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  Poems:
Nature-Inspirational-Love-Life-Spiritual-Romantic-Sacrifice-Addiction-Homeless
Loneliness-Peace-Prison-Death-Pet-Friendship-Abuse
Dedication-Teacher
9/11




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Updated 10-19-19

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Choices
by
George Jones

I've had choices since the day that I was born
There were voices that told me right from wrong
If I had listened, no I wouldn't be here today
Living and dying with the choices I've made

I was tempted, by an early age I found
I liked drinkin', oh, and I never turned it down
There were loved ones but I turned them all away
Now I'm living and dying with the choices I've made

I've had choices since the day that I was born
There were voices that told me right from wrong
If I had listened, no I wouldn't be here today
Living and dying with the choices I've made

I guess I'm payin' for the things that I have done
If I could go back, oh, Lord knows I'd run
But I'm still losin' this game of life I play
Losing and dying with the choices I've made

I've had choices since the day that I was born
There were voices that told me right from wrong
If I had listened, no I wouldn't be here today
Living and dying with the choices I've made

Living and dying with the choices I've made


When Mama Sang (The Angels Stopped To Listened)
by George Jones

Mama didn't have special trainin'
She couldn't read the music, just the words
But when she'd stand to sing on Sunday mornin'
She had the sweetest voice I think I've, I've ever heard.

She loved to sing the songs about our Savior
"There is a Fountain", was her favorite one
And I've seen tears run down the cheeks of sinners
By the time my mama's song was done.

When mama sang the angels stopped to listen
You could see the love light shinin' in her face
When mama sang the angels stopped to listen
Now in heaven' choir she had a special places.

You know my daddy wanted me to sing a song
The day that moma left us
And you know that little chuch
Was filled with all of mama's friends
And you know it seems we could all here mama singin'
When I could hear her sing her favorite, again.

When mama sang the angels stopped to listen
You could see the love light shining in her face
When mama sang the angels stopped to listen
Now in heaven' choir she had a special places.

When mama sang the angels stopped to listen.





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Illumination
by
Aries 


Black clouds gathered,
rolling through darkness tumbling to hang dark
and pendulous on the horizon

The wind whistled under doors
rattled at tightly closed windows,
tore at the roof seeking a loose
tile to hurl

Then a vivid illumination,
glowing  white jaggered flashes,
lightening ribboned the dark sky

Atmospheric electricity crackled
in the static charged air.
Trees were flayed, limbs cracked
as the wind howled a nightmare

A distant rumble thunder approached,
for a moment an eerie calm, stillness
suddenly a violent thunderclap swiftly
followed by a heavy downpour of rainfall

The savage wind eased to lash water
against battered window panes,
until finally all that was heard nothing
but steady drumming of the raindrops


Blackberries Grow
by Tommy McPherson

Blackberries grow by Willow Creek,
They swarm the water's edge,
A barricade of thorny plants,
Compose a guarding hedge.

The berries drop with gentle plop
Into the creek below.
In July's heat at Willow Creek,
Is where blackberries grow.

The blue jay flies on eager wings,
These blackberries to seek,
When berries all grow ripe and black,
By the banks of Willow Creek.



Fall
by
Thomas Horton 

Her eyes close tight against the blade wind:

She has inhaled her last

and she feels the inevitable passing.

 

The green leaves of childhood,

resplendent in her youth,

fall now russet, tawny, vermilion, cinnamon,

to the stiff unforgiving ground,

where they will crisp and crackle

as she mourns her dying prime.

 

December's chill brings on

bittersweet knowledge of impending decline

and just as the vitality of summer smolder

yielded to warming hues

with the falling of temperature,

so too will the colors of autumn's palette fade

and blanch with the frosty gaze of winter,

glowing ice embers burning her flesh

under gelid hoary rime.

 

Blizzards roil beneath her clenched eyelids

mirroring the horizon:

She has inhaled her last.







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