The stream (all workshops)
It happened every summer
When vacation time was near,
"Meet me at our clubhouse"
Many little boys would cheer.
At our special clubhouse
Secret tales were what we shared,
We could plan our whole fun summer
And "no girls" we soon declared.
It was just a special place and time
Found just down the street,
Where Jeff and John and others
Would hang out...our live complete!
But little boys and others
Grow up and move away,
And before we ever knew it
There were other things at play.
Take this burnt rose from upon your lips
The thorns will only hurt a bit
Crimson regrets disembogue
As your color dips
Take this knife from out your chest
Twist the edge like your spoken word
Wounds may heal with proper care
But verbal evidence lingers in the air
Take this kiss upon your last breath
My name in your mouth for eternal rest
Your favorite flavor at best
I'll love you forever, my bloody Valentine
Our first meeting was our last.
Such electric moments unsurpassed,
when fleeting seconds went so fast
no surplus formed for my repast.
Lauren, with your liquid eyes,
disporting looks of your surprise,
when first I asked you for my prize -
a photo of your wistful gaze
to stay with me in dying days.
So always think of me this way
I wanted nothing but your grace
and a picture of your lovely face
- a gift you cannot give but I can take.
A gift I give to you for your keepsake.
as yesterdays hand
slips off my shoulder,
and tomorrows embrace
takes my gaping lips
in this, today
I breathe a thousand sighs
and soar a breathless wind
I’ve heaved the night
until the day broke,
and stood in the middle
of all and nothing
and now,
I exist in Milli seconds
between this word
and the next
Dante died with a twisted hide And a mind of haunted blood,
His tongue was swollen; eyes were wide, face down-ward in the mud.
And on his back there sat a pack of demons dark and grim;
Who’s flapping batlike wings so black to the Underworld carried him.
And once beyond the Nether Gates, The threshold stranger met,
Whose Opal eyes and fearful face, Now Dante can’t forget.
Is death unlike a tortured life? Is death unlike a curse?
The riddle is; Why paint it black? Why paint it black; the Hearse?
Success isn't just my hobby
It's infectious, it's my addiction
It isn't just a goal I have in mind
Success is a quest, it's a mission
I no longer say that I have dreams
Because dreams, they don't come true
Now I only admit to having goals
The outcome, which depends on you
You can't control what life throws you
Change the plan, but never the goal
Success takes not only endless effort
But passion in your Mind, Heart, your Soul
This
blank sheet
of paper is all I’ve
ever known
beauty
potential
emptiness
lying in wait for someone
to come along
and
make
something
out of nothing
to create
a work
of art
with
paint or
lead or words.
Words
that flow
from my pen
to the worn pages
of this ratty old notebook.
Cry a little and you will see,
all those tears will set you free.
So cry those tears and let them
flow and know you'll never
be alone.
You can cry alone
or cry with me and
be with you, I'll forever be.
So take my hand and I'll
walk with you and we
will cry together just
me and you.
Time is the essence of life
with each minute
of breathing
that is counted
Precious and priceless
like the grain of sand
drifting slowly
inside the ceiling hourglass
is measured with
each hour is passing
through the days of spending
So, are the days of our lives
If your life were on video tape
Are there parts you might just change?
Or would you choose to watch it play
With no need to rearrange?
Now think about the question
Take your time and think it out,
Perhaps your quickest answer
Is not what you're really all about.
You might choose to cut and paste a bit
Just a quick rewind or two,
Then a chance to insert most anything
But to yourself would you be true?
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