youth

She Makes Me Sick

She is such a bubble,

she is so stuck up.

She thinks she's all that,

But she really isn't that much.



She has a perfect smile.

Intellect beyond compare.

She has a rich personality.

She has gorgous hair.



She makes me sick,

she has so many friends.

She knows what she's at.

I wouldn't want to be like her,

not to dress like that.



And every guy

that she walks by,

she winks

or gives them the subtle eye.



I don't think they can resist her.

They laugh punch each other and smile.



SHe flirts too much,

she's over the edge,

all the compliments

go to her head.



She makes me sick.

She makes me urge.

But deep inside?

I envy her.

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Five Soldiers

Five soldiers standing in a line

All waiting to be given duties

All thinking different things

While seeming emotionless



Shaun was first in line

Scared but looking brave

His mother waving at him

His Father standing with pride



Daniel was next in line

A look of fear in his eyes

Thinking of his wife and kids

Wishing to see them again



Ben was middle in line

The smartest of them all

One medal on his outfit

That his little girl made for him



Steven was fourth in line

Thinking of the one girl in his life

Only girl that has treated him right

Fear that he will never see her again



Last but not least Adam

His life of being picked on

But best friends with Daniel

He is the shining star of the pack



All having different lives

All standing for a reason to prove

In the future they will be somebody

They are the greatest soldiers in my heart

Author's Notes/Comments: 

these are about 5 boys in my class at school, i love them dearly and i thought a poem of them grown up might cheer them up if they read it

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Lloyd Olsen Frederick

Freddie, ahh, Freddie, Life leaves such a mark in us.

We're much as we were----the same tree, but just

with so many more leaves on many more branches.

How swiftly Time runs when making its changes!



    Oh!, would that Today's wisdom would've graced our youth!

    But, could it have made much difference, to tell the truth?

    Sometimes taking "the road MORE travelled", we go

    on ignorant decisions, innocently made decades ago.



We remember & reflect, with barest rue,

those sweet dreams & fond plans we meant to do.

Now, we can't trace back the way we came,

but, if we could, wouldn't we leave tracks much the same?



    Our monuments stand 'round us: flesh & blood.

    Our symphony is unfinished, but each movement is good!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Accidentally found an old VietVet on the -Net. This sprang to mind while conversing re old times.  We were only thirty when we went, but over 100 when we came back.

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QUAKING

I didn't SEEK it---

that moon-vision---

but IT found ME!!





I reached, TOUCHED!! the moon!

CHILLING!!

I won't do THAT again!!





Whispers;

frail hymenoptera,

diaphonous

and soft





wings touch my eyes.

BUTTERFLIES!!

Kisses remembered

'though

their reasons

are gone.





Her name??

I forget.

(Close that "Window").

Author's Notes/Comments: 

He woke himself, fearful of dreaming alone.  He lay paralyzed, not breathing.  How long would the fright survive without oxygen?  How to let loose of a dream?  The sheets, a Time-ship, moored forever in the midst of ALL Eternities, future & past, all at once.   Dear D. Russell, yours did THIS to me!! Impromptu for you. REX  

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Those Days

I remember the days you used to

Come over and hug me everyday,

Those days are long gone....



I remember the days that you

Would call and talk to me for hours,

Those days are long gone....



Now when I see you in the hallway

You look at me like you don’t know

Me.



Was I dreaming was I lost?

Why has everything changes so

Drastically?



I remember the days when

I used to know you

Those days are long gone....

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Spirit of 77

the uping of violence

was the trick that did them all

a cut from the out-takes

was sure to watch them fall

but after all the dramatics

some would remain firm and tall

citizens thought most to blame it on the weather

for why their children spiked their hair

and wore jackets of dead black leather

the classes they resided in

became useless in the gutter-punks' heaven

and so went on with pride

though it thought to have died

the spirit of '77

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DIE EERSTELING: ONSKULD





die oneindige eersteling:



Onskuld



die nog-skone-kind:

sorgvry

die nog-nie-ontluikende:

dromend



Bloeisel:



bergnimfie

betَwerend

béلْ-ti-vol!



die prettige Parissima:



nog net 'n soete vermoede

van verleiding

nog net 'n vlugtige voorloper

van die Liefde

nog net 'n vae voorgevoel

van verwonding





die vlekkelose eersteling:



Onskuld

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Vir Elè Amour Perfumery, George, Suid-Afrika ... n.a.v. die parfume FIRST

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At Home In The Corn Crib



At Home In The Corn Crib



There were cracks in the floor.

I could see the hen and her chicks scratching in the dirt.

No rugs, no pretty painted walls...



Just splintery boards haloed by the sunshine pouring through more cracks.



There were sounds in the dark, unfamiliar yet easy to learn.



The Bob White quail, the mockingbird,

The rooster's crow at dawn,

The jingle of harness as Daddy finished plowing the field.



No ice cream wagon's bell, no friendly neighbor's call...

Just whispering wind in the thick Georgia pines.



There were strange sights in all directions...

Road scrape machines occasionally flattening the rutted dirt trail,



Scurrying wild things invading the house and yard,

Chattering as they scrambled on tiny feet.



No paved street, no houses all in rows with children playing Red Rover...

Just rural landscape in a vast wood filled with untamed creatures.



There were unfamiliar smells, but I grew to love them...

Pine tar's pungent sting, sweet honesuckle, jasmine on the wind,

And the dank thick odor of fermenting leaves my feet churned through the woods.



No automobile exhaust, no factory smoke,

No stink of burned food as Mrs. King prepared supper...

Just clean, natural fragrances that took root in my soul.



I felt abandoned in the rustic country vista...

No children my age, no doting relatives giving needed warmth and attention,

No recreation for a five-year-old...



Just pristine wilderness, unspoiled beauty, peaceful isolation,

And a rendevous with God.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Childhood molds us all.

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Memories



The ocean ripples waves of sliver laced with gold

People searching, secrets unfold

In the sunset feelings told

Mist arises as the wave's role in

Crashing against strong, solid rock

Time passes by tic tock tic tock

Hour after hour memories are born

To always remember promises sworn

Try to remember the times that we had

Dwell on the good, not only on the bad

Memories written in a tiny book

When you need a smile get it and take a look,

At all the fun you had in the past

Days that went by way to fast

Remember all the good things you've done,

You'll realize it means a ton.

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