write songs?

To some a leaping cute spring lamb
Might give poetic joy in its wake
For others they forsee its beauty
On a top notch dining plate!
  Sep 2014 Petal pie
Ryan Jakes
Home again
the post surgery high long gone
anaesthetic only numbs so much
spending days just sitting,
stagnating with your photo's
and scarlet ringleted dreams
of friendships saved by other methods.
Many coloured sprinkles of poison
line my dresser in precise rows
I sit as the clock watches me watch it,
no thunder running through the halls seems strange but oddly comforting in it's absence.
This constant itch in plaster binding
could drive me to drink, if I could reach the tinkling cabinet of liquid safety but instead you and ink become my drug of choice, one to cause the pain, the other to move it on, a cycle known to all who have travelled with their hearts firmly stitched to their muddy sleeve.
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