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"beleived" poems
when I was seven years old my family started going to a Christian church and all I thought about was how the pews that we sat in would have done more for God as trees and they said to love our neighbors because God wanted us to love our neighbors but I love my neighbor because his windows are lit up at 4 AM a time when only the miserable are concious and yet he always smiles at the postman when I was thirteen years old I visited a Buddhist temple with my friend she showed me how to meditate but sitting so still made my skin crawl and she told me about karma but I wasn't sure what it was that my little sister did to get bad enough karma to die at nine years old she only ever left out granola bar wrappers and sometimes forgot to say "thank you" but karma sent her a drunk driver I never understood religion the only temple I ever felt at home in was the hand of my lover and I never felt the presence of God but I felt the anguish of my postman as my neighbor began to lose that light in his eyes and I may have never read the bible but I've run my fingers across a thousand trees and they guide me when I am lost I never beleived in a higher power but I believe in my sister who used to pick at threads on her church dress and to my mothers dismay ruffled up her perfectly curly hair no God would **** her
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Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
The Postman Came To Her Funeral
Ode to *** and coke I toast the old *** and coke the after hour drink from one job to the next sometimes not a break  just slip from one kitchen to the other one paid  the other didn't well except for the drinks Oh how  i adore  you *** and coke wake up in the morning coffee in hand  blinders on weary look  up on my face, each  morning other side of the wall from the coffee lays her sleeping with  someone new   my heart racing   anguished and  foolish , embarrassed at every turn.   I turn back to my room coffee in hand watch the clock tick  until 2 pm  get on my scooter  to job number one a place really where I can be in my own world  until closing time, then off to  job  number 2  a repeat  of number 1 except for  in the waiting  after the shift was done a *** and coke  is to be in hand. Tired and weary  every hour dusk until dawn. A time where i felt no escape and no place to run and there at the end of the all shifts old *** and coke  waiting for me to take her in my hands and sip and taste   oh what grace...  the numbness sifting out all of  daily happenings oh so sweet. day in day out  old *** and coke  came about..and met me in the night... then one night  waiting for  old *** and coke  on second order came across something new after getting second drink looked over and said hello... several years ago Now..both restaurants are gone,   things i trusted and beleived in  gone, i have  moved, my friend stopped talking everything has changed once again   like the never ending circle oh how i wish i had that *** and coke the bartender knew  just how much  it took to drown the day in each and every glass he would pour for me i raise the *** and coke high into the sky and toast to its existence for it would listen and ease up all the pain. Ode to *** and coke by Alan Spivey 1/20/2014
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Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
Ode to *** and coke
Ode to *** and coke I toast the old *** and coke the after hour drink from one job to the next sometimes not a break  just slip from one kitchen to the other one paid  the other didn't well except for the drinks Oh how  i adore  you *** and coke wake up in the morning coffee in hand  blinders on weary look  up on my face, each  morning other side of the wall from the coffee lays her sleeping with  someone new   my heart racing   anguished and  foolish , embarrassed at every turn.   I turn back to my room coffee in hand watch the clock tick  until 2 pm  get on my scooter  to job number one a place really where I can be in my own world  until closing time, then off to  job  number 2  a repeat  of number 1 except for  in the waiting  after the shift was done a *** and coke  is to be in hand. Tired and weary  every hour dusk until dawn. A time where i felt no escape and no place to run and there at the end of the all shifts old *** and coke  waiting for me to take her in my hands and sip and taste   oh what grace...  the numbness sifting out all of  daily happenings oh so sweet. day in day out  old *** and coke  came about..and met me in the night... then one night  waiting for  old *** and coke  on second order came across something new after getting second drink looked over and said hello... several years ago Now..both restaurants are gone,   things i trusted and beleived in  gone, i have  moved, my friend stopped talking everything has changed once again   like the never ending circle oh how i wish i had that *** and coke the bartender knew  just how much  it took to drown the day in each and every glass he would pour for me i raise the *** and coke high into the sky and toast to its existence for it would listen and ease up all the pain. Ode to *** and coke by Alan Spivey 1/20/2014
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31
((This poem is written by Omega and me)) He glanced high and high At the moon up in the sky Where only real friends say Hi Where children never needed to cry Where dreams only needed a try Where all hopes lie With wings they could fly With hopes they jump up high With strength they apply With beauty of a butterfly With peace everywhere they occupy Each time they get closer, things amplify Tangled problems start to simplify Justice is applied, so no need to justify Hearts are pure, no need to clarify All things are perfect,  no need to qualify People there never live as mystery And never die as history They live with a flourishing industry Where the life has no boundary That's the world of legendary Money there has no quantity People there have one identity Their flag is humanity Their emblem is " No to poverty " Their perception is full of sanity Their lives are full of charity Their purpose is creativity Their hearts are full of sensitivity They've never beleived in impossibility With their dreams magnify They got high and high But when it is time to say "goodbye" They continued to fly and fly
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Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 6:39 AM UTC
"A Journey To The Sky"
It was back in those days, the elementary school days, when we were all friends, characters to one anothers plays of nonsense. When we reigned over puddles with galoshes or brightly coloured gumboots. When we wore capes and knew all the sing along songs. And yes, I do recall, fondly so, that big park. We were all there, whether in soul or in spirit,we explored the butterfly gardens, our parents and teachers were there too, a school trip of sorts? Just a vivid  but fotgotten dream? Who may answer these questions but ourselves by eventually succumbing to the universes natural way and forgetting the questions and finding and accepting the universes other answers. The flowers of the light May day were in full bloom and that glass greenhouse, the one that intrigued me so, stood just like a castle. After lunch, when the children were running throuhg green grass or wiping sticky hands from oranges upon the damper grass of the shade and while our parents and teachers sat on their coats dilly dallying, I stopped. Stopped from my playing like a bunny caught in someones eyes. Was it a hand that grabbed mine or mine that reached out? Lead to a rivers edge, a little stream or pond. Ducking under willow and stepping over bushes and creeping through imagined dens of foxes or coyotes. My companion, my little friend, the face on the memory is blank, perhaps we had even more company. We held hands. We held hands like friends in our childhood innocence, before the concept of cooties, before the playground held terror. We sat hunched up by the pond poking sticks and reeds into the stream. Poking at the river flies and mud. Lost in a mystic realm of childhood unknowingness. And then it caught me. A glimpse that magnified. The little water spider, gliding on the surface as though the surface were glass. Oh water bug, from my bright eyes  and blurred warm memeory you stood out to me. Majestically skating in the reflection of my face. As though you were that man mentioned in grandfathers stories from the book he said he beleived in, that man himself, walking on water. Such grace and beauty in you're perfectly casual stride, a quality I later noticed and looked for in people. Oh water bug, slipping your little bug fingers through glassy streams like a figure skater on an ice pond. Do you remember me little bug? I was the one, the one with the little hands reaching out. I tried to hold your magic in my hands. I was the one that in awe reached out But like a snap dragon, in a blink, you were gone.
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Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC
To a Water Bug
It was back in those days, the elementary school days, when we were all friends, characters to one anothers plays of nonsense. When we reigned over puddles with galoshes or brightly coloured gumboots. When we wore capes and knew all the sing along songs. And yes, I do recall, fondly so, that big park. We were all there, whether in soul or in spirit,we explored the butterfly gardens, our parents and teachers were there too, a school trip of sorts? Just a vivid  but fotgotten dream? Who may answer these questions but ourselves by eventually succumbing to the universes natural way and forgetting the questions and finding and accepting the universes other answers. The flowers of the light May day were in full bloom and that glass greenhouse, the one that intrigued me so, stood just like a castle. After lunch, when the children were running throuhg green grass or wiping sticky hands from oranges upon the damper grass of the shade and while our parents and teachers sat on their coats dilly dallying, I stopped. Stopped from my playing like a bunny caught in someones eyes. Was it a hand that grabbed mine or mine that reached out? Lead to a rivers edge, a little stream or pond. Ducking under willow and stepping over bushes and creeping through imagined dens of foxes or coyotes. My companion, my little friend, the face on the memory is blank, perhaps we had even more company. We held hands. We held hands like friends in our childhood innocence, before the concept of cooties, before the playground held terror. We sat hunched up by the pond poking sticks and reeds into the stream. Poking at the river flies and mud. Lost in a mystic realm of childhood unknowingness. And then it caught me. A glimpse that magnified. The little water spider, gliding on the surface as though the surface were glass. Oh water bug, from my bright eyes  and blurred warm memeory you stood out to me. Majestically skating in the reflection of my face. As though you were that man mentioned in grandfathers stories from the book he said he beleived in, that man himself, walking on water. Such grace and beauty in you're perfectly casual stride, a quality I later noticed and looked for in people. Oh water bug, slipping your little bug fingers through glassy streams like a figure skater on an ice pond. Do you remember me little bug? I was the one, the one with the little hands reaching out. I tried to hold your magic in my hands. I was the one that in awe reached out But like a snap dragon, in a blink, you were gone.
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21
Take a minute to reflect Believe and you can and you are halfway there. Look at yourself Have self respect Believe you can and you are halfway there. When a train struggles up hills on a worn track A miner returns home with an empty sack That train has power, no thought involved but the miner he struggled to keep hold of something he believed in, cared for Hoped for and somethiing more He knew he could do it, just didnt achieve it But he beleived he could and he was halfway there. The day after, he struck gold, more gold than ever before It sparked, it told the Earth, opened its Crust's door The miner, like the train had power more power than ever.
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Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC
Believe You Can And You Are Halfway There
Sometimes I get sad and go to a dark place It's rough there it's dark there My saddness in uncontrollable I don't know where it's from I'm crying for someone's help begging to get out I once beleived that God could get me through But I feel to far away where he can't see me The light is not around so bury me in the ground I want out of this hell God, help me I will bleed until I die Cut into the skin that isn't mine The truth is I'll never escape The truth is I'll never be saved I've done too much wrong and I don't belong Heaven's a beautiful place I can see it When I close my eyes I float off It's a place with good there is no fear or pain But when I awake reality sets in I'm dead now there's no life left I've got to accept that get comfortable My life is not mine but I have control I've made too many mistakes and I won't be saved.
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May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 8:58 AM UTC
Help
There was happieness, then everything changed. It beat the kid. The lonely kid wanderd into a mindest, desperate for it to stop. The kid did what it said, and he cut every day. He could not stop. He beleived he couldn't. He eventually died. Depression finally beat him. He has always struggled. or He has always struggled. Depression finally beat him. He eventually died. He believed he couldn't stop, not he could. He cut every day, and the kid did what it said. Desperate for it to stop, a mindest wanderd into the lonely kid. The kid beat it. Everything changed. Then, there was happieness.
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Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
Two stories
Everytime it is morning, We wake up to her demanding, While we slept she was running, With the awakened some. Isn't that what we are hearing? Her lovely voice keeps on calling, It says son swim the ocean, You must overcome. Do you believe in you? My aquainted friend. No one else makes a difference, Play attack or play defense, Sleep back or you commence, It depends on you. You've got pain and I've got pain too, Don't let your emotions control you, And the shame deny you, The thing you should do. You should believe in you, My aquainted friend. Many stars will be rising, Many stars will be watching, Will you still be in hiding? Its still up to you. There is always the rejection, That could influence your decision, You might never see provision, Hold that which is true. I wish you beleived in you, My aquainted friend. The tides will keep rising, Could be winning or be drowning, Or on deck and keep dreaming, I will live on. Tomorrow it might be over, You may never really discover, Not today maybe never, The rising sun. You don't believe in you, This is your end.
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Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 3:21 PM UTC
The Universe Sings