Posted by: Ron DuBour | July 26, 2017

Being here arriving there~by David Christian



Being here arriving there

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From nothingness, we are created
living we have purpose and value
experiencing pain and suffering 
we attempt to find relief in meaning
God’s Son suffered and died for us
Pain and suffering has a meaning
blessed when it is shared with God
cursed by the faithless
Salvation is a doorway beyond death
the resurrected Jesus is the guide
the faithful find Heaven’s Gate is open

David Christian (C) sometime in the future.

Posted by: Ron DuBour | July 26, 2017

Trespassers, delay and rhyme~by Jeremy J Croucher



Trespassers, delay and rhyme

Waiting for a railway train
to take me to my home
I’ll sit and write a poem
on the station on my own
It’s peaceful here, conducive
to find a little rhyme
and scribble down a verse or two
line by line by line

My train arrives, I find a seat
but at the station here we stay
The tannoy tells us trespassers
ahead are causing fray
They’re up there messing on the track
some way up ahead
So I’m not heading homeward now
Stuck right here instead

The conductor’s walking up and down
keeping us informed
But it looks as though we may be here
a while, we have been warned
Still, looking on the brighter side
As things could of course be worse
It means that I can finish off
this witty little verse


Photo – a deserted Durrington-on-Sea station, Sussex, UK – Jempics

[PS – I did eventually get home – took over two hours though]





Posted by: Ron DuBour | July 26, 2017





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Posted by: Ron DuBour | July 26, 2017

Victims of the time~by Amanda Moubarak



Victims of the time

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Posted by: Ron DuBour | July 26, 2017

The Storm Wind~by Edward Ahern



The Storm Wind

gusts and surges
like an unchained guard dog,
strewing dust and pollen,
flashing the naked underside
of leaves,
and tossing meadow grass
like ruffled bear fur,
spinning from side to side
in drunken dance,
a rioting brawl that cannot last,
and ends
with a watery flourish of thunder.

Posted by: Ron DuBour | July 26, 2017

The cage in the forest~by Thomas Graham



The cage in the forest

A tiger born into a cage, a cage of fear, a cage of rage.
Life past, the tiger grew old, feelings died in a heart so cold.
In his pain, a strength did grow, his teeth grew sharp, his claws did show.
A rotting power he did posses, one that festered within his chest.
A pale shadow of what could be, blinded by dread, he could not see.
He never saw the key, there all the time, offering freedom of a life sublime.

A young lion appeared on a hot Spring day, innocent, undaunted, bold, unafraid.
He played in the forest, elated with being, he walked near the cage, fear unfeeling.
The tiger spat contempt from his eyes, “to feel like you, I truly despise!”. The lion was dazed by this unknown action, “happiness I feel”, was lions meek reaction.
Said tiger, “come closer, let me explain”, lion moved closer, but never again.
The tiger lashed out with a sickening might, with bloodied face, the lion did take flight.
Safe in the forest, the young lion did cry, but a strength inside, made him lift his head high, “I shall never be tiger!, I would much rather die!”.

The lion fed on care, grew strong, wise, aware.
Loves balm soothed his wounds, scars faded away, dissolving the hurt, bit by bit, day by day.
He loved with a passion, like heat from the sun, but he couldn’t forget damage tiger had done.
Lion heard him whisper from that awful cage, the tumult provoking an aberrant rage.
He sought to kill the monster that had taken his pride, that had marred his content, that had made his soul hide.

Instead of old tiger, deformed by ill health, there trapped in the cage, stood only himself.
They looked at each other, pain, pity no guise. The lion in the cage, lowered his eyes.
“This must stop!, this must stop!, this must stop!, this must end!”, roared the lion through the bars, to his suffering friend.
He took a deep breath, put his paw to the key, opened the cage, and set himself free.

Tom Graham

Posted by: Ron DuBour | July 26, 2017

HOW HEARTENING!~by Balachandran Nair




I am a heart, now cut,
Stored in a cool box
Carried in a haste
To implant in a priest,
Who donated his kidney
To somebody needy
What a co-incidence
The Gods play plenty!
People do call others
Heartless, hard hearted
Yet truth is never heart
Hurt or spread hatred.
At times heart feel hurt
For neglect, reject by own
Cheated, insulted by own.
See, you all hate bleeding
But my duty is bleeding
I too have a language
Of my own, six alphabets,
No, no it is not heart beat
I use my language to sing




Daily missive for Wednesday the 26th of July.

Be a stranger
To risk and danger
Live in shadow
Find safety
In the shallows
Out of the mainstream
Be a fugitive
Take to the water
Cover yourself with reeds
Pull them up closer
Over your head
Breathe through
A straw
Stay down
Ignore the call
Be afraid to climb
In case you fall
When there is a fire
A wild wood roar
A furnace
Of burning coals
Keep your distance
Worry about chilblains
Shiver from the cold
Dream of getting old
When youth
Has yet to let you go
Pass on by
Without a ripple
Take a little soda
With your tipple
Smooth out the wrinkles
On the bed
Upon which you chose to lie
Clean the bath
Write your own epitaph
Never cry
And make no sound
When you die.

Posted by: Ron DuBour | July 26, 2017

Grandpa, he’s bragging again~by rldubour (Grandpa)



Grandpa, he’s bragging again

Image result for friday 13th

Born January the thirteenth.
Was our lucky day!
Our very first grandchild
Yes~~ it was a Friday!

Most likely I will brag a lot
As I do most everyday.
But, he is my only grandson
I’m supposed to be this way.

I watched as he excelled in sports
Basketball his favorite game.
Captain of the Varsity team
If they lost he took the blame.

This year he won a scholarship
Books and tuition free.
To any four year state college
UMASS was picked to be.

He won this for his academics
His studies always first.
With straight A’s all through school
Knowledge quenched his thirst.

Always thoughtful and respectful
If we need help he is there.
He worries about his family
Outgoing and he cares.

I know he is not perfect
We call him our young man.
He knows we’ll always love him
We are his biggest fans.

Posted by: Jonathan Caswell | July 25, 2017

Delirious Grave — Huggable Words

Take me to a cave, where a shining darkness behave Dig me a grave, where I’ll stuff my dreams and rave Make me a slave, to the unrealized hope I still crave

via Delirious Grave — Huggable Words

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