Words on Fire!


Words
Words (Photo credit: sirwiseowl)

 

Words on Fire

 

When my muse comes around to inspire

 

My words dance with fire

 

Building castles everywhere

 

Out of dreams and thin air

 

Blending new romance with raw desire.

 

 

 

With each tale that demands to be told

 

Real stories become bold

 

Allowing characters to act

 

Mixing fantasy with fact

 

Grabbing audiences with claws that hold.

 

 

 

Because these words coax and seduce

 

Strong feelings they produce

 

Stirring embers deep inside

 

Where feelings cannot hide

 

Boiling hearts with their own juice.

 

 

 

My words are powerful on a page

 

Or when spoken on life’s stage

 

Gathering no moss as they flow

 

Becoming stronger as they go

 

Carrying the discovered wisdom of an age.

 

 

 

My words are restless and never tire

 

As they pull others from the mire

 

But they carry a deadly sting

 

If venom is permitted its full swing

 

Therefore cautiously I write with fire.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Son, Listen to My Words of Wisdom (Part 2)


wisdom with toast
wisdom with toast (Photo credit: Leonard John Matthews)

 

My Son, Listen to My Words of Wisdom (Part 2)

 

My son, the time for choosing friends is ripe,

 

First, you can tell a tiger by its stripes.

 

A friend can fool you when he growls or talks.

 

You can discover more by the path he walks.

 

Others will know you by the friends you choose.

 

If you don’t pick winners, someday you’ll lose.

 

If a friend observes danger but pretends he’s blind,

 

You would be wise if another friend you’d find.

 

A friend will always tell what is true,

 

Even when the truth might hurt you.

 

A friend is there to watch your back,

 

And he will reason with you if wisdom you lack.

 

A friend will help when there’s nothing to gain.

 

A friend will listen and share your pain.

 

He’ll be there always even unto death.

 

But a fair weather friend has wasted your breath.

 

If he doesn’t want you to be better, he’s not a true friend.

 

Like a drowning swimmer, he’ll pull you down at the end.

 

Someone who always flatters you has a concealed goal.

 

He’s shallow and self-serving and playing a role.

 

Beware if he’s not loyal all the way through.

 

He’ll sell you out and then desert you.

 

A friend is there all life to share.

 

So choose wisely, son, a true friend is rare.

 

My son, as for girls, your future is bright.

 

You’ll find contentment if you treat one right.

 

A girl needs thoughts of love to fill her day.

 

If she has love she has less reason to stray.

 

A girl’s world is different from the one you know.

 

Relationships and emotions help her bloom and grow.

 

Look in her eyes each and every day.

 

Her feelings are important. Listen to what she has to say.

 

Don’t be afraid to show a little romance.

 

Hold her in the moonlight and laugh and dance.

 

Your thoughts will remain positive, son,

 

If you count your blessings one by one.

 

Tell her she’s beautiful and just what you need,

 

Then it’s like dancing and you’ll have to lead.

 

Don’t look for things she might do wrong.

 

Mention what she does right. Then move along.

 

There will be days when your cup is half full.

 

Choose to be positive and life won’t get dull.

 

Surprise her with flowers, whether picked or bought.

 

Keep your romance smoldering and the flames hot.

 

Kiss her each night before you sleep.

 

A kiss will remind her your love is deep.

 

Whisper sweet words as you hold her near.

 

And the wisest of all, son, always be sincere.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thanks!


Thanksgiving at the Trolls
Thanksgiving at the Trolls (Photo credit: martha_chapa95)

 

Thanks!

 

This holiday season I salute all writers, artists, musicians, actors, etc. Your blogs, poems, and stories inspire me when I struggle and need encouragement.  I hope that sometimes my posts provide a springboard for your endeavors also.

 

As I jump from first person, second person, and third person pronouns, remember I’m really talking to and about you.

 

To me, Thanksgiving is not about the food I eat. My memories are about the friends I meet.  Since I started blogging three years ago I’ve met some incredible people. I haven’t seen them in person but I’ve felt their words and I’ve been allowed into their minds and hearts.  Thanks, friends, for being incredible.

 

Look around the internet. There are bloggers everywhere, established and great.   You are part of that growing list and I admire your efforts and the efforts of new writers who are appearing daily, their raw emotions burning the hearts of those who dare listen. Behind them are newer generations, magnificent and courageous, who will soon be emerging on the scene.  I expect to enjoy the works of all, for they bring fresh perspectives to my soul and let me breathe.

 

To my friends I say, Happy Thanksgiving.  To my friends I haven’t met yet, I say enjoy the day with friends and family.  Life is short.  Live it with gusto.  Then sit down and write about your actions and reactions.

 

1.  Writers use words of power and grace, To remove a falsehood, And put truth in its place.

 

2.   Give someone hope anew, When she gets writer’s block, Pull her through.

 

3.  This holiday season remember with kind deeds, Those who have needs.

 

Your actions form a story of compassion.  I’m looking forward to reading how you blessed others.

 

Thanks again for your kind words on my blogs.  Be patient with me.  I’m still growing.

 

 

 

I Am a Poet


Poetry Workshop by Pooja Nansi 3
Poetry Workshop by Pooja Nansi 3 (Photo credit: Steel Wool)

I Am a Poet

When I began writing poetry I tried to make one person happy…me. I read the poetry of others and discovered amazing blogs and posts and felt intimidated But I kept writing because I wanted to see how I could be.

I am an artist who paints with words,

Splashing color and feelings around,

I am a musician who saturates the air,

Strumming across hearts with sound.

I am a doctor who feels the wounds,

Stopping the bleeding of those in pain.

I am a teacher who educates a child,

Sharing wisdom like drops of rain.

I am a world citizen who lends a hand,

Giving a village a new chance.

I am someone who cares about others,

Challenging the world to dance.

If I could add a few golden words,

Changing frowns into glorious grins,

Then I would know I’ve done my job,

For a smile is where poetry begins.

But She Forgot


The People That Time Forgot (novel)
The People That Time Forgot (novel) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

But She Forgot

 

When her boyfriend broke up with her,

 

She:

 

Cried on my shoulder,

 

Walked with me by the lake,

 

Talked for hours about all the things they did,

 

Wanted me to be there just to hear her breathe,

 

But she forgot I was there.

 

 

 

When she met the man of her dreams,

 

She:

 

Told me how special he was,

 

Wanted me to meet him,

 

Insisted I go shopping with her to buy him gifts,

 

Asked me to help her write love poems (for him),

 

But she forgot I had feelings too.

 

 

 

When he became too busy to be with her,

 

She:

 

Wouldn’t talk to anyone for days,

 

Partied every weekend with her girl friends,

 

Claimed I would be her best friend forever,

 

Moved in with a roommate,

 

But she forgot I cared.

 

 

 

When she became pregnant,

 

She:

 

Needed me to take care of her,

 

Said I would be her son’s godfather,

 

Told me all the things we would do together,

 

Said she wanted to be independent,

 

But she forgot I had always been there for her.

 

 

 

When her boyfriend beat her up,

 

She:

 

Lost her baby,

 

Insisted she still loved him,

 

Asked me to mind my own business,

 

Said I should stay away,

 

But she forgot my heart was broken.

 

 

 

When she was buried,

 

She:

 

Looked very pretty,

 

Said she was sorry,

 

Wished that she loved me,

 

Left a note asking me to take care of her son,

 

But she forgot she didn’t even have to ask.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Is it love or Is it Lust?


 

Love ? I love love love you.
Love ? I love love love you. (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

 

One evening as I went for my daily walk,

 

I heard a woman giving a mother-daughter talk,

 

 

 

“Daughter, are you feeling love, or is it simply lust?”

 

Does he inspire confidence, and build your trust?

 

His morals are crude, and a little bit shoddy,

 

He only wants you for your body,”

 

 

 

“He told me if I loved him I would submit,

 

To show my love, I’d just do it,

 

I said if he loved me, he’d not ask,

 

Love is not selfish, nor is it a task,

 

 

 

When his lust is over, will he remain?

 

Is it my heart he wants to retain?

 

In this day and age should I just let go,

 

Or should I be firm and just say no?”

 

 

 

“Daughter, you might think everything is clear,

 

But the danger is when he is holding you near,

 

With love and lust you might get confused,

 

Neither is right if you feel used,

 

 

 

Lust is like a moth circling a flame,

 

Ending in tragedy, always the same,

 

All for a few sweaty moments in time,

 

Nothing permanent, no reason or rhyme,”

 

 

 

“But, mother, I still don’t understand,

 

How will I recognize if he’s the right man?”

 

 

 

“Oh, daughter, there is so much to learn,

 

Lust is a flame that will usually burn,

 

Temporary passion shared in the night,

 

It’s a feeling that hides at dawn’s first light,

 

Lust turns on, then turns off the light,

 

While love continues burning bright,”

 

 

 

“But, mother, my friends insist,

 

That if it feels good, I shouldn’t resist,”

 

 

 

There were things I wished to say,

 

Yet if I spoke I’d be in their way,

 

I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,

 

But this was too interesting to just stop,

 

 

 

I thought, “Love and lust, both four letter words,

 

One is the sweetest word ever heard,

 

‘I love you,’ urges the heart to sing,

 

While ‘I lust you,’ doesn’t mean a thing,”

 

 

 

Her mother continued telling her straight,

 

“If you’re not careful, it’ll be too late,

 

Lust is the sparkle in Fool’s Gold,

 

Love is the real nugget we can hold,

 

Lust makes you feel a momentary glow,

 

But where does that moment go?”

 

 

 

“But, mother,” her daughter sighed,

 

“Aren’t they much the same if nobody lied?

 

My boyfriend says that if we care,

 

We’d be willing for our bodies to share,”

 

 

 

 

 

“Daughter, I don’t think you understand me well,

 

Lust and love are different, like peanut and shell,

 

Love seeks happiness for both to share,

 

And it risks showing a heart that cares,

 

Love is not for a rowdy night or two,

 

It’s a commitment for a whole life through,”

 

 

 

I wanted to comment but I said under my breath,

 

“Love means forever, forever till death,

 

Lust seeks perfection of the outer skin,

 

While love finds qualities that reside within,”

 

 

 

Her daughter answered that she understood,

 

“Thank you, Mother, you taught me good,”

 

 

 

“Write a list down before you go,

 

Then you’ll remember what you should know,

 

Lust is as temporary as the weather,

 

Love lasts seasons as you grow together,

 

Lust fades and washes away in the rain,

 

Love shares pleasures and feels your pain,”

 

 

 

There were more things she could have said,

 

So I kept those truths in my head,

 

“Love thrives when things get tight,

 

Lust hides when things aren’t right,

 

Lust is shallow rather than deep,

 

No one worries about promises to keep,”

 

 

 

“Mother, dear, it’s all so clear,

 

That a man might want to hold and touch,

 

Yet there’s one thing I don’t know,

 

About lust, how do you know so much?”

 

 

 

“Daughter, that’s a good question,

 

To ask it makes you look wise,

 

The information is certainly true,

 

I learned it from some older guys,”

 

 

 

“Mother, is it also true,

 

That women love and men lust?

 

Are men always in a hurry,

 

Afraid their bodies might rust?”

 

 

 

“Daughter, women are like charcoal,

 

Smoldering until they’re ash,

 

While men are thin paper,

 

Burning up in a flash,

 

Men and women are different,

 

And love and lust aren’t the same,

 

Yet both are very important,

 

If you’re playing the game,”

 

 

 

The daughter didn’t seem satisfied,

 

She still had some doubts,

 

The only way for her to be sure,

 

Was to check it all out,

 

 

 

I continued my walk, then home to bed,

 

With still more thoughts left unsaid,

 

“Love grows roots that anchor down,

 

And keep relationships on solid ground,

 

Love says no one else will do,

 

While lust is just about satisfying you,”

 

 

 

I was curious to see if the daughter held true,

 

And choose love over whatever would ensue,

 

That’s a choice only she could make,

 

Love or lust, and the path she would take,

 

 

 

There’s a time for love and a time for lust,

 

Sometimes both simultaneously exist,

 

For me lust was a fire difficult to control,

 

Once I had been kissed,

 

 

 

The daughter eventually became my lover,

 

And she spiced up my life,

 

The fires inside still burn strong,

 

I’m glad she is my wife.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why I Write


"browned" gets a mention in the press!
“browned” gets a mention in the press! (Photo credit: mr brown)

“Uncle Dan, what did you want to be when you grew up?” My nephew’s words tore into me, reminding me of people who had stood in my way urging me to do sane sensible things. “Go out into the world and get a real job!” “Do something useful.” “Working for a living is honorable.” Not one of my friends or relatives told me to follow my heart or pursue my dreams. In fact, one of them scoffed when I said, “I want to write poetry and short stories. I want to describe the world.” “There’s no money in writing,” he said. “It’s a waste of time,” said another. “Who has time to read?” My nephew looked at me curiously. He was still waiting for an answer. What could I tell him? I began as I believed I should, honest and straight forward. “I always wanted to be a writer and I waited until now to begin.” In the early evening Cicadas were saturating the air with a steady din and it continued even after the stars began poking through the black velvet sky. I’d listen and try to imagine a far away planet where strange creatures buzzed about giant cities. As the animal kingdom came to life small animals in desperate flight raced to stay ahead of their pursuers. The chasers were relentless. A scream, then silence. Another hunter had made a kill. The actions were out of sight and sudden, but I could imagine even the smallest details. My thoughts would drift back to space where my other world existed. My imagination was rife with possibilities. Were larger animals chasing smaller prey just like the ones I knew about, or did the smaller animals control the larger ones? My dreams were filled with stars and planets and my travels were swift. After hours of dreams, I would wake early in the morning. I would bounce out of bed, get dressed, and go outside ready to be immersed in new adventures. But sometimes my dreams didn’t stop on time. “Danny, wake up! You’re wasting time. There are animals to feed and chores to do.” My brother’s voice stirred me to action. A few minutes later the cows were contented again, eating oats and hay. The pigs were fed and after scattering corn for the chickens I went inside and cleaned up for school. I could hardly wait to tell my friends about the sounds of night and my imaginary planets. As part of our seventh grade English class Miss Brown often let us decide what we wanted to write about. Then she looked directly at me. “Nothing about planets and stars or stories about aliens or animals. Write about things you do during the day.” I wanted to protest but I knew Miss Brown would stand her ground. Many times she had told me, “Write about the things you know, not the things you imagine. Start over, Danny, and this time please follow directions.” After many attempts at describing real things, Miss Brown and I finally agreed upon a compromise. If I wrote and satisfied her requirements, I could write sci-fi and fantasy stories. In order to get my needs met I had to write more. Although my production increased, the quality of my writing didn’t. “Your writing isn’t good enough,” Miss Brown told me. “Don’t quit your day job.” At conference time she told my parents I daydreamed too much. “I don’t think he can be good enough to become a successful writer. Guide him towards the trades. That’s where the money is.” Throughout high school my teachers reminded me, “Very few authors became famous. Many of them suffered through bouts of depression. Some died young and others died poor. You have some potential but get a job that pays a steady income.” In college writing was on a collision course with literature. One professor ranted, “Read every story seven times and squeeze it for meaning. Otherwise you’ll never learn how to write.” Because of him and other like minded souls I decided that newspaper writing was the way to achieve success. But times were hard and over the next ten years several newspapers folded or consolidated for financial reasons. Jobs were hard to find and harder to keep. “Get out of the newspaper business,” a crusty old reporter barked. “Writing doesn’t pay very much but it steals your soul.” By then I had become an English teacher, although I still freelanced for small magazines. I continued to produce articles just for my vanity. I was not the only educator who dabbled with poetry or stories. Education was packed with aspiring writers with distinguished backgrounds. “You’re nothing special,” I was told. “Other writers are ten times better than you.” I joined writing groups but even there the news was grim. “If you submit your stories or novels to publishers, expect to get rejection slips. Even the famous authors were rejected enough to paper the walls of their houses.” Years passed and technology changed. Now older and wiser, I decided to write for fun and to entertain. If someone actually liked what I wrote, it would be good for my self-esteem. I became a blogger. There were a few followers but mostly I wrote for myself. I wrote stories and poetry but I didn’t really know how to entertain. I didn’t know how to add music and color. All I had was words. As I look back I still have not achieved my goals nor have I satisfied my soul. I still write because I want someone to understand that life is more than video games and TV. Perhaps I also write because I want to learn more before I die. As I write, my understanding becomes deeper and sharper but I think I’d have to be immortal in order to become a good writer. I still have so much to learn and so much to describe. Life is real. Life is earnest. Life is too short. I looked at my nephew. “I’m still growing up,” I said. “I’ve only changed on the outside.”

Now What?


Scroll of the Book of Proverbs
Scroll of the Book of Proverbs (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I wanted to sit next to her,

But I was sure it wasn’t a great idea,

She interested and excited me,

Yet it was not meant to be,

I knew the mental state I was in,

She was pretty, intelligent, and wise,

I did not want to be rejected again,

Although it wouldn’t be a surprise,

I shook the dust off of my shoes,

And headed out of town,

I was sure that someone waited for me,

An angel would be found,

Strength and wisdom I needed for awhile,

For I was easily tempted as a lonely man,

I wanted someone to love each day,

Not for a one night stand,

A woman who laughed and smiled,

With space for me in her heart,

I even wanted more than that,

But I knew that’s where I’d start,

I thought life should be shared,

For a day, a year, or more,

For a Proverbs woman I’d wait in line,

Or go pleading at Heaven’s door,

I’d resist the sirens at Hell’s front gate,

For my sake I hoped it was true,

I was looking for a saint, not a sinner,

And that’s when I met you.

 

 

Love Needs Its Mystery


World! Wide! Love!
Image via Wikipedia

Poets have an inner eye and write what they see,

The images might be there but they don’t have to be,

Physical reality often means nothing to me,

For in the shadows a new world yawns,

Stretches, shakes, as a new day dawns,

A parallel world without wars or fears,

Founded on love where there’s no need for tears,

It’s there, existing, waiting for me it seems,

To stir my imagination whenever I dream,

In that world love is more than lust,

It’s a choice, an action, truth and trust,

Love in its fullness ready to share,

Bubbling over into my world and everywhere,

How can I open my world to let love pour in,

Why did love stop and can it happen again,

In the shadows the worlds could meet face to face,

Filling the darkness with love’s sweet embrace,

I’ll look to the other world to provide a spark,

When my world’s problems chase love from the dark,

And when science puts my love under a microscope,

Dissects it, inspects it, and neutralizes hope,

I’ll remind the world that love needs its mystery,

Where everything might be real but it doesn’t have to be.

 

 

 

More Than Love at First Sight


Cover of "Love at First Sight"
Cover of Love at First Sight

I said, “I
fell in love with you at first sight,”

You said, “Oh,
it was a crazy night,”

I said, “The
moon was beautiful and bright,

But I couldn’t see anything but you,”

 

You said, “I
don’t think that was true,

You came in with
someone dressed in blue,”

I said, “I’ll
have to admit once more you’re right,

Let’s just
forget about love at first sight,”

 

It was not
as important as I thought it would be,

It was a
step in the right direction, don’t you agree?

We were
newlyweds ready to begin,

Confident we
could change the world, again and again,

 

But it was the
second step, or maybe it was three or four,

When we
connected deeply, right at heart’s door,

Steps five
or six, we really began to communicate,

Every day I
grew more in love, it was such a happy state,

 

Knowing your
love for me was also deep,

Made it so
easy to have a restful sleep,

Love at
first sight seemed unreal and so long ago,

As life
expanded our love continued to grow,

 

We were stepping
into our future, two of a kind,

I was so
crazy about you as if I’d lost my mind,

Years went
by so quickly with you at my side,

And I still
thought of you as my beautiful bride,

 

When you
were stricken with that terrible disease,

I had to
tell you “I love you” to put your mind at ease,

I still
loved you when your hair began to fall,

It didn’t
change the way I felt, no, not at all,

 

The moon outside
is breathtaking and luminous tonight,

But you’re
lying here cold in the middle of the night,

Your frail
body is still beautiful to my sight,

I’ll lie
beside you until morning’s early light,

 

Remembering
tears and laughter we shared,

The ways we showed
each other we cared,

How we
worked through our problems every day,

Learned to
forgive and to often pray,

 

We didn’t
let disagreements go on long,

As we trusted
each other we were twice as strong,

I didn’t
really understand love at first sight,

We took our
turns at being wrong and right,

 

Now you’ve
left this earth on your final flight,

And my heart
is filled with love at last sight.

 

 

 

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