Box of Memories


I have a box of memories, that I want to last and last

forever in my heart, from the present and the past

never will I forget, those good old times before

those times will last forever, with my box I safely store

in the box is pictures, letters, and some notes

old ticket stubs, and some powerful meaning quotes

everything inside my box, is worth so much to me

so I store it safely, locked tightly with a key.

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A story

A story-A myth

A fact or tureth

A memory-A thought

or just a dream all storys have a plot , aplace and a subject

A clue wow a lesson to learn for you or me

To teach others what not to be.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

don`t forget to sign my guest book

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I Am Not Giving My Black Back

Let me say

As I begin

I am proud of the skin

That I am in

Be it caramel, mocha, chocolate, or black

Be we small, medium or large, tall skinny or fat

I am proud of my heritage

And “I am not giving my black back”

Not to the white man, nor the pale man

Not to anyone in fact

I won’t let anyone get me down, put me down, take away my self-esteem or push me around “I am not giving my black back”

Who has inspired you to persevere thus far

I’m inspired by my birthright

By my heritage

Above all Our God

As I have said When I began

I am proud of the skin that I am in

I won’t let prejudice or negativity hold me back

I am solid, strong, poised, focused and proud, always keeping self worth intact

I am not,  I repeat  I am not giving my black back

There are many ways

You can give it back

If you don’t hold to your values

Remain focus and intact

For Example:  

Rising high, Persevering

You have become a star

Putting your past behind you

Hiding who you truly are

To satisfy a mission, On the road to stardom and fame

You gave up your black

For a recyclable paper check

With a stroke of a pen in hand

As you are molded, bent, twisted and spent

To the way of how they want you to be

That’s just another way in our modern day

To willingly give in to slavery

It’s one thing to be focused; yet things are not clear

It’s another to willingly give up, what is so precious and dear

The memories of you past

Family values your parents instilled

They are proud of where they came from, so why aren’t you

Can you feel their pain, can you see their tears

It is good to persevere

Just remember to keep your self worth and values intact

Don’t let anyone cloud your mind, or slow you down

Don’t let anyone hold you back

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Without our leaders

And I don't mean

Politicians and warmongers

No, I'm talkin' 'bout

Guttenberg, Newton, Edison

Wright brothers and Ford

We'd all still be

Grunting in the woods

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Inventors don't get on TV that much (they don't break dance, mug for cameras, or lie enough), but they sure do change the world!

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Sing to Me, Old Lute

Sing to me, old lute,

Of mighty deeds by warriors old,

Who boldly fought,

And fear knew not,

Of Odin's children feasting wild

In darkness deep of ages past,

Sing to me of Asgard,

And the mighty Gods who dwelt therein,

Whose sons and daughters,

Fair and strong, sailed on ships

To distant lands unknown,

Sing how Thor, in countless times,

Hastely raced with ruthless rage,

Across the Bifrost Bridge

The spiteful giants for to slay,

Sing to me of treacherous Loky,

And the blood-stained fields at Ragnarok,

Where the Garm watch-dog madly crushed

Odin's hopes, Aesirs' dreams,

Tell me of that primal elm

Whence Emla, our mother came,

Through Odin's will,

In the night of immemorial times,

Sing to me of handsome Tyr, stout-hearted god,

whose dreadful sword his foes could not endure,

How his hand was lost in Fenris wolfe's heinous fangs,

Sing to me, Old lute,

From those antipodes where your song must be,

Sing to me and let me see, those visions

of the worlds you've been,

Now forever lost in dark of ages past.

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Crying In My Mind

lookin back outside the pain

hopin for my soul to gain

cursin all my worst regrets

wishin I could just forget.

on a joy ride for number one

why did I leave her why did I run

once again locked in time

out of the blues....

I hear her cryin in my mind.


tellin tales beyond the tall

fightin visions I recall

on a toll road feeling weak

she's back there in front of me

I can't escape the blues I rhyme

when I hear her cryin in my mind.

when the night falls like purple ice

I hear a voice out of the sky

and as I pray for peace to grow

the same old words find me alone

I'm searchin for a place to hide

but will I reach it or will I die

once again locked in time

out of the blues...

I hear her cryin in my mind.

chorus rep:

when the lonely day appears

and streetlight beams disappear

I slide my guitar to my side

and hike the black-top burned inside

my heart's a prisoner doin double time

where am I goin what will I find

once again locked in time

out of the blues....

I hear her cryin in my mind

chorus rep:

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Samantha II - Reflection

Head down, hands in pockets, I walk slowly towards the water,

This was our place,

A place of refuge, a place of comfort,

But now it’s a place of reflection,

I come here to find my thoughts, sort them out,

Things somehow become clearer here,

More easily understood.

I remember times when we used to walk along the banks of the pond,

The sun at the right angle to send our shadows merging into one,

That’s how I thought it would be, always together, as one,

I really miss her sometimes, and not just when I visit this place,

Inside of me there is always a part thinking of her,

Wondering what she’s doing now wherever she is

I awake from my deep inner self-discussions to find myself walking the banks edge,

Arms out to the side, holding my balance,

But as I look to my right and into the water,

I see only my shadow, not the two that always used to be here,

When we would walk there, sometimes I would just stare at the back of her head,

Looking at her black hair shift from side to side as she strode,

The skin on her out stretched arms shining in the sun

We fell in once; the banks gave way to our weight and sent us into the pondweed and silt

It was a hot day and we both just got up laughed and splashed around in the murky depths.

A place of reflection, of remembrance,

I come here to see her again, not before me in the physical sense,

But to sit on the grassy hill towards the pond and see the two of us in my mind walking that banks edge,

As I sit and remember times gone, and begin to get depressed,

The sun warms my back, like Samantha putting her arms around me for comfort,

A tear falls upon my cheek, and I wipe it with my index finger,

Walk down to the ponds edge, and place it in the water,

A part of me to stay here with her, forever.

And as I do, I see my shadow again, once more,

The wind sends a ripple across the surface,

Author's Notes/Comments: 

On the road to saying goodbye.

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NUNNA DAUL TSUNY ( The Trail Where They Cried)

" The Trail Where They Cried"

a direct translation from Cherokee,

they had to endure so much pain,

suffered so much loss,

step back in time

for just a moment,

let your mind grasp this message

What happened to my people

was hardly what happened to the jews

but to us, it means the same,

death ...... and for what?

It is a story that is long

and may bore those with no heart

or soul capable of feeling true emotion.

Cherokees were not savages

despite what you see in the movies,

they were a tribe

not to hunt you down in the night

and cut your throat while taking your scalp.

A group of families that lived as one

sharing the hunting, cleaning and cooking

of meals, raising of children,

as well as the other chores that befall the normal family.

Their culture was not well understood,

my god they were wild people,

living off the land, painted faces,

drums and singing that sounded like crys of war.

Merely their way of expressing sorrow and pain,

as well as happiness and love,

dances that were festive in production and dress.

1830 the Congress of the United States passes

the "Indian Removal Act".... sorry folks,

we don't care that this was your land from the start,

we want it so you have to go.....that was the white mans way.

In one of the saddest moments in history,

men, women and children were forced from their land,

made to live in some makeshift forts,

minimal facilities and food,

while being forced to march a thousand miles.

About 4000 Cherokee died as a result of this

horrible and tragic event.

There is a legend I have heard

about called the Cherokee rose,

and I find it possible that such a thing might grow.

They say along the Trail of Tears,

there is a white rose that grows,

the white for the tears the mothers shed,

it has a gold center, gold for the land that was stolen,

Author's Notes/Comments: 

needs nothing said.... take it for what it is

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