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Bree 1d
“The least of these shall not speak the name of Gods unless commanded to do so. Do not call upon the Gods. They shall call upon you.”

That means money. Shekels. Coin. Tax.
Cash in the God’s hands meant opportunity to work in order to provide more.
Some call it prison.
The God’s call it respect.

“The least of these will remain silent in the Days of the Great Return. Once he has descended onto the fold, your mouth shall dance with flavor. You shall be anointed with the grace of the Prodigal Son. The One who knows. The All Father. The seeing eye.”
I recall my school daze
like yesterday,
Am so glad those
times have gone away
The memories have Faded,
and gone astray,
My life was tough,
and the skies were gray.
I was very good student,
and I did my best,
didn't have many friends,
but I did not fret.
I was a loner sometimes,
but that's okay,
Just recalling old thoughts
from my ole school daze!!!!


B.R.
Date: 08/21/2023
xavier thomas Dec 2022
I’ll lead the way just follow my move
I’ll provide you with care
You called me to rescue you
Hold on to that prayer

Just be all mine…
Just be all mine…

Follow me straight to the heavens…

No more baggage, ok?
Don’t carry that weight
You’re afraid it’s ok
No more drama nor running
I’ll lead the way just follow my move
Provided with care

I’ll show you how deep this love will be…

I’ll lead the way, follow me
I’ll provide you care
You called to rescue you
Just hold that prayer

No baggage, ok?
Don’t carry that weight
You’re afraid it’s ok
No more drama nor running, uh

No baggage, ok
Carry no weight
Afraid, it’s ok
No running away

I’ll show you how deep love will be…
I’ll show you how deep love will be…
Hold that prayer

No baggage, ok
Carry no weight
You’re afraid it’s ok
No drama today
Don’t cry

No baggage, ok
Carrying the weight

No baggage today
No baggage today
No baggage today
No baggage today
No baggage today
~Inspired by one of my favorite 1992 singers~
Sade
Dave Robertson Nov 2021
Rattle the cassette
with the biro etched “Car Mix”
grab the keys from mum’s bag
“Fill up what you use!”
“…Ok, can I have a fiver then?”
scuff to the car in unsuitable boots
slump in, adjust mirror, checking stupid fringe
which then existed
snap in the tape so the first bars
of G-Funk, grunge or B*Witched pulse
then it’s off to pick up
shotgun
Taylor St Onge May 2021
I’m thinking of the faded checkered pattern that has been
smoothed away by time on the dark cloth seats of a Nissan Pathfinder
                                          driving down Ryan Road on a hot day in June.
My mother, in the front seat, singing along to a Spice Girls cassette.  

I’m thinking: red, plastic, crab-shaped sandbox and
                                      McDonald’s Happy Meal toys.  
I’m thinking: light princess pink, seafoam green, and robin’s egg blue.  
I’m thinking of a framed cheetah cross stitch, hanging on the wall of what
                                      used to be our bedroom at my grandparent’s house.
I’m thinking: Barbie doll houses and Hot Wheels and a cul-de-sac at
                                                                ­                     the end of the street.  

The sweet smell of cigar smoke.  The ice cold splash of the garden hose.  The pop of a bubble.  The sting of soap in the eye.  Dreams by The Cranberries.  As Long as You Love Me by The Backstreet Boys.  A HelloKitty boombox slowly spitting out vapor when the deck builders hit a power line while digging.  The deer in the backyard looking for corn.  The faded wood of a playset that was never really played on.

My father: sitting alone on a splintered bench by the firepit at the edge of the woods, empty beer cans at his feet, chain smoking cigarettes, and humming along to a song that is stuck—forever stuck—on the tip of my tongue.
I do not know if this happened.  I cannot ask him.  
(I’m not sure if I would want to ask him.)  
But I can make an educated inference that that line of
fiction is really nonfiction.  
A memory that feels like a phantom limb.  
                            Sounds like the sharp crinkle of static.  
                                                     Co­vered in a gossamer, dreamlike haze.  

There is a distinct otherness to this memory, to who
                                     I think I was before the trauma.  
We are two different people.  A yin and a yang.  A day and a night.  
The hermit crab is soft beneath its hard shell.
The asbestos is not apparent within the insulation.  
You cannot see the lead in the paint.
The mold inside the fruit.
prompt one for write your grief: who was the person you used to be?
Jasmine Reid Oct 2020
Back in the day when all the trees would sway, and the children would play

In the sun, in the shade
through the rain
never kept at bay

puddles needed splashing,
skin needing a tanning.

We laughed once, we cried when we fell
learnt from the scrapes and bruises

It’s a lot different now.
Oh take me back to the 90s.
Gunnika Mehra Jun 2020
Amid a crowd
At a 90s bar
Sat dozens of people
Making no sound
All sorts of stories
They withheld from others
All they wanted was a ray of sunshine
Someone to light up the gloom
And in that very 90s bar
That day they saw a flower bloom.
A new waitress walked inside
In her hair a flower
And as everyone stared at that colour in hair
A flame sparked
And she brought life
Even without trying to
She loved and cared for herself
And others loved her too
She raised many lives out of sadness
A medicine to many pains
All the people in the bar now knew
How to discard pain.
It's about loving oneself
And caring first for your own
Bring yourself up
And then with your flame
Others will alight
Accept yourself first
And then you will know your might
In the hubbub of life
Don't forget to love your own being
And everyday when you look in the mirror
At your self smile
You are God's best creation
Love yourself and care for your mind
And when you see flowers blossom wherever you go
There will be a secret behind your smile
Your mind is looked after and so is your soul
By loving your own self you brought about a change
And if all of us do that ,
Then we will see the difference
And in Michael Jackson's words,
"Heal the world
Make it a better place
For YOU and for ME
And the entire human race. "
And to heal the world
Heal yourself first
And to care for each other
Care for yourself first.
And for everlasting love
Love yourself first.
I took 90s because that time people usually wore dark colors like brown, grey and black, unlike now. Although weirdly they were happier than us. Might even be ironical, the reference to 90s.
Saudia R Oct 2019
You've got mail

Is it weird that I want to hear that again

Not
you have a notification

but mail

Waking up and running to the mailbox
heart pounding with excitement and fear

is your letter here yet


That one thought
everyday
carrying my little legs
racing
in the hopes that I would see your handwriting

and when that letter finally came

like a squirrel with a prized nut
I race away to the safety of my bed with
a flashlight
some poptarts

and pages of your letter

So happy



that I have a friend like you.
Communication is so important in our lives, and I feel like because we have the wonders of tech (not bad) we have lost some of the magic of words. The anticipation of reading someones thoughts, hopes, dreams, failures etc, with flecks of their character peppered in their letter. From their style of writing, their favourite ink, paper that they love and stamps and seals that add that last piece of love. We should bring back the beauty of writing. We have so many alternatives to write on, hemp is on the up and up. We will be able to respect the environment and bring back the magic of written language.
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