mikefrawley:

While in the presence of overwhelming love
sadly so many succumb to their fears

Though bathed in the Abundant Grace of God
far too often we drown in a river of tears

Ever too fearful to sing our own song
deeply regretting the words never spoken

Even while love was calling us home
not one, but…

Mike Frawley: Words Never Spoken

aclarityofconscious:

“I love you, but…”
Four simple words,
You whispered before dawn.
And then you rose, Got out of bed,
And just like that were gone.

I woke to feel you leaving,
And asked you please to stay,
In my arms a short while,
But today was not the day.

Your mind was far too busy,
The bed held no…

I Love You For Always. The only string attached is the one that connects my heart to yours wherever we go…even if it is just one floor below, in the early morning hours, when we have different things on our minds at 4:30 a.m.
A Clarity of Conscious: I love you, but…

mikefrawley:

At this most special time of year
I’ve made a list of wish gifts for you

First of all, I wish gift you Faith
to know that God will see you through

My second wish gift for you is Love
every day right from the start

Freely given for you to share
person to person and heart to heart

Next I wish…

Wonderful words, Mike Frawley. For years now, as my children eye the aisles of toys and whatnot at the store, and start asking for things, I reply without fail, “Put it on your your Wish List.” Everyone needs one, no matter what your age AND like your poem, often the things we wish for most are the things that money cannot buy. ~ Janean

Mike Frawley: Wish Gifts

bluesandbarebones:

I wrapped up all your presents
I hope you like the bows
I got the ball you wanted
And the rocket ship that glows

But as I finished wrapping
It then occurred to me
How nothing that meant anything
Was underneath that tree

The toys will soon be broken
Books read and out of sight
We’ll take down all…

Oh, bluesandbarebones, this is beautiful! I need to be sure to wrap those extra presents up for my two sons, ages 11 and 8, as well. Sometimes as I remind them to put their toothbrushes back in the holder, or clear their dishes from the table, I think to myself, “Their wives will thank me one day.” But I’m not in a hurry for that day to come. I love the gift of their grins and jokes and laughter and their hugs and snuggles and am not in a rush to share them. *at the moment my oldest son is awake before 7:00 a.m. and explaining to me the two ways to attack someone with a sword in Halo 2…Merry Christmas Eve to me.* ~ Janean 😉

thread of revelation: Wrapping

hnamed:

I love a boy who doesn’t read poetry
Doesn’t write letters
And, doesn’t understand when I thank trees.

He thinks slow dancing is a waste of time
Peek-a-boos spoil a child’s mind
And happy thoughts can never get us to fly

I stare at him while he’s asleep
He keeps the lights open in order…

I love this poem. Because sometimes, those boys who don’t read poetry surprise you, and are not only reading your poetry without you knowing it, they turn around and write poetry of their own, after twenty years of being together, and surprise both of you. ~ Another Fairy-tales Believer

L’ Yeux Verts: I love a boy who doesn’t read poetryDoesn’t write lettersAnd, doesn’t…

thegirlsoul:

our twisted realities
our broken picture frames
our lives randomly moving
through time’s universe
is an endless game
like a far away star
we are in the crowd of
others like us
floating unknowingly
through the infinite desert
of paradoxes
we say we know science
we say we are artists
and we claim we…

The Girl Soul: Things we have lost…

jayarrarr:

I am a writer

Last night I wrote a piece detailing, perhaps somewhat too ironically, how I was a shitty writer. In fact, after the onslaught of messages, I had to edit the piece to put scare-quotes around the word “writer”, so that the irony would be readily apparent. Tonight, I’ve seen numerous pieces of writers declaiming writerhood, and proclaiming instead that they are not writers, and so I must throw in my two cents once again. I’m American, we have pennies, and therefore the ability to do that.

If you type or write words of any creative ilk on screen or page or otherwise — you’re a writer. If you conspire to contort these mere 26 letters we have into words and those words into sentences or phrases or verse — you’re a writer. Own it. Be proud of it. If I saw your words tonight, that means I follow your blog. If I follow your blog, even if I’ve never spoken to you, it means I love and respect your work, and I want to read it on a regular basis. Fucking own it. This “I’m not a writer”, “I’m not a poet”, whatever bullshit is tiresome. Yes, if you’ve ever once put pen to page, you’re a writer. If you’ve ever lost focus on the beauty of an errant leaf floating through the air, you’re a poet. Own it.

Let your first step towards some measure of pride be to recognize that you’re proud of what you do. I am. It doesn’t mean you have to scream it on street corners. I have a self-published book (yeah, I just plugged that shit, wouldn’t you?). None of my family knows about it. Most of my friends don’t know about it. Not because I’m not proud of it — because I don’t want their criticism. I know what it’ll be. I don’t want them to knock me down, because they don’t truly know me and probably wouldn’t accept and love my writing.

Sound familiar? None of that means you’re not a writer. Every single person I follow is a writer (with the exception of those few who aren’t, and they know who they are). So please, your words are beautiful, but with all due respect, spend your creative energy on something other than descriptions of how you’re not a writer. It’s clear you are. Accept it. Use your pretty words for something else.

I am a writer. I write words on paper and screen — over 3,000 of them a day. This is what I do. This is what I live, speak, eat, and breathe. I don’t think I’d exist without this. I’m proud to call myself a writer. And you should be too.

jayarrarr, YOU ROCK!!!! Thank you for this Pep Talk. I’ve been practicing saying aloud, “I am a Writer” for a year now. The poetry surprised me, but once I started writing it, it felt so right, that I knew it had been there, waiting, for a long time. Waiting for me to give in to the lure of words on a page, flowing freely from my heart, more so than my head. Yes, I am a Writer. I am learning to say it out loud with a growing confidence, as I can say on paper the things I cannot say as freely with the spoken word. I love writing. ‘Tis true. ~ Janean, a.k.a. Turquoise Tangles
Defenestrations: I am a writer

aclarityofconscious:

Patience was a gift taught to me in subtle ways,
Ways so ingeneous that rarely did the teacher have to mention the theme,
Or remind her student of its reward.

The classrooms were unique in their similarity,
Yet each held its own secrets and allure for the teacher.
There were no desks for the…

I knew my husband was A Patient Man. Until he wrote this though, I never knew I had his grandmother to thank for the depth of his patience. She was A Neat Lady. Glad I had the privilege to know her these first 14+ years of our marriage. Grandma’s are special. No doubt about it. ~ Janean
A Clarity of Conscious: Patience…

aclarityofconscious:

The rain outside the window wasn’t a reminder,
Of six months of pain and uncertainty.
Of fear, bottled up emotions and tears.

For a moment,
We we were able to replace that history,
With a comfortable present.
A present combined with old friends,
Good food, and laughter.

For a moment,
…

A Clarity of Conscious: For a moment…