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  Jul 2018 sheila sharpe
Jasmine dryer
your filthy
you reek of  individuality
how dare you be such a mess
don't worry society can fix
after all they fixed all the other kids

with there blank stares
they confom
because now they don't care

now run along to the washing machine
and clean yourself up

but i don't want to go in the machine
its an hour
of turning and turning
over agian
till your rid of all stench

years later
i miss your mess
i miss the stench
and now i'm alone
once more
now your a shiny mirror
you only mimick
you conform

conformity is the biggest diseases  we face. it can **** an individual and only leave a husk
dont conform
Here is were it all begins
Now a life time to unfold
A future lies deep within
And stories will be told.

Your road it will be rocky
You will face those stormy seas
There'll be times you will be happy
And times down on your knees.

You will find that life's a journey
You'll get lost along the way
But your not alone there's many
Who get back on track again.

So put on that suit of armour
It's a dangerous world out there
Beware of all the trappings
Their are pitfalls everywhere.  

Don't look back you have a future
And hope is what you need
Your life will be your teacher
And lessons will be learned indeed.

You will find that new horrizon
It is there behind the door
That door will surely widen
And the world it will be yours.
I think you all will agree that life is teacher and we all have
Made mistakes.some of us more than others.
  Jun 2018 sheila sharpe
Lily
When kids write their birthday lists,
They want the newest Iphone,
A certain brand of jeans,
Or the best Jordans.
Is this what growing up is,
The moment you realize those
Things don’t matter?
Because if I made a true
Birthday list now, I would want
World peace
An end to world hunger
A way to make college more affordable
Better patience with those I love
A way to deal with my insomnia
A man to hold and cherish for life
And for the world to have more compassion
And destroy all traces of hatred.
I wish I could stop all my worrying;
I wish I could write birthday lists like I used to.
  Jun 2018 sheila sharpe
Jay 1988
I sit in a fire lit room
Listening to the sound of grandfather sleep
Every Sunday, with my brother I would walk to church
And hear the choir sing
Walk home down the lanes
Pull flowers, make daisy chains
I’d look up at my mother and smile
She would bend right down on one knee
Pull me close, so there was just her and me
And whisper One day, all of these old people will go
She said it’s just a fact of life
Listen, so one day you too will be wise
Because one day, all of the old people will go

Then I heard the Doctor speak
“There was no pain, now he’s at peace”
From the corner, my grandmother cried
He was all, she’d ever had in her life
I glanced across at my mother and sighed
she, came over to me
Said grandpa passed last night in his sleep
And whispered
Remember, one day all of the old people will go!
all of the old people will go

The black, in mother’s hair turned grey
The blue in her eyes now washed away
I no longer fit on her knee
Those arms that cradled me now frail and weak
What was happening all around me ?
The world was aging at my feet!
She kissed me on the forehead and before she found her peace
Said remember those words I told you
Back when you were young and sweet
And it happened again, and again, and again
One minute I was young and carefree playing with my friends
But then I turned around, and realise I was all alone
And the words echo in my head
One day all the old people will go

Walking through the town I grew up
Cars, where once was cart and horse
Walk on past the church, where mother and grandfather lay
And now it collects my friends too
Every waking day, my bones more tired
and in this world more change
But I don’t know what I’m to do
Sometimes when I’m home all alone
I sit by the fire, amidst the embers glow
And wonder where did all the old people go?
Faded photo’s so their face I still see
In my dreams, they still talk to me
And whisper one day, all the old people will go
All the old people will go

My Brothers obituary lands at my feet
He was born when I was fourteen
Placed it neatly on the side
Stare at myself in the mirror and cried
Pull the black hat from its box
The smell of lily’s fill the air
Pull his shirt to my face, close my eyes and he is here
Open them again but there was nobody there  
And it happens again, and again and again
One minute you’re surrounded by loved ones, family and friends
Gathered in the church yard, still surrounded by loved ones, but all alone
Remembering the fact that one day all of the old people will go!
  Jun 2018 sheila sharpe
forestfaith
Shot Guns.
Lives gone.
Touched.
Trust is gone.
Verbal swords,
love gone.
We are not safe anymore.
Hard to trust.
Hard to feel safe.
Hard to feel quiet, at peace, when minds are feeling unsafe.
Hearts tensed up.
We can't even walk into the place we love without feeling afraid.
Just trust in God in these times.
He would guide and keep you,
all the days of your life...
all the time...
Shooting her and there, accidents here and there, people molested ***** even by their "trusted" ones. All around the news. Hardly any sense of safety or love or peace or joy anymore. All these are making people cold...
I come from sunlight,
      The sweeping of leaves,
      South London streets,
      Lurburnum seeds;
      Hot semolina,
      A spoonful of jam,
      Hands full of gooseberries,
      That's who I am.

      I come from rose petals,
      The sound of the fairs,
      The smell of candyfloss
      Mist in the air;
      I come from warmth,
      My parents hands,
      Outings to parks,
      Both small and grand.

     I come from knowledge,
     True and false,
     From nursery rhymes,
     And stories and pictures of God;
     I come from gentleness,
     A quiet afternoon,
     From visions of loveliness,
     Sewn on a spool.

    I come from two worlds,
    With different ways,
    A threaded pearl necklace,
    And sensible soles
    A mother and father,
    I think I knew,
    I came and I wandered,
    I looked at the view.

       By Mary **
Poem inspired by the Slam poets on BBC
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