Beauregard

Beauregard

Birthday girl of muddled ways
Ever inside wanting to truthfully see
Antisipating and always seeking a new way
Underestimating her own worth each day
Remembering most of the bad things
Ever losing sight of her own reality
Graced by a mind that is sharp and pure
Always giving way not being sure
Remember as you walk the next age
Dear Beauregard unique in many ways

I remember my first grade picture day dress. I remember how I didn’t like navy blue on me
and how the white Peter Pan collar was too stiff and too tight around my neck.
I felt like I was too big and my dress was too small.
Its pretty little bows couldn’t make a pretty little girl out of me.
I remember being self-conscious of the scars that freckled my face thanks to last year’s chicken pox.
I remember being nervous waiting in line to have my picture taken,
because I knew I would look terrible. I remember wondering why I couldn’t smile
right for the photographer and the way my thick red hair wouldn’t lay right.
But most of all, I remember being six years old and already hating myself.
From my trip to Disney World in second grade, to puberty in fifth grade,
from seventh grade’s rock bottom to tenth grade’s rock bottom,
self-loathing was the ever-present demon looming in the back of my mind.
So I guess you could consider this the story of an exorcism-in-progress.

It was some time last year that I realized, as a poet and lover of words,
that connotations of words didn’t have to dictate my life.
What could I mean by that?
Let’s consider, for instance, insults; words like “fat” and “ugly”
are connotatively equated to words like “worthless”, “disgusting”, and “unloveable”.
I realized that I didn’t have to equate “fat” or “ugly” with negative words.
I could equate them with whatever words I found befitting. I could make “fat” and “ugly”
personal compliments, after all, I am fat and ugly, and I’m pretty damn awesome.
Why should I consider myself pretty damn awesome despite being fat and ugly?
Fat and ugly were two things I had identified with for the past 19 years,
so why not consider myself pretty damn awesome
because fat and ugly are pretty damn awesome things to be?
That was steps one through two of
What To Do When You’re Ugly,
step one being “realize that you are, indeed, ugly” and
step two being “realize that ugly is not the worst thing you could be”.
From there, I was regularly flooded with memories and insights about my past.

I remember that as a child, my long, straight, shiny, thick red hair
was the only feature of mine that ever gave others a reason to complement me.
When adults looked at me they exclaimed, “Oh! What pretty red hair!”
and that was the end of their interaction with me.
I realized that that lead me to resent my hair even more than I already did.
I hated waking up each morning, unable to brush the knots out of my hair.
The ritual that followed involved my daddy desperately attempted to gingerly brush his baby girl’s hair
as she stood before him, cringing in her pajamas clutching Pooh Bear against her heart.
If we fast forward several years, to middle school,
I convince my mama to let me cut fourteen inches of long, beautiful red hair
to donate to Locks of Love.
I still have enough hair for a nearly-shoulder-length bob and
I am finally free of the complement-worthy physical feature that I never felt like I deserved.
That is in eighth grade, Kelsey age 13.
Six years later and my hair has only gotten shorter,
to the point where I currently buzz three-fourths of my hair to three-eighths of an inch long,
every other week.

My hair no longer causes me grief, anxiety, or poor self-esteem
and that may be due to the fact that there is very little of it at all!
Nonetheless, my experiences with my hair led me to step three:
make yourself happy. I am a firm believer that happiness comes from within.

Our minds are an amazing, irreplicable machines of actions and reactions.
We can often choose how we act and react, which will dictate our happiness.
When I began to believe that my happiness was something I had to choose for myself,
I started noticing all the little things that made me happy.
Alternatively, I also noticed all the little things that made me quickly reactive and upset.
Therefore, whenever possible, I surrounded myself with the things that made me happy
and avoided the things that upset me.
It’s an imperfect endeavor to maintain and impossible to perfect, but I always try.

One of the biggest things that makes me happy is expression,
which is a umbrella term for many things I enjoy.
My self-expression ranges from how I cut and style my hair
and the clothes I wear to my artwork and even my mannerisms.
I remember feeling like I hit rock bottom in seventh grade.
I was exposed to emo music and the gothic subculture.
I was infatuated, enthralled by the horror and fantasy influences of it all.
But most importantly, I could wear black, baggy clothes
to hide my disgusting body and smudgy black makeup to hide my disgusting face.
I reached rock bottom that year because my life revolved around that hiding.
My only emotions were disgust and shame, geared toward myself, and resentment,
geared toward my mother who did not want her daughter to be bullied for being a freak.
I climbed up from rock bottom when I discovered poetry as a form of expression.
It was ninth grade and I had found something that made me happy,
an emotion I hadn’t felt in years.
One year later I hit rock bottom again when self-loathing, anxiety, and depression
got the better of me and no form of self-expression was worth the effort.
Since then, I’m finding new forms of self-expression all the time.
I know that if I start to spiral downward again, I have the means to climb back up.
I know that I’ve lived through twenty years of hate, all from myself, and I’m still here.
I have the resources and the determination to keep living, and that step four: Keep living.

being

Perfect weather

Sitting in the summer garden
Inner energy and outer climate are one
Seamless Passion

My body and nature world
are one perfect harmony.
Self and universe are one pure unity
Perfect Weather

Sitting in the garden
Being one wholeness.
I love the summer
Everything beautiful
Creation wonder

Human life Miracle.

Maitreya

Buddhamaitreya.co.uk

The two races

 

I see them
they race for freedom
across a road
they scream
as they are
walking wounded

They are shouting joy
at being rescued
for finding an exit
Dark forms scatter
those full metal jackets
randomly cut into bodies

A curse and cry
From voices worldwide
Condem those that kill
Help is cut into screams
Tired shops no refuge.
The carrion will circle
Their eyes and senses
Talk to them in many forms

What’s this I hear
There is another
Trail of Women
Children and men.
I hear them as they sing
I see their trail of change
No more pain No more
A feeling of purity

There in their view
As they are held
Shines a pure light
Each to their God
They run dance and sing
Songs long forgotten
That we all know
It is when we know

Their journey is now
It lasts forever
Yet they rejoice at it
No longer having to hold
Free of all earthly pains
A joy to once again retain
The love of all they meet
The ones there
They have waited to greet.
A silence of eternal love
Takes them home

Annon

A note to Steve

 

your poetry
be it a feeling of the things you perceive
or a way that others cannot see
It only matters that you know of those things
There you have to be true to your own self
No simplification of your words
as they drift on the dreams of time
To talk to you young Wolf
I have to drift off to part of your world
that is shown to me.
The Elders bless their hearts
Have awful trouble making me see all things
Yet I still ask them to show me
There in the dim light of a sun
Shines their wisdom
It transposes worlds and ways.
I have touched the Dream think
of the Aboriginal way
Then others that are hidden
deep in others ways.
You seem to be on the border,
where the light is diffused
Hanging as the northern lights in curtains
Interwoven at the will of energy
There on the Earth is that lone wolf
that can reach to the heart of stars
Yet once again held in the arms of Gaia.
I am glad that you can see some of my ways
One day or just at eventide
When the Chinook wind
drifts across the face of the land.
There you will see me, as we really are.
A spirit held in a frail form
Destined to struggle momentarily
Still held with the beauty of for ever.
Eternities held too long where spirits meet.
What else can I say to you out there.
I spoke to you when you were having coffee
The window of the cafe was a little misted
Your eyes could only see a short distance
If only you had looked inward young Wolf.
This will give you more of an insight
To the things I feel as I move
Now Gaia is holding me fast
as I must rest for a while..

Yours as always, Ian.T

A Life

 

Innocence
Formed of thought
Drown days
happiness
Laughter in the distance
Chill winds
Then glowing embers
Reaching out
touch the velvet.
If the shade is right
Sleep
Drink it
In dreams
Tarry not
where cloth is worn
Time is always
Now
Clasp it
To your chest…

GINGER BEER

GINGER BEER

5,25Liters (21x250ml) Water

800g (4x250ml) Sugar

20ml Jamaican Ginger (from pharmacist)

10g packet (15ml) active dried Yeast

150 (250ml) Seedless Raisins

Combine half water with sugar in large saucepan, stir over heat

Until sugar has completely dissolved.

Bring to boil. Remove from heat.

Add remaining water and Ginger.

Pour 250ml mixture into bowl, sprinkle yeast over surface, stir well.

Return to remaining mixture, add raisins.

Cover and set aside in warm, draught-free place

 Until raisins rise to the surface, six to eight hours, or over night.

Strain mixture; pour into dry, sterilized bottles.

Screw on lids or caps securely, store in refrigerator.

Serve as is, with ice cubes, or dilute with soda water if too sweat

Makes about 5 Litres

Spring Fever

 

SPRING FEVER (theory of relativity shop)
Submitted by scribbler on Fri, 2013-05-31 02:37

Sitting in a poplar’s shade
on this late spring afternoon
while heat sends shimmers in the glade
summer time will be here soon
A drop of sweat dives off my nose
as I sip on a cold sweet tea
I can’t shed any further clothes
for it would show too much of me
Bumbling bees provide a hum
as they pollinate the varied flowers
a toneless tone which leaves me numb
after hearing it for hours
The air’s so lazy it won’t stir
and barely deigns to support birds
the kind of stillness that occurs
at unexpected obscene words
Eyelids start to slowly drop
my breath becomes measured and deep
just as the world appears to stop
I drop off into a tranquil sleep…

Spring Fever

Come sit with me in poplars shade
On this Spring day, late in the afternoon
Where the heat shimmer distorts the glade
I feel that summer will be here soon

Teardrops of sweat drip off my nose
Sit with me, sip on a cold sweet tea
I am down to near all of my clothes
I would scare, by showing more of me

Impossible Bumble bees flight emitting a hum
Gathering the pollen of a variety of flowers
Listening to their toneless noise leaves me numb
Heard from morning into the evening hours

Crazy air so tired and lazy it won’t be stirred
Hardly enough energy to support the birds
Listen there in a stillness that has occurred
Festooned with some strange obscene words

I see your eyelids starting to drop
Our breath become measured and deep
Our world seems to drag and stop
We both drop off into a tranquil sleep

By Scribbler and Yenti

Joan

Joan

The lights dimmed, disolving into the velvet night
Soft sheets gathered her form into their open arms
Music from afar touched her mind in gentle waves
Holding her in a love of just being alone

Friends had left earlier for their own needs
Two days of peaceful dreams touching her ways
An excuse they made, but they exposed her smile
Two lazy days of reading as dreamtime captured her

Puzzling moments that seem to hold nothing
A comforting nothing that washed over her
Feelings hovered about her, gently sweeping through
Seemingly lost in a world of perfect loneliness

This was perfect. too perfect in its being
A natural extreme that she loved about being alone
Nothing to disturb and distract, though pleasantly queer
She felt the dream carry on in its tranquill emptiness.

Feelings like to that of being dead, drifting forever.
Feeling nothing, a cloak of herself, that defied structure
Just a form, no perception, sleeping on heedlessly.
Racing away as the dreams took to their journey

Fields of black that she could feel under her running feet
Clinging to her hair, felt throughout her body’s form
A kind of empty coldness, without life or being
She tired of running, tired of the sleep state

Breathing in slow undulating waves that touched the shore
It was still and measured, deep, slow and recuperating.
Trumpet sounds cascaded into her dreams jolting a response
Many thoughts pressed her, as she reached for the phone

Why is the morning not here, it should be outside my window
Six in the morning a natural time to leave dreams behind
But it was still dark, darker than she remembered.
Possibly a moonless night, but that was odd for the night ?

There were no lights black had invaded like a blackout
Reaching for her timepiece, it seemed to be out of reach.
A strange feeling held her form not known before
Not standing or sitting, how could this be, just being?

Slight panic touched her way as if to question reality
Restless dreams screamed life into her mind
She called out yet there was only her mind shouting
Her body moved though it felt as if she flowed

The panic died away as spatial perception disappeared
No left hand, foot or right of any feelings that should be,
Yet a quiet awareness of herself just being there
This moment became a reality and stretched to eternity

“The Meaning of Life”

This was written in the Nineties by a young girl after her Brother had been accidentally shot….

“The Meaning of Life”

Life is the most precious gift given to us by God

Life is also something that is taken away from Mankind in the twinkling of an eye,  a person’s life is not something that to gamble with.

You are here now and before you know it your life can be taken away from you.

This is what happened to a sixteen year old named Trevor Kaylas, he was like a sunbeam in the life’s of those who was close to him, and loved him, but just as suddenly, a thunder storm appeared and the sunbeam went away.

It is something that no-one can explain only our heavenly Father, in church we as God’s children are taught not to ask “Why did God had to let it happen”

Trevor Kylas lived in Eden Park with his family, his parents and his brother and sister. Craig and Bernice, Trevor was like any other sixteen year old, full of mischief and full of life, but on Saturday morning the 13th of April his life was taken away from him without any warning, or without a word of goodbye to a friend or a loved one.

He was the innocent victim, a bystander that got shot, and was taken away from his family.

We might think why did God let this happen to him he was on the verge of his life. It is only human to ask such questions but what we do not is, that maybe God had something better for him in store in the beyond, and God can see further than any human being. Sometimes he let these things happen because it is for the best.

The pain that you feel when your loved one is taken away is unbearable, but with time you learn to live with it even if it takes a hundred years.

So to our Sunbeam that is a servant of God know I love you, and still love you very much, even though we fought a lot, but it is natural for a brother and sister to fight, and we had a lot of good times together which I will never forget,

With Love from your Sister Niesa..

Always and forever each moment with you

Is just like a dream to me that somehow came true.

Rest in peace Tawaras.. God be with you..

Terror in the Halls

Terror in the Halls
~
What if tomorrow the world stops in spin
And the ones that were hated dared to win
Whist if someone goes crazy like times before
and an unnoticed child brings hell through the door
Will tomorrow be our last
ending in our death
Pleading for our lives as we take our last breath
Eight school shootings in the past two years
What were once nightmares have become daily fears
Silent halls turn into blood baths in action
As the killers move on with a new satisfaction
What happened to security and tightly locked doors
What drove these kids looking for so much more
The little mysteries we may never understand
So many lives taken by barely a man
We shouldn’t have to worry when we go to school today
For someone’s life is shatters causing the innocent to pay
How did these kids get so easily inside
Without any purpose or reason to hide
Well today I stand up, and I stand up tall
And I vow to stand against any more terror in the hall

Toflyami