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Patricia Arches Sep 2013

This ever blotting simple thing that makes up things

as small as a mouse but also as deadly as sin itself

A simple formula of cause and effect

An effect

A result

A consequence

No pretences

Or fences that guard our decisions

Keeps it safe for being just a choice

For it is no longer just a choice

It is not that simple, see there is a formula to remember

An economic study to this choice where c=e


For every cause there is an effect

For every cause there is an effect

For every cause there is an effect

Let it dwell in your mind and affect you

Because that is where it all begins

Let us open up your mind and there we will find that

Alongside that implanted thought are a plethora

Of more thoughts that are placed beside your dreams

Nestled in between your hopes, skilfully intertwined with your visions

There they all lay

Our mind is our drive that takes us down

A road that is long and winding

A highway down to our hands

Which eventually become steered by, picked up with strings ever so delicately like a puppet

Held by that one thought

Your actions are birthed from your thoughts

We see these to be choices

To study these choices would be economics, to understand them would be sympathy

To take a leader who steals from his country

Or a mom who abandons her child to keep herself alive

And view this as sad, as a cry for help?

How and why?

Oh no! We do not stop at just those two ghastly choices

For this is a study of many


Of things that have happened to determine what will and to save us from what has been

Let us open up this book

And flip each page to see what decrees and laws

Revolutions and words put down on paper

Have anything to do with where we stand today

For the choices of the past still linger here

Mixed in with the choices of the present

Creating this air that we breathe in and out every single day

We would be infuriated with rage as we scan through the pages of this book of choices

A chapter of injustice

A paragraph of cruelty

A statement of selfishness

A line of adultery

But, wait! Oh, let us stop on this



For this I do not even understand

See I have studied choices, and put them into many formulas

To see the effects and the causes of each

but this story is different

For it is not just one chapter

One statement

One line

It is the whole story and each is intricately woven within it

In fact, the book is titled for this one story

And to begin it would be to start off with a choice

By a God

To send his son

To die for men

Men whose choices we see throughout the whole book

Men whose choices are vile and selfish and ruthless

Sinful men


And yet a God so Holy and pure still sends down his son in His likeness for these grimy men??

See, if we picture it. It is a white cloth, pure and clean not just dipped but completely submerged in dirt

Now that is not a choice that I would make

But it was made

A man so untainted and holy

Came down

To die for the sinner

Who stole from the helpless woman in the ally

Who murdered an innocent child in the ****

Who told a tiny white lie to his mom and dad and gave himself away to drugs and peer pressure

Who lusted after the world and what seemed good but really was death covered in make up whispering

in the promises lie after lie

To die for the sinner who is you


Jesus chose to die for you

On that cross, with his hands bound by nails and his feet the same

And with every last breath, last drop of blood and whip of the chain

he thought of you

and that is a choice that no study, no analyzation could ever make sense of

but it was done

it is done

is what he said for you as his arms were spread out wide

and all your choices

he negated the effects, and ultimately the effect of death

and formulated a solution of eternal life instead

for this one choice

changed all the rest

Now, think, think it through

Every choice you make

and every choice that was made is made brand new, infused with grace

Remember this for when there is a test the formula of cause and effect

Still stand true

but also remember Jesus who did what you had to do

for you may make many more flawed choices without a thought

Therefore go down on bended knees gaze at the cross

where stood the Father’s son

never a doubt that this choice for you was a wrong one

that any effect wouldn’t be worth it

you are worth any effect

you are an effect

of that one choice made on the hills of calvary

look up at the cross when your lewd effects force out the mistakes of your personal choices

then resurface that one choice made 2000 years before

bring it up amongst all the confusion and chaos

study it’s economic worth

hold it dear

smile at it even for

that senseless,











is all for you
There are no answers here
Not in your shell-sea home, 
Nor in your native shore.

For that you must seek
Being lost and alone
On your own and turn

from dust, to rain and to dust again.
My son, there are no answers
Here in my speech. Nothing

You seek is here. Forget me.
You must taste the wind
With your tongue and leap -

A net will follow. But not 
in a way you'd expect.
One advice to the grain

Of my sand. Observe
the senses. Let it be.
One is not driven to wanton 

As one allows himself to be.
Nor in inaction move 
to drift as a paper boat.

Unless one carries his own
Weight, no answers will 
Appear clear.

For Papa

27 January 2016
Walking along,
Stopping to pick the ripened berries
The sweet sour taste entices the senses.

Cars passing quickly
My feet stagger on
Slowly falling into the tempo.
My thoughts wander
My troubles arise.

I reach a split in this mental road
Should I go left?
Should I go right?
Should I just turn around and give up?

I’m at the dead end
Looking over a cliff to the rough water below.
Maybe I should just jump in.
Feel the cold daggers against my skin.

The water draws me in
Welcoming me
Beckoning me.
Telling me to jump.

Should I take this leap into the unknown?
Prepare myself for the worst.
In order appreciate the best.

I need some help,
A lighthouse in the distance
The light giving guidance
Offering peace
Breaking though the night.

Where is my lighthouse?
Is there one?
Or is this the dead end.
Tommy Randell Mar 2017
Read again that letter from my father -

You can hear the music in it I'll bet,
Its old style singing from his lonely centre.
He asks for money, brandy on his breath,
He offers time and talks of Ireland’s history and pride,
He offers me the right to share his name.
He asks for comfort in the few years left
And thinks I might care - because he is afraid.

Read again that letter from my father -

Now he wants to have all the things he has not.
It would take some doing, he would need to make account
Of his long abandoned wife and her sons,
Her later death and us being orphaned at nine and twelve,
The school bus bullies from other father-less homes,
And being pounded and being pounded into stone
To be remade in his image, to be an absent father's sons.

Go on, read that letter from my Father -

You tell me what it says about his life,
Of living well-down the glass of his pride.
Can you see one moment of any abstract thought
Or is it the old story of the King with no clothes
Caught ***** with no place to hide?
An **** truth, no matter dressed in gold.

Should it make me sad, that letter from my Father?

It reminds me of an old tree no light can shine through,
With no birds in the branches and no rainfall can *******.
If you threw a stone into its branches you would hear it
Clatter like a bucket of hope down a dry well.
It reminds me of the story of The Foolish Oak
Whose roots withered as its leaves cast off the rain
And who became a dead log just standing there.
He is dead now. In reality we let him back into our lives, my brother & I though we never grew to love him. He inhabited the fringes of our family. He was harmless and every man deserves the right to prove he has changed. BUT, that cruel part of me still hurts and feels anger for a lifetime without a father and for a deserted mother who turned to drink.
Tommy Randell Feb 2017
Truth is hard to come by
Harder than Love

Love is hard to recognise
harder than Need

Need is hard to justify
Harder than Dreams

Dreams are hard to testify
Harder than Hopes

Hopes are hard to simplify
Harder than Choice

Choices are hard to live by
Hardest of all.
Isaac Aug 2018
My youth is nearly sealed,
A letter for anyone to read.
All my choices noted down.
God's judgement guaranteed.
I made so many mistakes,
Though I tried my very best.
Whatever challenges life gave,
I hope I passed the test.
My joy lies in being
Pottery in my creator's hands.
I know he is the only one
Who forever understands.
Written 15 August 2018

God sees us, knows us, and understands us.

For some, this is a truth that brings terror. For others, this is a truth that brings peace. To whoever is reading this, I hope and pray it is the latter.

2 Corinthians 5:10
Amanda Jul 2018
Before moon comes out to show
Lack of progress I think I'll get drunk
Could make better decisions
Life is easier to flunk

I look down, hide my shamefIul eyes
Heart lays in the dirt
Wrung out, tossed aside like trash
Can I run from this hurt?

I placed expectations high
In the wrong box, the wrong shelf
Cannot disentangle, stuck to my mistakes
Try but fail to fix myself

**** it, I am gonna get high
Life too short to live sober, full of sorrow
Rather die tonight with smoke in happy lungs
Than survive an endless number of substance free tomorrows
It is hard to live a morally sound life.
F White Oct 2015
A panacea,
the band aid word I
slap on conflict

A solve it all

Acronym for nothing and
Diffuser of
All scenarios.

the  more politely phrased version of
The mafia's cry.

But no matter how you slant the saying,
It's still salient- and a parched, bleached lie.
Copyright fhw, 2015
Mara W Kayh Nov 2016
A hollow takes root in my heart,

I watch helpless
as this cavern empties
its once warm elixir,
now cool as coal
on a bed of dying embers.

trepidation surges
upending my
quiet comfort
while voices whisper in an upswell

"this safety on the razor's edge
is an illusion
and must be returned
to the debt ridden sea!"

slowly the mist settles,
revealing the great divide.

I hold my breath
and  go under
Posted this poem without much editing last night. Rewrote it throughout the day, here and there when I had the chance. It kept on asking to be rewritten. Here is what I think is the final version. I originally had written "lost at sea" under notes. I think it still applies.
Emma Brigham Jul 2018
My baby moves in jumps and flutters inside me,
like the barn swallows that make nests
of dirt and twigs outside the restaurant.
Yesterday they disappeared
and I learned that a maintenance man came and hosed them down.  
Tragic, he said.
But necessary.  
Too much bird ****.  
When I got pregnant
it felt like waking up at the top of a roller coaster.
And then an engagement.  
this is how my life is going
and somehow it does not feel like cliche.
Ask as many what-ifs as you want
but there is just a single trajectory.
Even though you have to fall asleep one day
before waking in the next.
Moving through concentric circles and trying to find the center.
Biology is happening
in a part of me that I am still getting to know.  
She was once the size of a grape
but now I read she can blink her eyelids.
She is also not like the barn swallows.
LexiSully Jan 2016
She is a warm gentle sunflower, whose roots have dug deep, whose stem never wavers.

She looks up to the sun, admiring the bright glorious rays shining down upon her

She feels freedom blowing through her like the wind and feels life pour into her like the rain.

She marvels at the brilliance of the sunset and admires the warm glow it brings to the world.

But silently she cries in the night, for what would she have without the sunlight?

Then she simply looks up to the gleaming luminousness of the stars, and knows she's not alone.
july hearne Jul 2018
it has been twenty years
since i once met him in person


we met in las vegas
and stayed at a cheap motel
in different rooms

and that is what i have been remembering
the most lately
is the cheap motel
as if there were marbles on the carpeting
of the motel floor
and i slipped on one

the marble game, just something to do
winner wins and keeps on winning
once i am tripped
even before i have fallen to the floor
for it is certain i will fall to the floor

tiny marbles to lose
tiny marbles rolling by
he aimed his tiny marbles at me
he shot his tiny marbles at me

i laid on the floor
for many years after
an easy place to be
got up, fell down, up once more
finally fell down and just stayed down

on the floor not seeing how
life could ever get decent again
a whole lifetime ahead of me
with no *** appeal
and nothing to fall back on

just a tiny marble
for my back to fall on
new skin too rough for any other skin
I’d rather be witty
And real and clever
Than simple and pretty
And 17-ish forever.

I’d rather be wiser
And challenge the fools
Than an advertiser
Luring the cheapest of drools.

I’d rather solve complex issues
Of technology and life
Than have some tool hand me tissues
Pondering insignificant strife.

Given the choice
I’d rather live
With the world hearing my voice
Than the grave alternative.
Persephone May 2018
She stayed up in her high tower
Not knowing if she should come down
She was warned that the world outside was dark and dreary
But the tower within was as well
She had a choice
To choose which demon she wanted to dance with
The one with in or the one out
No one else would tell her
So she was left to scream, and to shout
JDL Nov 2018
You have two choices:
Learn from your parents mistakes
Or you become them
Kiara Malig Dec 2017
If Silence were a song, it would’ve been your favorite.
You’d play it again and again, like notes that beckon,
And you’d always hum along.
You live in this world where everything you see turns into a weapon-
The sun smiles at you and rips out your light with its sharp teeth,
A suicide note with your name on it tears you, cuts you, and reads you, when it should’ve be the other way around.
You are all alone on the streets,
You are all alone in your room,
You wonder if anyone hears your heartbeat,
You wonder if they hear the clocks tick more than they hear your heartbeat,
You wonder when it’ll stop.

If your heartbeat were a song, you’d hate it.
You’d want it to stop playing,
But it’s always the last song you listen to.
They hear theirs everyday, but fail to listen to yours,
They don’t hear how it screams, “Don’t leave, I need your help”,
Your life falls out of your grasp,
And you are left asking yourself what the **** have I done,
You are left with only two choices.

Teach yourself the art of fading.
Slowly, but surely.
Before you fade,
Make sure they at least notice you fading away.
Leave a sign,
Leave it in the bathroom,
And keep the door open.

Teach yourself the art of holding on.
Carve your name on every person’s back so that they won’t ever forget of its importance, or even of its existence.
Then sort out everything in your closet, keep the clothes that don’t fit you anymore as a reminder that you can keep things that you don’t want anymore, but hold fragments of your past.
Listen to your heartbeat.
Play it like the only music that doesn’t seem absurd,
Play it- a violin that always hits the right notes,
Always wounds the strings just a little,
But still manages, to make something beautiful.
Julie Smith Jun 2017
I'm too scared to lose you
Wouldn't even start a fight
Still I do things
That put me at risk
Long gone are my angel wings
I know it's not right

You said yourself
For the things that we love
There's no avoiding to accord to danger
I wish we could go back to innocent times
You've changed but you'll never be a stranger
And I'm not myself as I commit a crime I hope you won't accuse me of

So don't let yourself be fooled
And never let go of a true sincere heart
For it may start taking turns between devotion and rage
Forced by your unforeseen indulgence in dishonest relations
Error of judgement could cost us a bright future upstage
The wrongful favour of a love miscast shouldn't keep us apart
I wrote this actually in January but now I see that it's even much more true now. I adjusted the title when I was listening to the song "Ballad of a Love miscast" by the Vogts Sisters, a beautifully sad country song I just fell in love with.
MangoMan May 2018
I am not a *****, no.
I am enslaved
By the:
Systems which you created
The history which you teach me
the name which you give me because mine is "too hard" to pronounce

I am not a *****, no.
But I am enslaved
By the societies which you have created that does not allow me to spread my,

I am not a *****, no.
My ancestors just made the wrong choice.
'slavery was a choice' - Kanye West
L Jun 2018
He lay on the side of the road; lifeless grey eyes staring forever into the clear bright sky.
"I wonder who lost a rooster."
My eyes lingering as my speediness transforms to a crawl--
"I'm going to be late to work."


Pick up the pace, why dont you
Written directly after thinking it while still walking to work.
Jessica Jan 1
Your soul is a mirror, and I can see myself clearly  
I wish I was the one you chose.
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
Great choices make ok stories.
Terrible choices make better stories.
Why is it that when someone messes up, that it ends up being betterto read about , so much so that their good deeds end up being overlooked?
Lyn ***
Ron Conway Dec 2018
The dinghy's bobbing helpless in the stream
The broken oars are futile 'gainst the force
The current pulling to the sea. The wind is blowing fro
Desperation searching for a course

And from the shore a shout, “Come on I'll save you
But you will have to pay a little fee
I don't want your money or possessions
All I want is you to think like me”

And from the other shore a darker voice
“I think you'll see this side is much more fun
All I want is never-ending gratitude
I can easily show you how it's done”

The wind was swirling, pressing on the dinghy
Pushing it from shore to rocky shore
Temptation to accept one or the other
Grew strong for fear of losing evermore

But wait, this dinghy's hull is sleek and smooth
Straight keel and mast above the haze
When sails are set it plays within the wind
Determined course to seas or sheltered bays

It's knowledge shapes the keel to slice the water
And courage 'gainst the storm to set the sails
And love that tills the rudder stays the course
With freedom jibe and tack among the perils

دema Feb 18
The first breath I take
becomes the very first choice I make
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