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Randy Johnson Aug 2016
I have a story to tell you that is a heart breaker.
It's about a great man who was named Kenny Baker.
When he starred in the Star Wars movies, he was inside of R2D2.
His fans shed tears and mourn because of what they're going through.

Kenny starred in two episodes of The Adventure Game,
And he also starred in The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
He also starred in other TV shows and movies during his career.
Everybody on the planet is sad because Kenny is no longer here.
Dedicated to Kenny Baker (1934-2016) who died at the age of 81 on August 13, 2016.
Randy Johnson Aug 2016
Death comes to all of us but it's sad when a life is destroyed.
I recently learned that I lost an old friend and his name was Bobby Boyd.
It had been about thirty years since I last saw him, we were friends at school.
Sadly, Bobby was killed one sad and tragic day while he was driving his vehicle.
I didn't know that he had died until just a few days ago.
It's sad but he was a person who I'm happy to have known.
I know that his untimely death devastated his loved ones terribly.
But he isn't gone forever, when Jesus returns, so will Bobby.
Dedicated to Bobby R. Boyd (1968-2011) who died on September 9, 2011.
Randy Johnson Aug 2016
It was wonderful to have a mother who was so great.
If you hadn't died, today you would've turned sixty-eight.
When you became ill and died, everything went sour.
But while you lived, you were as precious as a flower.

Pink was your favorite color so you were buried in a pink dress.
I felt lost when you died but while you lived, I was truly blessed.
Nobody could've been a better mother than you.
You were one in a billion and that certainly is true.

When you became ill, I wanted you to get well but sadly, you could not.
I had to learn to live without you but I still miss you a lot.
I told you how much that I love you during your final hours.
Happy Birthday Mom, while you lived, you were as precious as a flower.
Dedicated to Agnes Johnson (1948-2013) who passed away on March 6, 2013.
The Tinkerer Jul 2016
Tonight, as the clouds cry,
The thunder cracks,
And lightning lights up the sky.

A little writer begins to write.
He writes for peace of mind.
He writes a piece of his mind.

This, a feeling so pure.
Parting with a part of his soul.
Strewn, shards on a piece of paper.
So alone, at ease, he's compelled to compose.
Compose the ideas of life
And all of life's lies.
To tell the world,
Not to abide.
To tell the world,
Look that ***** straight in her eye.
Say **** it, and give her a smirk and

*Fly.
A night when creativity visits a writer is a day when a piece of his work feels complete in its own terms. This was one of those days. When the flow did not hesitate, when I was unable to suppress, I just went on. I wanted to tell the world that the things that stop you from achieving and striving for greatness, they do not necessarily have to dictate your life. The only hard part is beginning.
Waiting4TheStop Jul 2016
Fragile
And
Delicate
End
(C) 2016

My grandad  stopped breathing this morning this is for him
Marquis Green Jul 2016
When writing out who you're thankful for,
So many names come to mind.
It's so ironic that it starts to hurt to realize,
Who stays in your reality,
And what a dream world this would be,
If in the same moment,
You also come to know the pain of those who promised yet never fulfilled those sacred words.
"I'll never leave you if you never leave me."
No wonder I felt like life never made progress forward.
It's been a few winters,
But I've see the holy ministry gather with my eyes in their gaze and silent whispers,
It's all about regret and wishes,
With a soulless daughter being passed around without permission,
And a son who can't see the sunrise for his future is as barren as his once bountiful mission.
I have seen the world inside of a man lost in depression,
This obstruction of feelings,
Choking seconds before air rushes in,
Like an ache for the next season before the snow crashes in my home,
And yet the phone continues to ring,
With the sound of heaven alone,
Like I've always been asking for my baby to sing,
35 floors and you could only jump from the second.
Captivating,
What your eyes used to see the world for became the poison you doused me with and I still blame myself for the death of not only my mother, but the funeral dragged down by eulogies from those who never saw her face when she knew her child must live without her.
For what prayers did you hold my name in while holding another?
For what prayers did that man give to see his reflection to know he existed as more than a passer by.
John Wayne novels always had November as the casting call,
I'm still wide awake writing my dedication,
And yet I'd rather have the silence of myself than the willingness of those who will walk out onto the plank and drown themselves in themselves.
They never turn back until they need you to save them.
This future between the sailor and his father,
That bait,
Raising a man into a child,
Recluse.
Venomously,
Each word we wrote to the sky.
I wonder if anyone else connected eyes the way we did.
And by we I mean me and my reflection.
It's the only thing left that stays with me when I'm ready.
Anyone who tells you to buy beauty forgot what you looked like.
It's always 1984,
Burning our house away before I even had the love to long for everything that was missing.
We miss one,
We miss everyone.
We miss the sunset.
We lose one.
We lose all.
I lose myself in the idea of losing everything,
And I lose everything when I lose you.
This poem is the poem I'm planning to use to try and get my name known. If you could just leave a comment or a like for it, just so I know people are at least noticing, that'd be awesome.
Aaron LaLux Jul 2016
Heart Burst Anthology

Writing while my hands hurt,
in intermediate inspirational bursts,
writing till my hands break or my heart bursts,
never been a second placer so I’ll take whichever comes first,

until then I’ll author our collective anthology,

and offer no disrespected apologies,
for verse after verse after verse,
until I go from driving in this Benz,
to riding in that hearse,

no apologies,
from me for anything of course,
because I am just a writer,
that writes with no remorse,

why should I apologize when I am not a part of the courts,
I’ve never taken anyones freedom or filed any reports,
I’m not God so it’s not my job,
to decide the direction of another man’s course,

still it hurts,
because they offer no apologies for their crooked policies,
locking young men up behind bars,
for simply being born,
as if life itself is a crime,

all the while,
these boys in blue commit constitutional treason,
they’ve got quotas to fill and time to ****,
so they’re quick to lock a kid up without any real reason!

And the ironic thing is,
it’s all done on the tax payers dollar,
the same citizens that pay the court’s bills,
get locked up and charged fees that are increasingly higher.

Dear Sire,
when did we become serfs on our own turf,
slaves on our own streets,
since when is it a crime to want to feed your family,
trying to make ends meet just to make ends meat?

Everybody’s gotta eat.

so we slave all day and work all night,
something's not right I’m downtown feeling uptight,

suspecting there's a plot and it's sinister,
uneasy feeling queasy thinking everyone’s suspicious of me,
reflecting and feeling like a prisoner,
or at least a suspect of strangers assumptions what’s the remedy,

slavery isn’t dead,
nothing’s been abolished,
the clothes have just changed,
and now the chains are just more polished,

and all this,
makes me write compulsively,
so hopefully when I’m gone,
future generations can read our collective anthology,

written without any filters or apologies,
no disrespective apologies honestly we're making up words,
and adding words to proses similar to concrete and roses,
I told you before that everything is real and that is for sure.

Let me be known,

let it be known,

we are here,
we are struggling and we are human,
we deserve the basic human rights that all peoples deserve,
see it’s difficult to rest my case when the long arm of the law keeps pursuing,

what are we doing,
what does it matter,
what will be will be,
I just hope that we’ll be a factor,

as we're,

adding words to emotions,
that we write with undying devotion,
no need for promotion when you're one with the ocean,
of interwoven showmen golden women and unbound emotions,

the Soul,
has been awoken,
and in return for your token gesture,
I offer you this token poem,

it’s a labor of love,
so I write even when my hands hurt,
and I’ll keep writing till my hands break or my heart bursts,
‘cause I’ve never been a second placer so I’ll take whichever comes first…

– ∆  Aaron LA Lux ∆ –


Volume 1
The H Trilogy
I just published a new book.
If you could take a moment to check it out,
and even write a review it'd be most appreciated.
All profits go to a charity that prevents child abuse and ****** assault.
So not only are you getting an epic book of poetry,
but you're also supporting a good cause.
THT1 is #2 worldwide right now.
Thank you SO much!

https://www.amazon.com/Trilogy-City-Angels-Aaron-Lux/dp/1535054328
Matthew Harlovic Jul 2016
after the author’s death
bury his work with his last breath*

© Matthew Harlovic
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