Quote from: Hidrix on June 13, 2007, 03:15:10 AM
what;s up princes. bad mood again? I know u aint stupid. who;s sayin ->-bleeped-<- like that? 23 days & countin whooohoooo 
gotta work the graveyard shift friday again. damn I'm hella pissed but like u say only 3 more wks & I'm outta here babe 
good nite princes
I <3 U 
No one is saying anything. It's my seventh sense, you know.
It never fails. Oh boy, it would seem that your boss "likes" you somehow to schedule you at night. LOL
Think positively my handsome man, very soon you won't have to work for a few weeks. Yay, I couldn't be happier for you. Rest up and have a wonderful evening.
Tepe quieperopo mupuchopo, tepe apamopo, Chris
******************************************************************
INTEGRITYIt is not what we eat
but what we digest
that makes us strong;
not what we gain
but what we save
that make us rich;
not what we read
but what we remember
that makes us learned;
and not what we profess
but what we practice
that gives us Integrity.
Author Unknown******************************************************************
MEN AND WOMEN OF CHARACTERThe world needs men and women. . .
who cannot be bought;
whose word is their bond;
who put character above wealth;
who possess opinions and a strong will;
who are larger than their vocations;
who do not hesitate to take risks;
who will not lose their individuality in a crowd;
who will be as honest in small affairs as in greater;
who will make no compromise with wrong;
whose ambitions are not confined to their own selfish desires;
who will not say they do it "because everybody else does it;"
who are true to their friends through good and bad, in adversity as well as in prosperity;
who do not believe that shrewdness, cunning, and hardheadedness are the best qualities for winning success;
who are not ashamed or afraid to stand for the truth when it is unpopular;
who can say "no" with emphasis, although all the rest of the world says "yes."
Author Unknown*******************************************************************
The Missing Wife Wife and dog missing.
Reward for the dog.
bumper sticker on a pickup truck The wife and the dog planned their escape
months in advance, laid up biscuits and bones,
waited for the careless moment when he'd forget
to latch the gate, then hightailed it.
They took shelter in the forest, camouflaged
the scent of their trail with leaves.
Free of him at last,
they peed with relief on a tree.
Time passed. They came and went as they pleased,
chased sticks when they felt like chasing sticks,
dug holes in what they came to regard
as their own backyard. They unlearned
how to roll over and play dead.
In spring the dog wandered off in pursuit
of a rabbit. Collared by a hunter and returned
to the master for $25, he lives
on a tight leash now. He sleeps
on the wife's side of the bed,
whimpering, pressing his snout
into her pillow, breathing the scent
of her hair.
And the wife? She's moved deep into the heart
of the forest. She walks
on all fours, fetches for no man, performs
no tricks. She is content. Only sometimes
she gets lonely, remembers how he would nuzzle
her cheek and comfort her when she twitched
and thrashed in her sleep.
Unknown Author*******************************************************************
Shattered GlassSometimes I feel like a glass
A glass that has been smashed upon the ground
And broken into thousands of tiny pieces
I can't ever seem to make sense of these fragments
And when I think about their multitude
I become overwhelmed
Depressed and frustrated with their shrewdness
The rough edges, and in general, the lack of completeness
I just wish I were whole again
Beautiful
But now I feel ugly- disassembled
How can a broken glass be of any use?
A whole glass is useful, practical
It can be used for drinking, or as a vase to hold wildflowers
It is set upon the countertop and respected by all
What becomes of the broken glass?
It is swept through the door and left outside
Left outside in the sunlight
The sunlight
The sun is like God
It is warmth, beauty, and light
It shines down on both the whole and the broken glass
The whole glass absorbs the majority of light
Reflecting just enough to shine one perpetually annoying bright light
Into the eyes of any unlucky onlooker
The broken glass, however,
With its jagged cuts and angles
Becomes like thousands of tiny prisms
Receiving the light and reflecting it in unexpected glory
Causing tiny rainbows to dance upon the walls of the house
Projecting luminous rays in every shadow and crack
Reaching where light is not often found
Could this be the reason for brokenness?
If the glass had not been shattered, it could not have been as greatly used
To reflect the likeness of God in so many unique ways
I often complain
Become frustrated and confused
Feeling like I have been broken and not understanding the reason
But God has a plan
Perhaps He will use the events in my life
To reach people in a way no other person can
To reflect His love
And shine His light
And maybe the reason I have been shattered
Is to make me just a little more beautiful
Than before.
Unknown Author*******************************************************************
The New World OrderMy dearly departed spoke of former past to come
When man picks up bows and arrows like days of old
For life shall be hard for those unwilling
Than bow before the beast and his instant tracking
Those unwilling cannot buy without the mark
They will move to land they once drank from streams
For life will be hard with heaviness on ones back
Than to bow before the beast and his instant tracking
Woe to ambled unwilling an arm to swing for food
When he must succumb to the cry of children
For life will be hard when many miles are not suffered on his feet
Than bow before the beast and his instant tracking
News from afar speak terror
When terrorists accelerate the pace to make the mark
For fear of man shall force to hold his freedom to roam
To bow before the beast and his instant tracking
One will not need the paper mark to make the trade
And travel in far off lands to make exchange
Without the need to carry image of ones proof
To bow before the beast and his instant tracking
Unknown Author*******************************************************************
River CarryRiver carry where you flow
From simple stream
Through winding hill
Thrown on boulders in your path
River carry where you will
From highest mountain
Through roaring rumble
Thunder down from highest cliff
River carry where you give
From wench you grew
A drink of life to nourish all
Open eyes to flowing river
River carry where you borne
From lay of flow
A bed of bosom gentle breast
Strongest fish slumbers rest
River carry to deepest ocean
From all your breath
Through your Spirit I understand
A flowing river I carry to the end.
Unknown Author******************************************************************
AmericaAmerica is a land of dreams and desire
A land of plenty and materialism
A land exploited with Alaska next
Corporate greed inseparable
A land of lies for the rich
An instant fix to all opposed
A policy made of greed
A schemer of crafty laws
Your child a commercialized victim
Your mind embroiled with corporal satiation
America you have lost who blessed you
You have become a land of deviates
You bully your neighbors declaring democracy
You have made enemies by bulldozing
You built a great empire
And lost all truth
You pump and make your fill every week
In your dream travel
You have insatiable appetite for temporary
You have no respect for land
The same day you built your dream
You throw all discards including humans
You wrap your preciousness and things
You feast while down street children hunger
You tell others you are the greatest in the world
The freedom to right evil
Sex, lies, cheating, all sin acceptable norm
Why have you forsaken your blessings?
America you now lead the world
The world of goods, trash and ego
A world like no other in history
A world close to end
Why have you forsaken good?
Your blessings my be taken
You could end up cursed
But not all is despair
As you open your eyes daily
Remind yourself who blesses
Open your heart to good
Listen to that small voice.
Unknown Author******************************************************************
A Single Grain of SandOne early morning we sat upon driftwood log
Uncle Usugan and I enjoyed crystal clean air
Beautiful soft waves lapped Tununak beach
I thought out loud...
A single grain of sand
It's just a worthless piece of sand
That sticks in your eye when the wind blows
And gets in your shoes between your toes.
It's just a worthless piece of sand
What use does it have?...
Then my Uncle Usugan said, "It embraces eggs and breaths life into them,
Do you see those little sand pipers feed between the small grains?
Small feed and other life are hidden beneath them."
It's just a worthless piece of sand,
Where does it come from?...
"You see those great mountains way over there," said my Uncle Usugan, "and those Hills and do you see those rocks? Still there is more to come that is unseen."
It's just a worthless piece of sand
It does not breath or lives?...
"Oh, but it supports it my son," said my Uncle Usugan, "it held up great trees from afar, and breathed water as the rain fell, and touched birds as they made their nest and lifts the grass you walk upon"
It's just a worthless piece of sand
How does it give life?...
Uncle Usugan reaffirmed, "Your ancestor's ancestors' blood has touched them, and so has many whose ancient blood traveled far from the other ends of great rivers, from people you never met and the blood of every living creature that swims in the water, and grows and crawls upon this land."
Then I looked at the sky, I heard an invisible voice say,
"My son, you are that single grain of sand."
Unknown Author******************************************************************
Open Your EyesYou try to conceal it
But you can't hide
Inevitable truth.
I see the hurt behind your eyes
The pain that lies
Beneath the tears that you suppress
I cry for you with all that I am.
You are so close.
Teetering on the very edge of happiness
And yet you do not see it.
Let me help you.
Remove the scabs that blind your vision.
Why do you turn away?
The hole in your heart is growing.
It is slowly devouring your spirit.
Your search for contentment
Is in vain.
You scrutinize the area underneath rocks
You examine the cracks in the boulders
And yet you refuse to see
What lies directly under your nose.
Stop your meaningless search
And give in to the truth.
Your so-called pleasure is the root of your pain.
Why can't you see it?
Surrender.
Succumb to the peace that awaits you.
Feel what might be.
See what I see.
Again and again and again you say that you don't
You say you don't
But you will.
How can you be so near and not see?
Unknown Author*******************************************************************
Triumph Lonely in the heart,
This mourner, dressed in black
The eyes red and cried out
Tell stories of betrayal and hurt
With hands quivering,
The bouquet of wilting flowers is laid
Upon the shimmering yet pale
A cold yet heart-warming visage
Who would know the assasin is within
Dressed in black, eyes red and sleepless
Tell stories of greed and gain
With hands firm,
The weapon with dry blood is laid
Upon the screaming yet quiet
A crying yet smiling visage.
The utter irony
This penetrating contradiction
Me, She, Him, Her, They, them.
Oh, but why when it was meant to be
This greed, That pain?
Fate seems to be a lame metaphor
For such insanity to be bestowed
By one upon the other.
And when one day
This gold field blossoms
Yet again, with blood
In the roots of raging scorn
The swords of veangence
Will cease to spill blood
Of crimes committed by innocent criminals
But do you not see, their eyes are red
Like the mourner, Like the assasin.
Lurking in the dark are shadows somewhere
With woes lugubrious and hearts glum
Tired but eager to fight
Beware, the paradox of hatred and betrayal
Thou shalt reign the souls where love dwells no-more
And I, from above shall see
The mourner smile in ecstacy,
The assasin tormented in remorse,
For I was but a mere fatal casualty.
Of this game of love and hatred.
Irfan Ali Shah ********************************************************************
High Talk PROCESSIONS that lack high stilts have nothing that catches the eye.
What if my great-granddad had a pair that were twenty foot high,
And mine were but fifteen foot, no modern Stalks upon higher,
Some rogue of the world stole them to patch up a fence or a fire.
Because piebald ponies, led bears, caged lions, ake but poor shows,
Because children demand Daddy-long-legs upon This timber toes,
Because women in the upper storeys demand a face at the pane,
That patching old heels they may shriek, I take to chisel and plane.
Malachi Stilt-Jack am I, whatever I learned has run wild, From collar to collar, from stilt to stilt, from father to child.
All metaphor, Malachi, stilts and all. A barnacle goose
Far up in the stretches of night; night splits and the dawn breaks loose;
I, through the terrible novelty of light, stalk on, stalk on;
Those great sea-horses bare their teeth and laugh at the dawn.
William Butler Yeats *******************************************************************
Thinking in the Sky at Night It was always strange, the trick of eyes
When staring off into the black,
Before the clouds had closed
Their down blanket over the sky,
Speckled like dirty mirrors,
And wonder, how near overhead?
Oft the points of light overhead
Wander away from the eyes,
To wonder what metaphor mirrors
All that is fathomless and black,
Up there in the great sky
When most faculties have closed.
Precisely the thoughts closed
As the airplanes flew overhead,
Blinking across the desolate sky.
And so taken were the eyes,
Thus tearing through the black
With a noise that could crack mirrors.
All of the questions it mirrored
And the doors never to be closed,
Turning black upon black
In vain hope that no idea goes overhead.
Reason is lost in the expanse of the eyes
Staring into the bold, dark sky.
And lost in the sea of the sky
That lays smooth as mirrors,
Against a stretched membrane in the eyes,
How the world is infinitely closed
And the stars always overhead
Accent the immense black.
Black
Sky
Overhead
Mirrors
Closed
Eyes.
The ambient black finds its mirrors
And the sky has so near in closed,
That we look overhead and see merely eyes.
Michael Veremans ********************************************************************
Metaphor Of Butterflies the metaphor of butterflies;
of metamorphosis,
provides for me an alibi
for life such as it is.
for here, in realms material;
existance incomplete,
compassion, less than filial:
since all must kill to eat;
i find a likeness, like as not,
that likely most ignore,
to caterpillar's only thought -:
of feed and feed some more!
it's nature to engorge itself
each day that passes by,
before transformed to something else:
a gorgeous butterfly!
so i believe, another world
beyond this one exists,
where donning powder wings unfurled
our metamorphosis
will leave behind on other page
these realms of greed and toil.
outgrowing former larval stage
and doffing mortal coil;
all life, it's energy more pure
nor ever more to die,
will sup on only nectar, sure
as does the butterfly.
moon batchelder ******************************************************************
Nature Study 
All the lizards are asleep--
perched pagodas with tiny triangular tiles,
each milky lid a steamed-up window.
Inside, the heart repeats itself like a sleepy gong,
summoning nothing to nothing.
In winter time, the zoo reverts to metaphor,
God's poetry of boredom:
the cobra knits her Fair-Isle skin,
rattlers titter over the same joke.
All of them endlessly finish spaghetti.
The python runs down like a spring,
and time stops on some ancient Sabbath.
Pythagorean bees are shut inside the hive,
which hymns and hums like Sunday chapel--
drowsy thoughts in a wrinkled brain.
The fire's gone out--
crocodiles lie like wet beams,
cross-hatched by flames that no one can remember.
Grasshoppers shiver, chafe their limbs
and try to keep warm,
crouching on their marks perpetually.
The African cricket is trussed like a cold chicken:
the sneeze of movement returns it to the same position,
in the same body. There is no change.
The rumple-headed lion has nowhere to go
and snoozes in his grimy combinations.
A chaise lounge with missing castors,
the walrus is stuck forever on his rock.
Sleepily, the seals play crib,
scoring on their upper lips.
The chimps kill fleas and time,
sewing nothing to nothing
Five o'clock--perhaps.
Vultures in their shabby Sunday suits
fidget with broken umbrellas,
while the ape beats his breast
and yodels out repentance.
Their feet are an awful dream of bunions--
but the buffalo's brazil nut bugle-horns
can never sound reveille.
Craig Raine
