Yahweh my Shepherd : November 2014

Sunday, November 30, 2014


[ my grandfather was in the korean war. ]

my grandfather was in the korean war.

his eyes had drapes for eyelids and his hands were velcro when they touched my silk tie

when the gate latch broke he fixed it 
and i realized things did not just appear–
i was five–
and when he told me:





was when i realized
i am lucky to be here.

the man who could reassemble his weapon
with a blindfold on
watched me play with legos
and told me,



i just moved his plants in for the winter
they outlasted him, as he wanted them to
have grown wild,
i have grown mortal,
in his eyes i was the sun,
never told him bad news,
never breathed in bad fumes,
never will go to war, except with loss,
morning comes and i cannot rise,
but even a fluorescent bulb
is blinding
in the night,
the time he mortared the enemy fort,
the ground-shuddering breath that conquers stone,
that makes a man happy to sell car parts and have a family
that will never have to feel like fleas
against the torrential horrors of physics.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11723220--my-grandfather-was-in-the-korean-war.---by-ellafonte#sthash.LBonUO17.dpuf

Check out more @ http://simonmbrown.com/


Giving Thanks

Give thanks to the Lord of Lords, King of Kings, and God of Gods! 

Let us rejoice in God's unfailing Love, as we try to become better people towards ourselves, towards God, and towards other.

No matter how many mistakes you've made, no matter how many times you've completely messed up your life, Jesus Christ has the solution. His solution is his Death on Calvary for the Sins of mankind. 

His life on Earth was a short 33 years and that was enough time for him to preform miracles and get people to repent of their Sins.

Jesus is the same today, yesterday and forever.

But the day of the Lord will come like a thief. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything done in it will be laid bare. Since everything will be destroyed in this way, what kind of people ought you to be? You ought to live holy and godly lives

Saturday, November 29, 2014

Deb Harman

Sweet delights Parody

Sweet Delights Parody

Sweet delights are made from
surely do i love to agree ?
i search the hives and the
nature's garden
searching looking for

few of them buzz around
few of them land by flower
near by you
few of them tiny in sun
close you
few of them bees want to

Sweet delights are made from
surely do i love to agree ?
i search the hives and the
nature's garden
searching looking for

keep your honey up
stock your jar up
Keep your honey up
stock your jar up
keep your honey up
stock your jar up
keep your honey up
keep your honey up

few of them buzz around
few of them land by flower
near by you
few of them tiny in sun
close you
few of them bees want to

keep your honey up
stock your jar up
Keep your honey up
stock your jar up
keep your honey up
stock your jar up
keep your honey up
keep your honey up

Sweet delights are made from
surely do i love to agree ?
i search the hives and the
nature's garden
searching looking for

Sweet Delights Parody
©By Deb Harman

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11799261-Sweet-delights--Parody-by-Lady-Darkness#sthash.5E6CmEZb.dpuf

 - Check out this wonderful piece that invokes, freedom, joy, compassion, and many other things as it explores the mind, by making metaphorical cuts, into the way of thought. Please give it a read!

Friday, November 28, 2014

Crystal R

The Monster

She  was born from a parent who left her at a young age to be raised by a monster. This monster created such fear and depression for this poor young girl. The monster she feared was there everyday waiting for when she got home or for when she woke. The monster she didn't love broken her down far too much that even a thought of it or the thought of being home would make her panic. And as of this day she continues to live in fear and sorrow and she continues to fight this never-ending battle within her on whether to live or die because of this monster. So, Imagine if you had a monster you couldn't escape because as you sit here so happily this poor young girl is left alone with the monster she continues to fear. - See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11797309-The-Monster-by-crystal-R.#sthash.VulSSFaV.dpuf

This poem is wonderful, it is a full display of the part of us that is a monster, in all it says and does. It is a part of us that is not well, or atleast...Good or whole...This poem is magnificent in view and thought!

Give it a read!

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Hymn of Pan

From the forests and highlands 
We come, we come; 
From the river-girt islands, 
Where loud waves are dumb 
    Listening to my sweet pipings. 
The wind in the reeds and the rushes, 
The bees on the bells of thyme 
The birds on the myrtle bushes, 
The cacale above in the lime, 
And the lizards below in the grass, 
Were as silent as ever old Timolus was, 
    Listening to my sweet pipings. 

Liquid Peneus was flowing, 
And all dark Tempe lay 
In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing 
The light of the dying day, 
Speeded by my sweet pipings. 
The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns, 
And the Nymphs of the woods and the waves, 
To the edge of the moist river-lawns, 
And the brink of the dewy caves, 
And all that did then attend and follow, 
Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo, 
    With envy of my sweet pipings. 

I sang of the dancing stars, 
I sang of the daedal Earth, 
And of Heaven — and the giant wars, 
And Love, and Death, and Birth, — 
And then I changed my pipings, — 
SInging how down the vale of Maenalus 
I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed. 
Gods and men, we are all deluded thus! 
It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed: 
All wept, as I think both ye now would, 
If envy or age had not frozen your blood, 
    At the sorrow of my sweet pipings.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/Hymn-of-Pan#sthash.LipXjW9M.dpuf

John Ford Stew

the angels watching over me

The Angels Watching over me,
watching from on high,
They see me when I'm Happy,
They see me when I cry.
They laugh with me in times of joy,
They hold me when i'm sad,
They shower me in God's true love,
through the good times and the bad.
The Angels watching over me.
They love me through and through,
they guide me when it's needed,
and support in all I do.
Their guiding light as from a star,
It shines from heaven above,
It always shows me  the way,
Even from afar.
The angels watching over me
They make me glow inside,
I feel their love,
I feel their warmth,
Even when i want to hide
The Angels watching over me
In my heart they do reside.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11795104-the-angels-watching-over-me--by-John-Ford-Stew#sthash.uVAqe84d.dpuf

- This is a very peculiar poem, in every way it is full of flow, and joy in all that it is. 

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

- Chad

Gods humans and Death

Gods, Death and humans, seek to heed the, truth. That of a dark matter in the Misty blue would ever consume the Destruction. That ends in blood and matter on top the Mountain view often I seek a simple end that may not be riches but just a missing few.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11795129-Gods-humans-and-Death-by-chad901512#sthash.D0UaWdgR.dpuf

Alice-Herz Sommer

Holocaust Survivor


Friends We Made

Friends are to have when you make more
Friends can share the future and make new one's.
New Friends can also share the future with them
New Friends we made are good to have.
Every time I close to they leave is that a bad sign
Every time I close to that new friends left.
Why it's more important when your not there?
Why do people always leave? will you missed them.
Be honest and share the future with new friends
If you don't all you have is nothing in your heart.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11795123-Friends-We-Made-by-Poetman#sthash.qvFIazwL.dpuf

- This is an awesome poem, that depicts the future, with the reality of friendship and desire! I hope this poem inspires and keeps your interest!

Fydor Ivanovich Tyutchev

Reproach Me Not

Reproach me not e'en if I earn your indignation;
Know: of us two you are to be more envied far.
Unlike my love for you, yours is sincere, unmarred
By jealousy's mistrust, its rancour and vexation.

A  wretched sorcerer, who doubts himself and stifles
Faith in the magic world by his own efforts wrought
I know myself to be… I am - O bitter thought!-
Of your warm, living soul the idol cold and lifeless.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/Reproach-Me-Not#sthash.2WDLLaj7.dpufh

- This type of poetry is very subtle, how it interacts and treats the life, and soul of the reader. Read this poem, both as the author and then as the reader, and leave a comment on how it made it you feel.

Daniel T - Phantom's First Listen

Phantom's First Listen

With a book in his hand, Sitting behind a fake wall,
The Phantom was board, book, music and all.
The Theater was alive again, Scenery being built.
It seemed there was nothing to live for.  Everything a tilt.

Then it came, the music, it was his.
He'd written it as a young man. When music was his biz.
Then the voices started, auditioning,
He listened with educated conditioning.

Some voices bland others fair, 
He winced with an off key blare.
No he would not allow this farce,
Talented voices are sparse.

The Theater grew quiet, another voice sang,
In his heart, an old pang.
The voice reminded him of an old love.
Like an Angel from above.

This.  This is the voice he knew.
Would sing his songs with a heart that's true.
He would train this one to fly.
Like the birds up in the sky.

Putting down his book, plans would be made.
He must have this lovely maid.
Her voice imprisoned his soul.
Now with his music, he would fill his role.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11794702-Phantoms-First-Listen-by-Yeoman-McDade#sthash.QfHmXkjP.dpuf

- Poetry like this is very unique, and describing situations, and events. Music, sound, the sky and much many more images are displayed in this poem, and the sense of realism, is effortless.

Tatamkhulu Afrika


I am looking back a long way now:
will the circle close?
Why does the city this morning seem
so much like that other city,
its lines imposed upon its lines:
the same slow sweep of waves,
the same dust-haze,
the same crumbling buildings sinking into the salt sea,
the same sad, unstoppable malaise:
this garden I pause beside,
its dahlias sun-dried,
the nasturtiums neutered,
a solitary palm-tree bending towards Siwa,
begging its moisture
as little and as bitter as urine on the sand —

nothing dies:
all that I thought long-dead
is rising up again:
the little house where first they slapped me into life,
took off the tip of my manhood as the religion demands,
the red sand slipping into the blue Mediterranean,
the smell of incense on the khamsin wind —
so much remembered,
so many old lamps burning again —
lamps whose wicks I thought had long since charred —
and from the night beyond their light
a face is floating,
bending over mine —
its sweetness is effulgence,
its fragrance is of flowers . . .
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/8624125-Remembering-by-Tatamkhulu-Afrika#sthash.a04azB4I.dpuf

Monday, November 24, 2014


Don't Bother to Find Me

I can feel myself
drifting off
I never wanted to go
I find myself wandering
furhter and further away
You keep pushing me
I sought to help you
You've made me the criminal
I've fallen again
and this time
I'm not coming back

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11786138-Dont-Bother-to-Find-Me-by-Karlinn#sthash.gBN8QeoJ.dpuf

- This is a wonderful poem, both with sense and style. I like how the writer, used very few words, to describe such an illusive, and wide arena of thought. I Love the peace that flow's in the middle, till the end were it completely devoid's itself of reason. Poetry like this is classic, yet intrinsic. 

Here Again - Archer

Here Again

Hello my friend
It's good to see you, here again

I thought I was at the end
But now I will just begin

Begin to cry
Begin to die
Wish I could fly
Just one more time

Not enough time
To fly, say goodbye
Not enough time
I'm flying, goodbye

Hello my friend
It's good to see you, here again

I see you never left...
I can't stand this aching in my chest

Can't stand this breaking
My heart, my breast
I gave you my all
I gave you my best

But you will treat me like the rest

So pretty, so sweet, one time
Loved fully, complete, one time
Blissful fairytale, once upon a time
Now I live in hell, each and every--all the--time

Never wanted to be owned by your dime
Never wanted to outdo or dim your shine
You may not believe me, but I was never lying
And now we're all messed up
I can't stop crying
Wish I was dying
Never stop crying
Wish I was dying
Wish I was dying

You used to love me
Wish I was dying
Now I am nothing
Wish I was dying
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11791094-Here-Again-by-Archer-Anslo#sthash.3lFtuurp.dpuf

- Beautiful peice, right here...full of diginity, value, thought...This is effortless how it's wrote, and how it's linked together. 


Make-believe I'm trying.

I'm my own tester of vulnerability,
I'm the makeshift guinea pig of my own decisions.
Here I try to vainly reach some clarity,
yet I falter--my feet the marionettes to my fear.

Control plays me for a fool,
as I try to buy it and slap on a guarantee.
My wisdom is muted, the button on my phone,
I switched it on and ignored my first instincts.

How can I purchase the unattainable,
how can one borrow the key to unlock the truth?
Honesty rebukes  me like a scorned suitor,
yet I turn from the uncomfortable emotions that batter.

"Do you know the muffin man?"
I drown out my thoughts with meaningless words.
My foolishness is only second to the distractions
that I induce to pull me away from the ugly.

It can't be bought, when it's already had,
it can't be shown when it's already playing.
It can't be hidden when its already revealed,
I hide myself from the truth and suffer.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11765215-Make-believe-Im-trying.-by-mystique143#sthash.f8aVLjBr.dpuf

- I love poetry like this, it really helps the mind to play on words, without feeling attachment or, feeling regret. Focused, yet indifferent, helpless yet confident. Something of pure greatness. Poetry like this, is what opens the mind, and keeps the spirit wondering on.


We shall dance again

We shall dance again

Once again the moon will shine
And illuminate the joy in our hearts
I will hold your hand as a friend
And bask in the smile of your glow

Once again you laugh carefree
And the pain will be a memory
I will drown in your cascading mirth
A better sound I will never know

Once again we will trip the light fantastic
And gingerly dance in the rain
I will shelter you with the mountain
Of my love

Until then, I will pray for you
To be well, to be strong
And to heal so we can dance
To the music of our hearts
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11785351-We-shall-dance-again-by-guilty#sthash.p3P0w5P1.dpuf

- This poem is full of joy, compassion, very inspiring, in the daily walk of life, and in the Eternal spectrum of life.

TMT 5 : Tesla Magnifier: Colorado Springs Model

Skate Park Williamsport PA

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Judie -

Please redeem my heart in some way
I did so lapse anewed today.
Trying not be darkened by stain,
Lord as this I know faith will gain.

Blackened tunnels don't give to scope,
Pleasing more taking hands in hope.
Father raised so forth as may tamed
Lord as this I know faith will gain.

Bow to you all these wrongs and sins
Knowing how long my Lord its been.
Holding me in this raging pain
Lord as this I know faith will gain.

Please could you help set this so free
God my soul does need thine for me.
Sending Jesus Christ to these chains
Lord as this I know faith will gain. - See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11790959-Lord-As-This-I-Know-Faith-Will-Gain-by-Judie#sthash.FGIPnXnw.dpuf

Raymond Khoury - PT1

Raymond Khoury

Rasputin's Shadow

Part 1:

A bad day for Leo Sokolov

Death of Soklov's Nephew

Izhetsy, ubiitsy(Liars Murders) 

Pozar(shame on you)

Studying Faces

Edgar Allen Poe


From childhood's hour I have not been 
As others were; I have not seen 
As others saw; I could not bring 
My passions from a common spring. 
From the same source I have not taken 
My sorrow; I could not awaken 
My heart to joy at the same tone; 
And all I loved, I loved alone. 
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn 
Of a most stormy life- was drawn 
From every depth of good and ill 
The mystery which binds me still: 
From the torrent, or the fountain, 
From the red cliff of the mountain, 
From the sun that round me rolled 
In its autumn tint of gold, 
From the lightning in the sky 
As it passed me flying by, 
From the thunder and the storm, 
And the cloud that took the form 
(When the rest of Heaven was blue) 
Of a demon in my view.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/8448407-Alone-by-Edgar-Allan-Poe#sthash.H9ciieWQ.dpuf


The Spider’s Moon

This midnight I was caught by some ones eyes
As I neared my home, dreary and alone
I saw upon the steps to the door was my surprise
Yet the spider, held his own looking at my bones
White and sallow under my coat I had died.
But yet I was able to talk and felt alive
Ah, I was from the grave below graveyard stone.

O along where I did hear, the midnight crying and faint.
Ah, this deathless trap caught my heart tearing at my beat.
On this night I followed every cry and every cry that gave,
what had cried this bellow, I settled near this creatures scream
dragging me with his voice, as I can remember his attain.
And every ember of this creature’s mentor I fain.
“Venture your heart!” hath you believe.

I opened my door, the door to my dearest chair
I heard the doors creak and found my seat
The spider crawled, I sat and all I had was this stare
Starring back at me was the spider in a web of strings
I kept a face so calm the spider glared
But nothing he could do until my wish be declared
In the corner he rested over the clock’s sing.

Yet I had sat there in my rocking chair, the spider dangled in the air.
Though he remained on the side, I did ignore his blackly sight.
As I thought and thought a fate as to where
and what it be, I conjured up a dreamy night.
“As to your request sir.” And the spider reminded with a stare.
Yet I kept on rocking in my rocking chair,
as I saw him out the corner of my eye.

The time of the clock ticked and tocked
the spider came down more and spoke to my ear.
And every moment the spider was on the clock
down a string of silky web he came and appeared,
but yet I was still rocking in my squeaking rocker,
as the sound of time went through the air like a knock.
This spider was down by my side, closer once more in my ear.

In the darkly night there was nothing, nothing,
but the spider I saw dangling in the air.
In this dark I heard the hour ding,
but I kept rocking, rocking in my rocking chair.
“Take your time.” He spoke on the string.
And finally a thought came to me.
"As to your request sir" he spoken with care.

The spider was joyed with the squeaking of my chair.
Thus I said to the spider "Honor my heart" but nothing more.
The squeaking so loud yet I sat there, sat there looking at the spiders stare.
I kept rocking, rocking in my rocking chair above the floor,
but till the blackly spider hear my voice in the layer,
I still had sat in that chair, squeaking loud through the air.
I wished to see the spider on the moon and out the door.

O the spider crawled back into his webby strings
in the corner of the grandfather clocks lighted face.
I dreamt and kept on with my dreaming.
"As to your request sir" he spoke from there.
The spider with his wand, out of sight had leaped
and leaped so far that he was large on the moon I seen.
From way up high he gave the world a stare.
© astoyourrequest. All rights reserved

Saturday, November 22, 2014


Chaotic Clash of Color

caught in a kaleidoscope; 
clashing like cymbals;
poured through a prism;
undulating ultraviolet light;

Pandemonium pulses 
through these shades-
hues of horror.
Paint from the pallete
is smeared and smudged;
muddled into mayhem
by the grubby fingers of God
flinging pigments at the wall.

No order,
no color scheme in the cosmos;
there is only a rainbow of chaos-
fading into the collecting clouds,
but bright enough to induce 
an immediate migraine.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11779221-Chaotic-Clash-of-Color-by-Bethany-Walker#sthash.1MsO6p5B.dpuf

- Bethany Walker -

- This poem is vivid, and imaginative I love poetry like this because it's real, it invokes the senses that are desperately at odds within us. Pandemonium pulses, that phrase is interesting because it shows wonderful alliteration!

Friday, November 21, 2014

Writers Network | kkcripple at Writers-Network

Writers Network | kkcripple at Writers-Network


The Forgotten Ones

A coldness gathers strong, it clings
like a worn leather glove, surrounding
the form which is you.
Marrow chilled, despite the bindings
and cloth that encompass near death

The doorway, not deep enough to reverse
the blatant fallacy of thought. Steam rises,
heat escapes, ice waxing eyebrows stiff.
Rigor and cold leave you encapsulated
in frozen relief.

Given no thought, I pass you by, just
another derelict, forgotten.
One more lost soul to the policy which is,

Just one more silhouette silenced 'neath
a winters bulb. Just one more Christmas
ornament, burned out, un-retrieved. 
A relic to partitioned history lived,

A loser of life, respect un-afforded to an
uncleansed section of societies segmented
strata. A subject noteworthy not, lest it
be us or one that affects us.

Time.... once realized, is a relative commodity
given its shortened span at attention and
thought derived thereof.

Judge us not.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11786147-The-Forgotten-Ones-by-IntimidusRex#sthash.ouoDSysj.dpuf

Thursday, November 20, 2014



Could there be a love more Divine?

The splendor of passion,
and the delicacy of pain.
The brush of a kiss
and the taste of a tear.

Magical memories filled
with treasures which
gleam of rubies, emeralds,
diamonds, and pearls.

Mysterious and marvelous,
so much to be revealed.
A future of your creation
stands at the ready.

Your souls cried out,
and the Universe listened.

You have been granted
a gift which cannot be
matched by any other,
past nor present.

The gift of a forever love.

A love which few experience
but often dream.

A.C. Fernandez

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11782905-Forever-by-A.C.-Fernandez#sthash.Tqpz1OnM.dpuf

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Kenneth Patchen

As We Are So Wonderfully Done With Each Other

As we are so wonderfully done with each other 
We can walk into our separate sleep 
on floors of music where the milkwhite cloak of childhood 

oh my love, my golden lark, my soft long doll 
Your lips have splashed my dull house with print of flowers 
My hands are crooked where they spilled over your dear 

It is good to be weary from that brilliant work 
It is being God to feel your breathing under me 

A waterglass on the bureau fills with morning….. 
Don't let anyone in to wake us

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/As-We-Are-So-Wonderfully-Done-With-Each-Other#sthash.OOshCgso.dpuf

- This type of poetry is amazing, it brings the mind forth, in thought, in time, and in life. It shows us things we are, things we aren't things we could become. This type of poetry is very precious to me, but I know that Writer's like this guy, don't need effort when they write, it comes naturally.

Christian Refugee's - VOM

It gets very cold in northern Iraq, and winter is coming. Christian refugees from Mosul need our help now.

When IS (Islamic State) advanced into Iraq this summer, 100,000 Christians were displaced. Many fled to the Kurdish region and camped in unfinished or abandoned buildings, schools and empty fields. Now that winter is coming, these Christian refugees need our help to stay warm for the next few months.

The Voice of the Martyrs is already at work providing warm clothing, heaters and better shelters for our brothers and sisters in need. Since this past summer, VOM has been supporting Christians in Iraq with food, generators for churches, shelter, Bibles, emergency medical care and water purifiers. Now we're helping them prepare for winter by providing warm clothing, including coats and long underwear, and gas heaters. You can help support our ongoing efforts with a gift to “Help Iraqi Christians.”

VOM is a supportive Christian Group that focus's on worldwide efforts of reaching the Lost for Jesus Christ, it started in 1967 by Richard Wurmbrand who was tortured by Communists.

Monday, November 17, 2014


Hello my name is Debbie and I have a Mental Illness
I am  forever depressed and suffer PTSD and I am also bi-polar.
This is my mental disorders that I have
always taking this tab or that tab.

Forever to be on medicine I am told
especially as I age and get old..
This is what frightens me
what if I can't afford it, what will I be?

To pass me on the street
you wouldn't know my mind is weak.
I look just like you and you
and I shop and talk just as you do.

Mentally Ill does not mean I am a monster
it doesn't mean something bad will occur.
My mind is just short on some chemicals
that without my med's my mind is dulled.

Don't run away when I tell you this
I am the same deb that for three years here has exist.
Never opening my mouth for fear of you
wondering what your reactions would do?

So now I am brave and I am strong
telling you all what I have had all along.
If you are my friend then you will understand
if you don't maybe this will open your minds dam.

I am not my mental illness photo: i am alone 1224828608.jpg

  - This is a story and poem about and by Debbie, Debbie has struggled a lot in her life with a mental illness. This has kept her down and away from the things that she truly wants to do, and becoming, but can you see how beautiful this poetry is? It doesn't dwell on the evils of mental illness, but it dwells on her overcoming, and us overcoming as a people. Prayers for Debbie, the mental illness she has can be overcome by the Power of God.