You Lost Your Last Gamble and Me
I will never think twice nor will I roll the dice When it comes to my life I will take my Grannio's advice
You play the hand you're dealt when it comes to who will be your Dad - But if you bluff about a card's face value for too many years you forget you had - No Aces or King of Hearts in your original deck - But rather a worthless Joker-So Wild and Mad...
You can ask yourself why for another 20 years but you'll never understand how a Joker has no fears...
Not about losing his kids, his freedom nor his wife- Why should he care or support them No matter how many times they saved his life?
When you're a wild card like him you always put yourself first above your family and friends They're not important of course... Except when you NEED THEM - Then they're not such a curse...
They owe you anything you ask even if they have to empty their purse... To save The Joker from his latest tricks - No Matter How Many Times His Wild Ways Lead to DUI, Jail, Fines Or Failing To Be a Father...
They Must Accept Reality Where A Child Pays... The Perpetual Price - For The Present Their Parents Gave Them - A Gift From God Not Man - It's Called The Right To Life...
I didn't ask to be born - nor to have you for My Dad But I'll Be Damned If I Didn't Run To Your Rescue No MATTER WHEN, WHERE, OR HOW BAD - Your Predicaments REPEATEDLY Proved To Be...
I'd Hide My Tears And Swallow My Fears But I NEVER WALKED AWAY OR LEFT YOU HANGING NOT ONCE IN MORE THAN 20 YEARS...
You'd Fill My Mind With Reasons Why... You Got Arrested or Didn't Come See Me There Was Always A New Lie - To Make Me Believe It Wouldn't Happen Again
Your Promises Lasted For A Week or A Month... But They Were Broken So Many Times - That I Stopped Listening or Believing - You And Your Endless List of Lines...
I Loved You Because You Were My Dad THE ONLY FATHER I'D EVER HAVE I Wanted To Stop Hurting So Bad And I Put My Faith In You...
Foolishly Believing That You'd Find A Way To Show Me The Same Unconditional Love and Support Somehow... Some Way... Some Day...
Resource Box - © Danielle Hollister (2004) is the Publisher of BellaOnline Quotations Zine - A free newsletter for quote lovers featuring more than 10,000 quotations in dozens of categories like - love, friendship, children, inspiration, success, wisdom, family, life, and many more. Read it online at - http://www.bellaonline.com/articles/art8364.asp
Since Youve Been Gone...
My life has changedin so so many waysIt seems to always bein a state of disarray..
An Old Wood Pile [a poem with notes]
Old skin, once held tightAgainst her skeleton-Rose no more, just drapedLoosely over unpadded flesh;Un-tightened muscles, and tissue,Lost its courage, no-fortitude-,Gone are the days and yearsThat stood against the Indomitable elements; The skeleton, now a landmarkHidden under flesh and bloodGuts and moral fiber, backbone?Collapsed from drudgeryTime, time: cascading inside-.Bones now leaving impressionsAccepting fateLike tarnished silver!.
Im Sorry Mom! A Mothers Day Poem
Mother's Day Poetry,I'm Sorry Mom!I'm sorry for the troubles And the worries I brought you.I'm sorry for my mistakes, I didn't mean to make you blue.
Why I enjoy Writing?
During interviews and general conversations with the public,one of the most difficult questions for me to answer(timely and thoroughly) is,"Why do you enjoy writing"?So due to the challenge manifested in such a question,I pondered on creating an answer. Many reasons came to mind,but after digesting much"time for thought",I managed to condense my response to three items.
Exalted Poetry; Two poem [and commentary]
Bells for Belphegor!..
Three Poems and Paradise Lost [One for Hell, One for Heaven one for an Inca King]
The Torrents of HellHell's furnace-Likened to a chimneyVomits her torrentsOf flames-Into the airThrough earths crustAnd the earth's trembles-!Agitated, she projectsA thick curtain of smokeTo heat the feet of thoseWho provoke her every wish.Like molten ironShe waits for the soul(the moment)Then molds, into her enclosureHuman serpents?Out of savage flesh!No storm, no struggleNo eruption, no typhoon,Just a terrible phenomenon,Hell is capable of producing;And upon death,Back into the AbyssThey melt!.
The Dead God of Copan (in English and Spanish)
English VersionAnd the Death God said: "Let it rise to its glory in the Rio Valley-for a season; then let it be gone, we shall call it Copan?"Prologue: Empires come and go, liken to cosmic events, or the storms around the world: Atlantis, Mu, Greece, Persia, Rome, the Inca Nation, and even the great Maya heroic times of Copan, in Central America. All came and all left, one way or another; now just dust and artifacts in the spiral of time.
The Art of Receiving Poetic Critique
You can show your poem to your mom, your spouse, your co-workers, or your friends, but you might not get the responses that you can suck up into your little writing fingers to use in an effort to refine your craft. What does it really mean when someone who cares about you, but not for poetry says, "Wow, this is great.
Two Poems on the Traditions of Peru [in English and Spanish]
Atahualpa's Game[Peruvian]Sometimes, it's not wiseTo share your wisdom---as did, Atahualpa (The Inca King) in the Game of chess; thereafter,He was condemned to death.6/6/05 #713Note: Atahualpa, was the most famous of the Inca Kings, in the 16th century of Peru, I do relieve, and was held for ransom by the Spaniards.
How wonderfully sweet to be a dwellerdwelling on the road of goodbye.Bittersweet tears fall as I thinkof all the places I'll never see,all the faces I'll never know,all the joys I'll never share,as I head for the unknown.
Because of You
You are to me my lifelinemy security.That scares me.
Grandpas House & From Iraq with Love [Two Poems]
Grandpa's House[The ole Real House]The house needed paintingSun-blistered and flakingGrandpa started to have usBoys-Mike and I- startDoing some scraping-While he, pealed off the olePaint, and started painting?Just a humble wooden houseWith several rooms, but Strong enough to keep theWinds and winter snows out,How he loved that ole house!..
Its What She Didnt Say
When I hear your voice inside my head it makes me think of you every single day as I fight back tears of sadness and wonder if you're okayMy life is empty without you I wish time would take away the pain but the ache in my heart persists and my simple hopes seem in vainI realize how much I hurt you and now I know it's too late to tell you how sorry I am and expect you not to hateI don't deserve a second chance to show you how much I care when you needed me the most I know I failed to be thereNow your trust in me is gone forever and I will never have the chance to say I really hope your dreams come true and happiness finds you every dayI would give almost anything in life if I could go back to that day and erase everything I said and did to make your heartache go awayWhat hurts the most is this is what you didn't say and the absence of these words haunt me each and every day..
The Merchant of Copan [In English and Spanish]
English VersionThe Merchant of Copan[480 AD]Advance: The ballgame at the Honduras courtyard in Copan, the year was 480 AD, Copan's 3rd ruler, Mat Head, whom succeeded Quetzal Macaw, whom was the founder of the city is now the new ruler. Mat Head, was a female, the spouse of Quetzal Macaw, and here is where the story begins.
Contract of Death [Now: in SPANISH and English]
Contract of DeathI heard today, the preacher say:"Daniel has warned us long ago,Of the trials and tribulations weAre now facing, with our foes?"He says the 'Antichrist' was nowIn Europe crying: 'peace,' and the'Axis of Evil,' had already placedHidden Atomic Russian weaponsUnder our feet, here in the goodOle heart of the United States; 'Palestine's cry for peace,' he adds,Is a loaded Gun for Revelation 3:10;America. A 'Contract for Death,'Is what he called it.
I Shall Wait...
I Shall Wait..
Memoirs of a Wastelands Rim [a Poem: now in Spanish and English]
Memoirs of a Wasteland's RimIt still was light when she paused at the wasteland's rim-Over, the rim rest like a sleeping brute, a wooden frameAdjacent to the blue where early stars hung like oil lampsHanging from old beams and shade?the wooden frameHer footing caught the beams, as she had fallen onto itAlone, she watched the forenoon, climbing around herA drifter woman, marked by life, and slanting dreams With appearance of hurt and molded muscle on her faceHer figure etched against the wooden frame,She tried to jump, and lost her balance, hanging like a birdNow sipping the gloom in the ledge and shattered hopesShe yielded before the sluggish advance of sunsetBlood dripped, with her dying darknessAnd a crimson moon hurled a flame acrossThe shadowy clouds, burning throughout the skyThe tormented sky above her?Crossing the valley's floor her eye gripped itRocky images, highest pointsThrusting herself up boldly from to the ledgeThe painted morning blushed over the rimHer brows and nose, face against the granite stoneMassive injuries was taking form,Her silhouette floating so indolently across the sunIt was too great a task-to die alone?she wished nowShe had not jumped?a thousand feet below, yet to go.Too much for any woman in a lost worldOut of the weak wood her mind had peace; She knew soon it would all be over-alasMute and protesting against life's uselessnessA narrow path lay below her slender bodyBetween death and attainment, a careless footThe rocks beneath her weakening, she plungedPlunged to her death, in the carving hands of the valleyThinking of it, as she fell, thinking with a smiled,Saying, looking up-dead before her echoes: 'Time is short?time is short?time is short!'When they found her, her face was unafraid of falling.
Lord Byrons She Walks in Beauty
Lord Byron's opening couplet to "She Walks In Beauty" is among the most memorable and most quoted lines in romantic poetry. The opening lines are effortless, graceful, and beautiful, a fitting match for his poem about a woman who possesses effortless grace and beauty.
It Was Not Me
It was not me as I am now.It was not me as I was then.
Passion and Poetry, and Life
Ironically, the passion that can neutralize the repulsion for difficulties depends on the effort to overcome these difficulties. The irony resides in the circularity of this principle - which applies to all areas of activity, including poetry: One must make the effort to overcome difficulties to achieve success and feel capable, and one needs this achievement and feeling to have a passion for making this effort.