Words Poems & Shorts Stories

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Comment by Arieljoy Fine on January 5, 2010 at 11:37pm

From My Window

Hushhhhhhhhhhhh
The joyous rustle
Of limbs dancing
To the rhythm
Of the breeze
Straining ever upward
To meet the ocean-like infinity
That defines them
Brown and tan fingers
Cloaked in grey-green fringe
Straining ever upward
Stretching like the Yogi

S t r e t c h i n g, S t r e t c h i n g

Silhouettes soften
As the dimming light
Signals the changing of the guard
A golden orb sinks
Behind western peaks
And softened silhouettes
Give way to hulking blackened forms
Soon a luminescent moon
Peaks curiously
Over the eastern hills
Hushhhhhhhhhhhh

Comment by Robley E. George on January 5, 2010 at 4:57pm

Balance

If,
"Of all the words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: 'It might have been!',"

Then,
Of other words, we must agree,
The happiest are these: "It's going to be!"

Comment by Arieljoy Fine on January 3, 2010 at 3:15am

I love horses. In fact, I am sure I AM a horse. I had a wonderful appendix quarter mare, Didit Myway. She raced, was given an award of merit as a two-year-old and then was bred for 9 seasons. By the time we found one another her luck had run down and was on its way up again. Between the down and the up she had been adopted by some well meaning folks who didn't know that 40 head of used-up race horses and brood mares would not metabolize a constant diet of wild grasses for feed. My 1,049 pound mare weighed 679 pounds at her initial rescue.

My friend, Lillian, put up with my incessant chatter about the horse I was expecting; she had put up with it for far longer than anyone else would have and it was her daughter who found Myway, adopted her, and pulled her through the initial rehab. I got the easy part; the loving.

She came to me with severely rotated coffin bones from a bad case of laminitis that we continued to work with until she crossed the rainbow bridge 6 years later. Didit Myway taught me everything I know about love, respect, acceptance and courage. I can still smell her sweet perfume, hear her whinny, feel her muscles, and see her huge brown eyes. And she was a bay with a white marking on her forehead much like your horse in the picture. In fact, I used to call it her beacon because in the dark when I could not see anything else in her pasture, I could see the white mark that was halfway between a star and a blaze.

In addition to everything else, she was a stand up comedienne. Yep, Myway knew how to tell a good joke with a better sense of timing and comic relief than most humans.

Yesiree, she was quite the gal. Even now, her spirit is dictating every word of this comment; my fingers are typing but the rest is straight from the horse’s mouth!

6 years is far too long to be horse-less. I can hardly wait for the next one. I just know there's a pony coming. Hey Lil, can you hear the hoof beats?

Comment by The Ancient One on December 25, 2009 at 2:20am

Somehow not only for Christmas
But all the long year through,
The joy that you give to others
Is the joy that comes back to you.

And the more you spend in blessing
The poor and lonely and sad,
The more of your heart's possessing
Returns to make you glad.

(Written by John Greenleaf Whittier)

Comment by Ron Alexander on December 24, 2009 at 7:00pm

The Sun is my Blanket
Three Straight Christmases on a Deserted Island
Ron Alexander

With about 20 students on board for our Marine Science under Sail, we celebrated our third straight on a beautiful deserted Cay called Little San Salvador. It lies only about 25 miles South of Eleuthera in the Bahamas in the late '70's.
Little San Salvador has a large anchorage with turquoise clear water and a large pink sandy beach. At the Southern tip is a orange, green, red, blue coral reef loaded with a sparkling rainbow-colored marine life plus edible fish & lots of lobster and conch.
I enjoyed being away from stores and the heightened commercialization of the holiday. Our celebration was simple. The nearby reef was an abundant hunting ground, and we captains and crew caught and cooked a sumptuous feast – lobster, grouper, and the versatile conch – conch salad, conch fritters, & fried conch for the Christmas Day Dinner.
Early on Christmas day we drew names for gifts. Only one gift per person, and with nowhere to make a purchase, it would require some ingenuity and creativity. I will never forget the sweetness and humor provided by these simple gifts handed out after dinner on Christmas day. A nice little manger scene crafted from pieces of coral found on beach was my favorite gift. A funny little poem composed especially for the recipient was a welcomed frequent read during the after dinner exchange. I usually gave a nice shell I found while hunting under¬water or sometimes a specially prepared (sautéed with ginger sauce) lobster tail for an addition to the meal. Singing Carols after dinner, what could be better?

Comment by Ron Alexander on December 19, 2009 at 9:15am

Good for that - "emerging masculine consciousness" - One Love, ron

Comment by Ctefy Sunkiss on December 18, 2009 at 9:46pm

Your welcome.. :). Inspired by the emerging masculine consciousness..

Comment by Ron Alexander on December 18, 2009 at 10:21am

Excellent inspiring poem below, thanks cteyf!

Comment by Ctefy Sunkiss on December 15, 2009 at 8:40pm

brave sons.. for my son Elijah

Once in a land of billows of blue,
A young prince arrived inspired and new
He sang a song of sensitivity,
And it angered his father, the king, who could not see
And his father believed that he as a man
Was better then those of a lesser clan
His father the king, he just could not see
The way others felt when he began to tease
And the prince decided at a very young age
That he would change things
That he would change his ways
As it doesn’t matter what is his fathers view
It is within the prince to do something new
Not be angry or rash like his dad
But to hold space
With love in his hands
Not to be angry or rash to his dad
But to show by example how to be a true man
A true man loves, pure from his heart
A true man is a leader and a servant, an equal counter part
He is compassionate to others
He is brave and is true
True to himself, that’s all he has to do
And the prince grew up exactly that way
He showed others to love
Never a word to pursuay
By becoming the change
And creating the new
Letting go of the old
And his father, what did he do
He watched his son and observed his own blue
And it challenged his ego, his claim to a man
And it made the king angry
At his son for a span
But the prince continued
To love and to be
In perfect balance
And harmony
To treat others with respect and peace
His father was alone when he began to tease
Angry his father stormed away
Confused at his son and this crazy new way
Confused at his people who were now happy and free
What does this mean, why can't I see
And he ran to a cave
To hide and to think
And the king went within
For the first time he found a link
To a whole other universe
He found deep within and opened his heart
Watched the spirit begin
To clear away spider webs
Of thoughts he perceived
But not by observation as he realized what it was that he believed
Where not his own thoughts but things taught along the way
From his father, the media, and his Auntie Fae
And he wondered what it was that he believed
What did he feel and how did he perceive
He spent quite a bit of time in that cave
He went within and unlearned his ways
He let go of old and made peace with the new
He found His truth. Let go of his blue

When he returned to the kingdom they sang and danced
Father and son balanced at last
Brother against brother a thing of the past
No more teasing, No more War
All is love at last..

Comment by Ron Alexander on December 7, 2009 at 6:40pm

My big part on an off-broadway "play".
Back in the 80's., I sailed into South St. Harbour on my cruise from the South to New England to teach Marine Science Under Sail. This was in May, and in Sept., I would sail back South to teach in the Bahamas. One of my students was a psychologist who lived in the village. She shared a big apartment, which included a stage and room for a small audience. There, she co-directed a therapeutic play called "play-back theater". I happened to be part of an audience (had to be approved by client) that was observing a woman who was having a drama about as puzzling dream. She told us about the dream. She was sitting with her Mother, and they were reviewing their life together in a healing way, when all of a sudden there was a catastrophe, and the dream ended. She picked out members of the audience to play different parts. She picked a woman to play her Mother, and then me to play the "catastrophe". I was directed to intuitively decide what the problem would be. There was a large stage spotlight, and a variety of props to use to create the scene. The woman told me when in the conversation with her Mother - the disturbance would occur - a cue sentence. When she got to that scene, I had figured out what I would do to create the dream-ending occurence.
I threw a black cloth over the spotlight. Everyone froze at my action - a perfect way to create a catastrophe.
My claim to fame on the stage off Broadway - way off!

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