End All Fear
It's crystal clear why I am here It's never
been before. I am here to end all fear and Like an eagle.....Soar I
was born in scarcity Conceived in pain and doubt. The doctors pulled and yanked at me I was sorry I came out. For years to come I did resent the childhood days I
spent; With scarcity, pain and doubt, They never did relent. Now, I know it's not their fault they gave but what they had... Yet I was filled with
a love and truth unknown to mom and dad. For years, my love and truth and I withdrew into my room. Holding back the gifts I had was like living in a tomb. THEN A Voice spoke through my dream said: "Life is but a play; and the morale of
the story is not the role But the way in which it's played. Now, it's crystal clear to me, I remember why
I'm here... To share my love and truth with you And Put an End to Fear.
Perlie On Safari: A Short Story about Her Adventures Perlie woke up wondering what character she could be today.
She came
up with a brilliant idea as she was listening to and
watching T.V. while eating breakfast. A program about
an
adventure trip, known as a safari, which includes seeing and
experiencing members of the plant and animal kingdoms,
caught
her attention. Perlie thought: "Gee, I'd like to go on a safari trip to
a far away place and see
many animals, forests and plants." As she
was getting ready to dive into her preparation for her fantasy
life
and engage with this pretend world, Perlie was enjoying the music
associated with this special televised program.
She was wondering
if music plays a part in safaris, or if it was just an additional feature
of the program
in order to attract viewers. Perlie came to the
conclusion that music was for advertisement purposes, to attract
audience attention. Now that she is ready for her fantasy life, she'll
have fun going on a surfing safari
for starters on the clear waters of
Australia, the "Land Down Under." She is having a good time shopping
for some bikini swimsuits to wear; she found what she was looking for,
all three of them, purple, red and blue
ones. Perlie's favorite bikini is
the blue one, so she'll wear it going to Australia's seashore. The Quantas
airline trip was lots of fun for her; it took nine hours to get there from
Hawaii though, but there was food and entertainment
on the plane.
Perlie watched closed circuit T.V. and movies, ate pasta and salad,
had iced tea and read some
magazines, so she would not become bored,
even though she had a window seat, since there weren't very many
passengers
on this flight. After this plane trip, Perlie's eyes opened wide
when she first saw the beauty of Australia. It's
forests, plant life, flowers,
red soil, and animals, such as kangaroos roaming about, were magnificent,
as were
it's oceans and shorelines. She picked up a few pretty sea shells from
the wet sandy beach and heard the Beach
Boys' rock and roll hit from a nearby
radio," Surfing Safari."
Perlie On Safari: to be continued....
by Marie Tannyhill
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The Homeless
Some call them the brick people.
And perhaps they are the foundations
we walk upon.
What is it that breaks down
in the blood of the heart
until the heart breaks down
leaving them there on the only streets
we have. The steam rises from my plate,
my feet are warm as I come
home
the steam even rises from our magnificent trees
in their home.
Bury these rags of others. Come home.
They pull the dark shade from the library
over them. The damp fog delivers them in the morning.
by Eugene Ruggles
Where Do you Find a Poem?
To find a poem is like diving in the ocean, To discover an ancient coin, a precious jewel, a love letter sealed in a blue glazed glass bottle dated 880 B.C. in Egyptian hieroglyphics. Surprisingly,
the poem is so familiar that it is like finding a long lost friend. It is like finding your way home. You see the poem
not written on a piece of paper or wood, pictographic script or cuneiform. Nor was it written in your
head or hands. Oh, no. The poem is engraved in your heart, projecting out the most magificent musical notes, the
haunting paintings in the caves. Most of all, you never did find the poem. The poem finds you. That is the day you suddenly realized you are the living poem.
by Kitty Miao
First published by Marin Brain Injury Network (c) 2003
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