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Always Remember...
Hope comes after despair.
Cure .... after pain.
Smiles ... after tears.
Laughter ...after cries.
Health ... after sickness.

Love ... after hate.
Joy ...  after sorrow.
Healing ... after forgiveness.
A newborn life ...  after labor.
Eternal life ... after death.

Light ... after darkness.
Dawn ...  after night.
Blue skies ... after storm.
Spring ... after winter.
Beautiful landscape ...  after rain.

Hussein Dekmak

Copyright
Juhlhaus Jul 1
O black toad,
Sage of the sodden floor,
Grant me your stoicism
As I my go labored way.
And may you prosper,
Consume legions, grow fat;
Yet deftly elude all
Who would do you injury.
A tribute to the noble toad of the Northwoods.
M-E May 1
You gotta be
Kidding me
Shouldn't we
Work on labor day
And celebrate for
the rest of the year
01-05-2019
Red-Winged Blackbird

Here you are again, in the chain-link fence.
It's the same every day as I pass by
heading home--you perched there.
Are you waiting for someone?
Do you, like me, wonder what's next?

I'm often on the fence, too. Each day
I pray for success for my six children.
I can't rest until they are on their own,
thriving.  My wife is the same.
We keep our eyes on hope.

Blackbird, you neither sow nor reap,
nor gather into barns.  Do you question,
each day, how you will feed your family?

People urge me to write a will.
It's inevitable, but I feel responsible.
I want to be here for them.  I still talk
to my parents and am pretty sure they listen.

I don't know if you, blackbird, contemplate
these things each day like me.
I'll swing by again tomorrow.
Mr. Tom Donlon is a poet in WV and is part of the league West Virginia Writers for the Eastern Panhandle region.  I wish I could say more about him and his poetry, but all of us have our own truths, and it's only right for each to have the liberty to introduce the truth of her or him. Thanks for reading!
NC Burchett Dec 2018
In a rebellious sleep,
I dreamt of stillness,
my mortal machinery
a garden of rust.

A man, a monument
no whip could stir,
whose sweat is wind
and blood is dust.

The last Luddite
on a throne of junk,
armless clocks
like broken cuffs.

Free at last
yet frozen such.

Free at last
‘till woken up.
T daniels Oct 2018
Daybreak and weathered men with their fermented drinks,
make way for the morning.

Doorways dimly lit beyond the ruins of lesser worlds,
older boys laughing aloud,
Near the honest sun
and the absent clouds.

The mesa seemed heavy as birds shimmered above-
whats their place in all this land?

Mornings were always cold
even while sunbeams flourish,
The farmhands copper in color, congregate near cattle, pipes in hand, hoping for good days ahead.
WorldWalker Sep 2018
We are skin and bone and tragedy
Souls stitched together with sorrow

Born to die
To never see the fruits of our labors

Forgotten children of forgotten gods
Our misery our only weapon
Jack L Martin Sep 2018
was uttered in a
computer generated,
non-demeaning,
gender neutral tone
by the impersonal,
unemotional,
automated,
grocery checkout machine.

"Enter your customer ID now!"
demands the artificial human.

"And... if I don't?"
I query the metallic shell
of what once was
a minimum wage employee.

There was no reply.
Andrew Oct 2017
The shift has begun
I'm going into labor
I must fulfill my contractions
Before I die late
Will I produce something beneficial to the world?
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