In Memory

10 Years Past

Was it really that long?
Have the years gone so fast?
Was 9-11-01,
Really 10 years past?

But the pain is so fresh,
And still feels so raw.
I sometimes still feel numb,
From the horrors I saw.

The smoke still lingers,
If only in my mind.
Answers sometimes,
Are still so hard to find.

Scenes, they still flash,
I can still hear the screams.
The rumbling, the terrors,
The bending of steel beams.

An anguish that day,
Settled deep in my heart.
And never, not ever,
Will the memory depart.

For I keep it alive,
Like a candle's flame.
Flickering for them,
For every lost name.

In New York, In D.C.
And on a field in Pa.
Though its 10 years past.
I'll never forget that day.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

In memory of every life lost on 09-11-01 and every life lost since as a result of that day. Rest In Peace Dear Souls.
You ARE FOREVER REMEMBERED!!! <3

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Execration: Vulnery Vespers

[in memory of Vivienne Eliot, 1888-1947]

 

On January 22, 1947,

an English girl-soul (in its flesh grown old;

whose sole fault was to be too brash and bold;

and of whom ghastly tales were, and are, told)

answered the homeward call of Christ from Heaven.

In that old flesh, that lilting English girl

whose arch-brow husband was a surly churl,

slipped from residual pain, as from a veil;

and, lightened of her load, set forth to sail

beyond the stars.  Upon her memory

stark verses pressed their awful calumny;

relentless, the survivor's perfidy.

Thus was her reputation sorely riven---

the purpose to which her man had so long striven

(whom Christ forgave first, had not soon forgiven

her).  January 22, 1947:

an English girl-soul was called forth by Heaven.

Tell that old man:  that Jesus' parable---

about the Unforgiving Servant's heinous role---

will hold the debt still due, still due in full.

Dullard I was, with little sympathy

until I learned some more of charity

and some of common, human courtesy.

 

Starward

 

[jlc]

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Thus poem comes as the answer to prayer, and I will testify to that here.  For eight days, I have been disturbed---for deeply personal reasons---by the recent (2010) knowledge of what really happened in the Eliot's marriage, as attested by documented sources that were either not available when I studied (1976-1980) or were deliberately withheld.  Being a liberal Baptist, I do not believe one has to have a "shouting" experience of conversion in order to be truly converted to the Faith.  I learned tonight, reading Carole Seymour-Jones' great biographical study, that Vivienne did worship and commune (presumably Anglican).  Was that sufficient?  That, of course, is between Christ and her.  But, tonight, being unable to do anything further for her now, I prayed to the Lord for some peace about the issue, if peace was appropriate to the issue.  This poem, which came very quickly, and using a couple of words I am not accustomed to using (and one I did not really know), is, I believe, the answer to that prayer.  And yes, I do expect to meet Vivienne in Heaven.

 

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Posthumous Words of a Misunderstood Man

I had a loving and pure heart

but portrayed as evil and dark

framed for a crime I I didnt commit

Just because I refused to submit

to this sick society, adding to my anxiety

known for notoriety, but not for propriety



I was too humble to show off my good deeds

I was committed to giving everyone their basic needs

I had a hard childhood, so I wanted kids to see

there's much more to life than just poverty

So I did benefit concerts and shows

Getting good grades put you in the front rows



I donated millions to charities and wrote a code of laws

to be adopted by gang members and underdogs

it said to get up and not be silent

get out of the ghetto and not be violent

I was rich but didn't need the wealth

All I wanted was for the world to be in good health



But one night I got my robbed and my head split

By my "friends" and got too involved in a conflict

This made my heart turn cold seeking revenge

Ending relationships that were impossible to mend

things got out of hand and again I got shot

suffering fatal wounds, I almost died on spot



This world cannot house a pure soul like me

in my death I am now happy

Maybe my message will soon be known

maybe one day it will again be shown

To all those struggling, keep pushing and endure

signed Tupac Amaru Shakur










Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written for my hero and inspiration. Thanks for The impact you have made on me

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I Find Her Lounging Outside

I find her lounging outside

Calmly taking in all that is around her...

The leaves sway on the titanic size trees...

She wore her soiled gloves

And lying beside her were her gardening tools



The lines on her soft face showing only maturity...

Not age

The sweet smell of the roses and lilac linger,

The picture of perfection to me...



Walking through the door

Into the delicious smells,

She showers me with hugs,

And as she turns back to cooking,

I feel serene



Together we all are as a whole

Laughter, smiles, stories, and cherished moments...

I wish this could stay just as it is



I see her sleep in the living room with an angelic glow

She awakens and gathers me in her arms...

We fall into slumber and dream...

Beautiful and strong,

I love her more and more each day



My dad was there,

Every moment of that day,

Holding her there in his arms...

Time stops when the phone rings,

I hear the sound of...silence...

Taking her last breath he says he loves her...

As she slowly slips away from him...

And me



Now I dream and she is there

Often,

I can find her...

Lounging outside

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Another one devoted to my grandmother, I wrote this when I was about 13 years old and just recently found it.

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Carol

I find myself sitting in my rusty car

No carpet...

Currently the air is off

Leaving me in the 95 degree weather



I'm sweating...

I just sit here though

Knowing I'm in agony...

I don't care



A cup of water...ice melting

A good book...I have yet to pick up

And my phone...that has yet to ring

It won't sadly...



I feel alone...

Most of the time I am,

Well, when you are working that is



I stretch my leg over across my seat

The fabric is hot against my skin

Even though the passenger side is empty,

I feel her...

She is here with me...

She always is though



She looks just the same,

The same as she did six months before she left...

Golden hair,

Noble bright eyes full of wisdom

Laughter fills my mind

While smoke rolls out of the window



Time passes and she leaves me...again

She visits often though

I can smell her scent on my steering wheel

An old, musty, nicotine, and lilac aroma

I feel safe...



Sweat rolls down my face,

I turn off the ignition,

Get my glass...ice is now gone

Book in hand...still not a chapter read

I shut my door and smile

As she sits once again on the passenger side

Smoking another long cigarette

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is for my grandmother Carol, I mention how I'm sitting in my car and this is a significant element because it was her car and after I got it I named it after her.

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Ode of Pablo Neruda...

Master of butterflies, sway through trees of shadows of your instant past...

Why did you come to be, in me?--chaos with glimmer, your sadness cries

more than rivers, persuaded by ambition, succomb to lucious breast...

Neftali, rise from memories grave of lillys beside your bed, catering meloncholy,

nurturing sad songs of your ghosts, trembling for the tongue that baptizes in the

name of spirits with wings of feathers cover with tar--Alas, you turn in your tomb

of putrid corpse, resembling the silohette of time lapidary, trying to cease the

moment with a harp and violin, seducing women with thighs of thunder...

after they come...you wither to sea ports awaiting the arrival of your brother;

the poet; "the invinsible man who sings with all men." 

Your sadness wears a smile--Nobel Prize recipient, awarded envy and debate...

through seven continents your name was vein, through Chile's cordilleras your

name is praise...poetry was your birth, in Capernaum you rehearse with words

that bless the ignorant and give wisdom to the naive-- 

A satrap of purgatory, seraphim of poetry lost in the labyrinth of your mind...

establish faith and honor to the spoken word, flower of Punitaqui;

a cupola in my mind...your unrested soul awaits the second coming,

the eschaton in a sarcophagus with detritus of distant loves; your fathom etho.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

"the invisible man who sings with all men." Pablo Neruda.

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You Will Never Be Forgotten

**Dedicated to: Kevin Laron Parham; 05/23/80 – 10/31/05**



Kevin I remember we meet that summer day in the park

You were pushing Avaya on the swing, the day our friendship did start

You were charming, smooth and I couldn't help but to like you

You were uplifting and had an eminent spark about you



Although the time we shared together was brief

When you left this world my heart was filled with grief

A valuable life lost by the stupidity of another

I know my pain is shared by so many others



You were one of the sweetest people I knew

You were a great friend and a dedicated father to name a few

You filled so many lives with life, love and laughter

Even though you're gone you've stayed within our hearts long after



The times we shared I'll keep forever in my memory

The friendship we had was something of beauty

You were wrongfully taken but I hope you're at peace

You'll never be forgotten, to say the least

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this poem in memory of a good friend who passed away Halloween morning 2005.

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TRIBUTE TO MY DAD

Folder: 
Family

12 now  years ago  you left this earth on your finale trip to heaven!
I just wanted you to know I love you and miss you.
Through the years you worked two jobs for the love of your family.
You took time to laugh with us and sometimes when we had troubles
You cried with us.  But you always found time for your family.
I remember your soft gentleness of your hands on mine
And saying comforting words “Don’t Worry everything will be all right!”
Somehow I knew I didn’t have to worry with you on my side.
Your love for the outside finding the beauty in just the stillness, capturing it with your camera so you would not forget the moment. I know you liked going to the big hill in Harvard. A place not so far away,
But a place to escape the daily stress of life.   A place to feel your peaceful inner self.
Your love for airplanes and our Sunday rides to any airport.
I say the greatest gift you gave me is the ability to show kindness to others always putting their needs first and not expecting anything in return.  
I feel your love, guidance, and understanding me for what I was and what I am now.
I like to feel I got all your good qualities inside me that make be a better human being, Kindness, Loving, giving, gentleness, strength, humor, driving, adventurous, Generosity, Courage.
Thank You Dad I Love and Miss you!
Diane
02/16/2010

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'Aunt Mittie Lives On"

“Aunt Mittie Lives On”

I sit here this Sunday morning with fond memories of you Aunt Mittie Pauline Reed; formerly Mittie Pauline Bernard.

I am in awe of your strength and endurance through out your entire life; even the times you had it hard.

You were a beautiful, sophisticated, an incomparable classy woman without a match.

You definitely left a signature quality impression on any arm that you were attached.

A successful career, gorgeous home and notable church leadership fail in comparison to your most celebrated creation.

Ricky and Stephanie Bernard your spitting images are without a doubt your most accomplished and precious relations.

Aunt Mittie I want to thank you for blessing us with your presence however short lived.

In heaven you soul is receiving its’ eternal rest but on earth through your family and legacy your spirit continues to live.

We love you, we miss you and we can’t wait to see you again!

We should all be so lucky to “Walk around heaven all day” Amen Amen!



By Bryant Mosley

Sunday October 4, 2009




Author's Notes/Comments: 

In Tribute to My Beautiful Aunt Mittie Bernard Reed whom passed in January 2009. May God Be The Glory Aunt Mittie. I love you!

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