Un-Eraseable (By Maggie__To Odie)

I have a charity that is very important and special to me. St. Jude's Hospital for children. I give to the charity as often as I can and just sponsored a team in a Sporting Clay Shoot in Katy, TX. With that being said, I get a lot of letters from children thanking me, etc. Although I wish they wouldn't do that, I do appreciate it. It breaks my heart each month when I receive a letter. It's very personal and can be hard to read. Well, one of the kid's I was receiving letters from passed away. His name was or is Odie. He was 12 years old and had a rare form of liver cancer. He fought hard but in the end, lost the battle. His very good friend, Maggie, wrote a poem in Odie's honor called............. "Un-eraseable". Maggie is 7 years older than Odie, but, that didn't get between their friendship. They met at St. Jude's as Maggie also has been fighting cancer for a long time. Here is the poem..



Un-eraseable By: Maggie To: Odie



Hey there, it's been a long time

And I want you to know

I haven't forgotten you

I still think of you all the time

You're the birds in the sky

And the sun in my eyes



Hey there, I hope you remember me

All the laughter we shared with no hair

And I just want you to know

I'll take you with me wherever I go

I will tell the world your name

And they will never be the same



you're uneraseable



Did you know whenever I'm afraid

I remember your strength

My fears begin to fade

Your eyes looking straight through me

I made you a promise

I intend to keep



Did you know you beat your cancer

Even though you were sick

Death couldn't destroy you

And I just want you to know

I'll take you with me wherever I go

I will tell the world your name

And they will never be the same

re-post from my other poetry site.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

night to morning

all lost by night, seeking morning's sunrise

to awake what may be perceived,

a broken soul longs to anguish no more,

and

fantasies frolic amoungst the

half-moon-light,

early morning's yawns awake

the

shapes and colors that take thier place,

all

graced by a mother dove dancing

thru sweet drissled rain,

refreshed now, all comes together,

as dreams fade and I wake

from slumber.

park of (life)

a walk in the park, my life,

watching trees shed, their color,

and at different times (on different days, different walks),

the sun has shown his face to me,

thru limbs of Oaks and Pines,

that as a child, I would climb,

Warmth, Rays of Hope, Dreams,

all, the names of streets which led me to this park of life,

this merry-go-round,

yet, as days turn to years, then to decades,

the terrain of this beautiful place,

has not changed,

only the direction of which I have entered has,

I have drowned in the sand-box on different occassions,

and I have slid, wrecklessly, yet, luckily,

and I have swang, eyes closed, wind in my youthful hair,

I now can see my reflection,

in the mud-puddle,

that I've made,

to my dismay, it's not so bad,

and in this same park, that I have trampled upon,

my children, and hopefully, their's too,

will learn lessons,

that I have willed to them,

I, only a droplet of rain, from one thunderstorm,

from the beginning of the storm,

hope to leave an indention, a mark,

to show others how to take a fall.

Creation

Ja, Ala, God?
What's in the name?
spiritual, un-cut, truth,
that substance of life
we just can't grasp,
pen as to ink as paper is
to ryhymes,
fill in the blanks,
stop re-writing hooks,
observate, educate your mind,
so we can move as one
ahead,
thru space, no time.

One Day

Will it be a day like today?
blue skies, crisp, cool-breeze,
as I start that day too,
bent on my knees,

Or, maybe the GODS will cast
out a shadow,
gloom and rain
tho, it realy won't matter,

will the pain I feel each day be gone?
knees aching, neck cracking,
back stiff and sore,

How will I hear the good news?
phone call, knock on the door,
when I'm whole again,
once more,

Will she despise her actions or
have any regrets?
looking back at her life and mine,
anc how she has acted,

The BOOK says a child must not
be torn in half,
he must be reared up
by one or the other,

Will people who don't know
still look at me with shame?
for not knowing the truth
has ruined my name,

So, as I promised my son,
I will carry on,
continue on this path of strife,
stress and beautiful doom,

Many before me have fought thru
their wars,
pity themselves not,
as their minds heal the scars,

One day, will happiness be cast down upon,
a father who loves, who has fought,
and won't stop
till he has won.

surviving this life

into the mellow fields of sunshine,
I close my eyes,
yellow daisies, perk their heads up to feel,
the cool breeze, echoeing off the walls of my mind,

light blue skies and bright yellow sun,
sea-gulls-dance-of-flight,
has just begun,

like sugar, the sand sprinkles onto your toes,
sweet memories, a vacation, hope,
dive into the cool abyss,
cleanse your soul,

then lounge in the hammock, cool, wet-cloth
on bare neck.

2012 aztec end,
no believe in me,
hope I get to see it cave in,
want to be here when it goes down,
want to hear the trumpets sound,
want to see the white horse,
want to see my Lord abound,
pray for me and I will pray for you,
rather I will pray for you and you do what you do,
respect me love me hate me kill me,
it's all the same,
doesn't mean anything.

ADDICTION IS DISBURDENING

Addiction as Disburdening

What addiction distracts me from is my own life. In such distraction, it relieves me of the burden of that life; of actually having to live it out, with all the uncertainty, boredom, routine, frustration, and disappointment that so often characterize even the most fortunate life. Most especially, addiction relieves me of the need to keep on searching for meaning in my life, the need to give my own life meaning through commitment, dedication, and daily perseverance. Thanks to my addiction, the search is over. I no longer have to give my own life meaning. Because my addiction is the meaning, my addiction gives it meaning.
Practicing an addiction becomes an all-consuming activity. The time involved in actually taking the drug or engaging in the addictive behavior is only a small part of the total time devoted to the addiction. Time spent securing the supply of the drug or the opportunity to act out some behavioral compulsion, time spent planning to use or act out, time spent arranging all of the trappings and rituals one has built into using the drug or performing the action-time spent on these and all the other activities that go with the addiction must also be taken into account. When they are it is easy to see how the addict's addiction can come to fill up the entirety of the addict's life, squeezing out all else.

Life ceases to be a burden once one turns it over to one's addiction. It ceases to require decisions, since all decisions have already been made. All that's left to do is to carry out, over and over and over again, the same ritualized behaviors, leading to the same, ritualized results. The addiction now lives one's life for one, disburdening on of it.

IN A GRIM PARODY OF THE SLOGAN "ONE DAY AT AT A TIME" THE ADDICT'S LIFE GOES ON IN THAT  FASHION LONG AFTER  ALL THE LIFE HAS BEEN DRAINED OUT OF IT.

20 year Berwick Panther Reunion

Back in 92', yeah, way back when, we
had big hair, it was Berwick, even zchavarichies were in
tight rolled pants, "doo-rags on our heads",
sneakin' into Randy's, fake I.D.'s in our pants,
if you think hard, you should remember,
we had peel top cans, V.C.R.'s, microwaves weren't
in everyone's kitchen,
we are from the generation,
where when we were kids, on summer vacation,
we could ride in a Monte Carlo all weekend,
on no more than $4.50,
and the four years prior,
relationships were made,
some held strong, some didn't,
heart's were broken, it's made all the difference,
remember how serious we took that stuff,
we had the heads, the preps, and  even the "JOCKS",
but it was
on those cool fall, Friday nights,
we all cam together at those,
victory dances,
though we won maybe once,
it didnt much matter,
but when we won that game, damn,
it was like winning a championship!
cold beer, bon-fires, and that occassional fight,
it was our "GLORY YEARS" and we held on so tight,
some let go easy, while others felt like it was the end of their life,
but, we all are here except one beautiful girl,
Layla Briehn, she left us to early one unfortunate night,
but she is still with us, a glimpse of an un-fair world,
we grew up together and then we grew apart,
time flies, you know, it's been twenty-years,
but we've all really got started,
a lot of blood, sweat, and a million tears,
now, we have doctors, lawyers, welders and fitters,
engineers, salesman and some still live off their parent's riches,
but, we're here and GOD has blessed us,
thru all of these years,
to have enough love to come together,
can't lie, it's kind of wierd,
we wear name tags to be sure we know who's who,
bald heads, beer bellies, nah bra...not you,
but, whoever made the decison on graduation night,
to play that song, YOU got it right,
it is so hard to say good-bye,
to yesterday,
but so beautiful that after twenty-years
we can say we made it.
GOD BLESS!
I hope we have 20 more!

B.Perry

A NEW DAY

A new day (September 7, 2010)

fadinginto a new image
are the sad memories
of times lost to aself-inflicted
disease,
feelings rush back likeroaring
waves
cleansing those,
and my soul,
the sun shines,
it's ray's radiant heat
melts away the shadow of sadness
which used to exist...
Times like these
 exude aconfidence
within me.......HIGH,
 the highest peak of the
tallest mountain top..
Happiness (I pray) will
remain
as I travel down
my chosen,
but beautiful path,
 I do not know,
or care to know,
Only wonder,
wonder what will
be at the end...
and who's to say
I won't make a mistake,
but, as the day fades on my world,
dawn peaks thru the window(pain)
of someone,
somewhere, who feels my pain,
and it is I who feels yours,
never alone,
forever young.
--

Brad Perry

planting a wish, sowing it's worth

like a carousel

ride, I go round

and round,

a season of my life,

seeds continue to sprout

from the ground,

worthless fruit which grows without a drop,

so what is a man supposed to do,

but reap what he has sowed,

pick his crop,

then plow the ground,

plant once more and hope it's

not,

what is now beneath his toes.

planting a wish, sowing it's worth

like a carousel

ride, I go round

and round,

a season of my life,

seeds continue to sprout

from the ground,

worthless fruit which grows without a drop,

so what is a man supposed to do,

but reap what he has sowed,

pick his crop,

then plow the ground,

plant once more and hope it's

not,

what is now beneath his toes.

dream thought time

in a cut-out space of Heaven,

by myself, I don't feel alone,

thinking inside this room, I've thought,

that time heals all, but time itself,

too much time I have forgot,

in moments of grand delusion,

a magical epiphany,

time holds still for a second,

as it dances away with our dreams,

beautiful love entangled spider-webs,

catch visions for us to see,

they float like drops of Jupiter,

tho' we forget most everything.

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Parallel

relativity

a mind that breathes in the strings

of a boxed in universe,

cosmic conscience culmanates the unknown,

to see or hear within the within,

another sense,

locked in all of our brains,

answers there, but, do not see,

a cosmic conscience within,

big bang, 30 billion light years ago,

light and sound the only constant,

gaze upon the lagoon or hercules,

and see into the past,

a time machine in real time,

before our very eyes,

we see thru telescopes of time,

what happened then, happens now,

in our time,

milky way, our home, neighborhood,

boxed within a box of universe,

gravitated towards a parallel,

two skyscrapers that pull upon each other,

life, beings, different conscience, 4th or 5th deminsions,

seeing there galaxy boxed within the box that lies parallel,

to ours, and to mine.

Me and Shaquille Oneil in front of Best Buy!

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=1078829&id=100000465914215

late nights exude with
dreams set to music,
black car, broken memories,
family unknowingly understood,
cremson sunset in westward skies,
white russian, decatur street,
debit card and a smile,
alarm clock speak to me of
things you need me to hear,
black resting place I no longer
can appear,
left my watch in your bed,
you sleep for a while,
will you wear my only price,
i thought was worth given?

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Change

things don't die or remain damaged

but return: stumps grow back hands,

a head reconnects to a neck,

a whole corpse rises blushing and newly elastic.

Later this vision is not True:

the grandmother remains dead

not hibernating in a wolf's belly.

Or the blue parakeet does not return

from the little grave in the fern garden

though one may wake in the morning

thinking mother's call is the bird.

Or maybe the bird is with grandmother

inside light. Or grandmother was the bird

and is now the dog

gnawing on the chair leg.

Where do the gone things go

when the child is old enough

to walk herself to school,

her playmates already

pumping so high the swing hiccups?

FORGIVEN

HE looks down upon his sheep,
     are they gone, astray?
He calls to them,
     no answer,
He gently smiles,
    To him they are only children,
He calls again (over and over)
     until the cry for HIS SALVATION!