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posterchild4ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 113 (view)

Loss© Posted: 10/29/2009 2:11:58 PM
Silent gliding appeared to be her mode of motion, for no sounds were ever heard, save the subtle rustling of her skirt as she’d pass by. In her passing, I beheld only briefly her ageless, unlined face cropped by flowing flocks of ebony hair …wisps of her fragrance lingered as an enchanted memory upon the cool air. My senses became re-awakened and alive as I drank in the essence of her being. No, I wasn’t dreaming … but recalling. The strangling emotions in knowing I’d never again hold her … never again see her face … never again be near her, restricted my ability to breathe. My existence was lessened through reluctant acceptance of that truthful knowledge and my vision momentarily blurred as deep, involuntary sense of loss was born within me. For recurring periods of time, there is nothing else in my world, save her memory, all consuming and mesmerizing. And so it goes … day in … day out … month after agonizing month … Loss … the forever empty abyss … known only to me … she … and God.

posterchild4ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 75 (view)

Solved© Posted: 5/11/2009 10:54:23 AM
Still today, there is an illogical portion of me which believes all problems could be solved through the wonders of a summer’s day picnic with my Mother and Father.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 895 (view)

Shelter me...home Posted: 4/30/2009 1:35:40 PM
Where was it my trust was lost …? What I did to myself …? No … ‘twas the assassination of dreams by lies of those in whom I believed, and to whom I had given my very being in a gesture of loyalty and love. Oh, I’ve mended the wounds as best one can, but like a repaired broken vase, the traces of scaring still show in the lost original luster of offering oneself to another without equivocation or reservation. The most skilled of craftsmen can not ever re-assemble broken dreams.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 112 (view)

Winter Wins© Posted: 4/13/2009 10:42:20 AM
Winter is the manifest presence of the announcement of intended death of all living things. As nature intended, it is the lowered curtain on Life’s Stage. Cold, Winter’s dreadful child, seeps in as the silent assassin of warm comfort and displays its presence through exhaled vapor of those beings still managing to survive its’ slow, icy strangulation. Some, more hearty creatures, manage to survive several onslaughts of Winter, but eventually Winter wins. Always wins.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 74 (view)

Winter Wins© Posted: 4/13/2009 10:41:23 AM
Winter is the manifest presence of the announcement of intended death of all living things. As nature intended, it is the lowered curtain on Life’s Stage. Cold, Winter’s dreadful child, seeps in as the silent assassin of warm comfort and displays its presence through exhaled vapor of those beings still managing to survive its’ slow, icy strangulation. Some, more hearty creatures, manage to survive several onslaughts of Winter, but eventually Winter wins. Always wins.

posterchild4ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 111 (view)

The Most Important Thing In the World© Posted: 1/28/2009 5:27:18 PM
The easiest, most fun, most fulfilling, most enjoyable, most rewarding thing on the entire planet is: bringing it a new life. That life is a wonderment beyond description. Some of those children will help form the future. Some will find cures to diseases. A few might become famous. One or two might become global leaders. And maybe, one, every few generations or so, will change the entire world. We, as individuals don’t know which we might produce. And, I don’t believe we’d want to know, for true joy lay in other things along the way. There is no description, no way to convey the feeling a parent has when they see the light in their child’s eye that tells them they just acquired the understanding of addition or some other mathematical hypothesis. The joys can not be described of the feelings one has when first they see the understanding in their child’s eye that they have mastered riding a bicycle, hitting that high note on the trumpet, or playing a tune on the guitar all the way through without one mistake. The smiles on your child’s face at those moments can never be bought and never be taken from you it is part of the “joy-bond” you and your child create together and forever. If we teach them right and wrong; If we provide them the tools to identify friendships and the rules to which they must adhere in order to keep them; If we instill in them true values and strong ethics, it doesn’t really matter who or what they become, for we will have fulfilled our obligations to our lives, their lives and the fundamental instructions of life which we know to be just and correct. Bringing a new life into the world is a wonderful thing, but it remains only as good as the efforts and training we put into it. Who are we, if we fail our fellow man by failing that new life?

posterchild4ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 110 (view)

Subtle genius Posted: 1/18/2009 5:27:31 AM
AlwaysDreaming and CountryLivin' ... I truly am awed at the depth of understanding and comprehension of life and living that the two of you paint with your words. I can only describe it as subtle genius, for there are few who can relate their feelings to others in such a profound a meaningful way ... thank you so much for sharing here for You, I and Life. Pc4U

posterchild4ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 867 (view)

A Tear ... Posted: 1/15/2009 4:44:13 PM
The trickle is felt on the upper cheek, then past the nose, and downward as it crosses the corner of the mouth, then, from the chin, the tear falls. It lands, leaving a wet dot upon a cotton sleeve, and then continues it’s demise. But … The fading spot that had been a tear, doesn’t convey the original reason it fell, and as it fades it silently screams of it’s origin – lost to all but the originator … and … God.

posterchild4ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 851 (view)

Seasons© Posted: 1/4/2009 10:48:15 PM
Seasons The summer days give way to fall Albeit it, reluctantly And leaves gather on the ground As the summers’ eulogy. And Fall announces what’s to come As trees their branches bare Of last springs’ life they’ve shed And Autumn fills the air. Just months ahead is Winter With snows so cold and bleak And life recedes within the trees Their former leaves antique But just beyond again lies Spring When life begins anew And we’ll enjoy that life As we bid last year: adieu.

posterchild4ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 106 (view)

The Seasons© Posted: 1/4/2009 10:45:19 PM
Seasons The summer days give way to fall Albeit it, reluctantly And leaves gather on the ground As the summers’ eulogy. And Fall announces what’s to come As trees their branches bare Of last springs’ life they’ve shed And Autumn fills the air. Just months ahead is Winter With snows so cold and bleak And life recedes within the trees Their former leaves antique But just beyond again lies Spring When life begins anew And we’ll enjoy that life As we bid last year: adieu.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 848 (view)

Shelter me...home Posted: 12/18/2008 7:40:05 PM
It wasn’t so bad to be dead, I found. In fact it was rather peaceful … until I “came back” to “this side” again. But … The experience most definitely makes one think …I discovered I never understood what I REALLY appreciated … until now. Now, when I write about “seeing” … it has an entirely new meaning, a genre all unto itself. The opaque and cloudy have become transparent, because much of it I find now never had any true worth or meaning, and I floundered for no reason save that which I invented. In a very physical sense, my life has re-begun. And … I’m liking it …

posterchild4ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 105 (view)

The End© Posted: 8/29/2008 4:45:07 PM
It’s then we realize: Oh, my god! It’s over. The certainty of it slams into our conscientiousness like a run-away freight train. It’s no longer: What we were going to do tomorrow – for there is no tomorrow. It is the irreparable facts of what we did in all our yesterdays, and, it is their path that has brought us to the doorway we just stepped through. At last, as the hot brand of “The End” burns into the final remnants of our brain, we finally understand what all the “sign posts” in our past meant about changing what we were doing before “The End” came. Maybe we should have listened, for it’s lonely on the other side.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 16 (view)

Who is that person in the mirror? Posted: 7/27/2008 10:44:20 PM
I wrote this sometime ago ... and have posted it in other threads, before I found this one. At any rate, I think it "fits" here, in this thread, and I'm so happy someone started it ... PC4U The Mirror© Sunshine shoots through the windows and fills the house with grace, Ricochets around the room and finds my weathered face. Standing at a mirror I see refracted light On wrinkles, lines and eyes of mine reflected to my sight. The youth that once looked back at me Has gone – I know not where – in vain I search the glass, and find: No … it isn’t there. Instead I see the wrinkles – they are stress of many years Produced by times of doubt and my unfounded fears. My eyes see lines and furrows as they track across my face Hard times are buried there as my eyes complete the trace. At the corners of my eyes I see a pair of old “crows feet” They’re etched there forever from those times my life was sweet. A lifetime full of memories comes bouncing off the glass A memory consumes me - as I feel still more time pass. In the Winter of a lifetime, ‘tis memories that come to stay Oh, thank God I have them – pray they never go away. I turn from my glass mirror – that used to be my friend As thoughts of those reflections I try to comprehend. My face it is my diary of experience I’ve had And then I tell myself: “You know … those lines … they really aren’t so bad.”

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 16 (view)

Mothers Day without Mum. Posted: 7/27/2008 10:37:26 PM
Mom Daily there were clothes to wash The load count was always five Then there were the meals to fix So her children could survive She swept the floors and dusted And washed dishes – mountains high Back then no conditioned air In the hot days of July. With a needle and some thread She mended family clothes And as she sewed she rarely thought Of sorrows or of woes. Grocery shopping was another thing Of her chores each week Always she wore gingham In a dress way past antique The hours they turned into days, And the days turned into weeks As the weeks went into years They brought lines onto her cheeks And roughened hands and furrowed brow And gray steaks in her hair Then, her children grown and gone, She found her rocking chair. And as she sat there rocking Looking backward at her past She knew she’d done God’s calling And her job was done … at last The creaking of the rocking chair Was music to her ears And daily she relived the life Of all her prior years She had lived life fully From childhood through her prime Right up to when The chair claimed all her time. No more mounds of dishes No more mountains’ clothes And with a smile in a rocking chair Her life came to it’s close.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 73 (view)

Try It Posted: 7/27/2008 10:19:58 PM
(from PosterChild4Ugly, by Rich) Is it possible to place too much faith in someone or something? If we feel betrayed, was it because our expectations were out of the realm of reality of attainment or containment? Did we, in fact, bring the feeling of betrayal upon ourselves? The answer to all these questions is: No … if we did our emotional homework thoroughly aforethought. No human being and no material thing are infallible, and that includes those persons, places and things we see as “perfect”, and we logically know that. It is only when emotions enter into the equation that expectations go awry, i.e.: left becomes right, up becomes down and “yes”, turns into “no”. The truth is: we are not reared by any individual or any institution to cope with our intangible emotions as well as we are reared to cope with those issues identified by our five physical senses. An example: We know that Mom and Dad and other family members warned us: When we touch a red-hot heating element on a stove, our sense of touch is going to inform us it’s hot, and … it hurts. We very quickly learn not to touch red-hot heating elements on a stove. When coming in contact with a date we feel is “hot”, we may fall hook, line and sinker for that individual … only to discover sometime later our feelings were not reciprocated. The irony of such an encounter is: We continue to repeat those actions, over and over again, because we’ve not been educated on how to identify a “true” emotionally compatible companion BEFORE we “fall” for them. Granted, to approach a potential partner – no matter the longevity involved in the potential relationship – with a “logical” measuring stick rather than an emotional one, may tend to dilute romance. But, that diluted process is only temporary. If one does their “emotional homework’ first, the chances of tears and fears are greatly reduced later on. There is no guarantee that even with a logical approach there won’t be the possibility of heartache later on, but, that approach most definitely reduces the odds of an encounter with emotional pain at some future date. Emotional rapists live in this world, too. And … they WORK at destroying those victims who fall into their very well-oiled traps. The trick is in learning how to identify them BEFORE we risk becoming another of their victims, and avoiding their well planned but hidden agendas. Our pain, physical or emotional, is to be avoided if at all possible. Life is hard enough without the complications of emotionally draining relationships, especially for single parents. Even worse, when emotional damage due to a failed or problematic relationship is encountered, the havoc from such damage can easily spill over onto and into children, initiating a self-perpetuating set of circumstances that can only spiral downward for all involved. When, after multiple attempts to find a meaningful relationship have ended in emotional turmoil, one should reassess the approach used. If we’ve been meeting persons we consider as “being of interest” within pubs or bars or gin joints, we need to stop doing that. We need to find a completely different forum and venue in which to search for a companion. Try meeting people here, on POF … or at church … or political rallies or fund raisers … or at a sporting event. The point here is: If what we are doing is NOT providing us with the results we want, obviously we HAVE to change what we are doing! It doesn’t matter so much WHERE we go as long as we VACATE where we’ve been, and vow never to return there – physically, mentally and emotionally. Hey … what do we have to lose? We know we’ve not had the results we wanted … at least not yet, so why not try something new … ANYthing new … we’ve just got to break the mold we’ve been ricocheting around in (and getting nowhere, except “Tear City”) and try a different approach – and if that one doesn’t work, we’ll try yet another approach. The only “rule” is: Don’t EVER go back to the original approach – ‘cause we already know: It don’t work!

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 775 (view)

Shelter Me...HOME Posted: 7/24/2008 10:41:00 PM
Always Dreaming ... I had a chance to visit my old high school this past weekend, and oh my ... what an experience standing in a hallway with not a sound other than my breathing ... Thought I'd share it with you ... PC4U Forever Holding Hands .... Worn slick and smooth by millions of student footsteps, the deeply furrowed stairs stand silent, the sentinel of subdued memory. The highly polished hallway floors reflect light slivers from unseen windows, and share them with adjacent walls, all, without sound. As I stand in the midst of the deafening silence, an involuntary tear traces across my cheek signifying the track of my minds’ wandering through its’ vast storage of recollected memory of … These stairs; This hallway. I haven’t moved, but memory fills the hallways with sounds of shuffling feet, staccato shouts, laughter, locker doors slamming and the invisible mass of moving and varied faces of classmates swarming about and past me. As suddenly as they appeared, they are gone. Again the hallway returns to being just a hallway, the stairs, just a worn group of boards. It is the presence of my memories that revitalized the area around me. No one will ever feel my exact same memories within this exact same hallway or of these worn old stairs. I am overwhelmed by a sadness born in knowledge of the passage of entire generations of persons that had traveled up and down these stairs and traversed this very hallway – some of whom I will never see again, and others whom I will only see maybe once or twice more in the remainder of my lifetime. The school’s stairs and hallway will vanish as all man-made structures will, the memories, too, will one day be gone, but what transpired within this school can not be contained by any boundary created by man. We have but one opportunity to trespass on the time owned by the ages, and to share the journey with those we call classmates. If we are very, very lucky, those classmates remain with us until we are melded into the eternities, as footsteps of the past … forever holding hands.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 71 (view)

Forever Holding Hands© Posted: 7/24/2008 10:27:39 PM
Worn slick and smooth by millions of student footsteps, the deeply furrowed stairs stand silent, the sentinel of subdued memory. The highly polished hallway floors reflect light slivers from unseen windows, and share them with adjacent walls, all, without sound. As I stand in the midst of the deafening silence, an involuntary tear traces across my cheek signifying the track of my minds’ wandering through its’ vast storage of recollected memory of … These stairs; This hallway. I haven’t moved, but memory fills the hallways with sounds of shuffling feet, staccato shouts, laughter, locker doors slamming and the invisible mass of moving and varied faces of classmates swarming about and past me. As suddenly as they appeared, they are gone. Again the hallway returns to being just a hallway, the stairs, just a worn group of boards. It is the presence of my memories that revitalized the area around me. No one will ever feel my exact same memories within this exact same hallway or of these worn old stairs. I am overwhelmed by a sadness born in knowledge of the passage of entire generations of persons that had traveled up and down these stairs and traversed this very hallway – some of whom I will never see again, and others whom I will only see maybe once or twice more in the remainder of my lifetime. The school’s stairs and hallway will vanish as all man-made structures will, the memories, too, will one day be gone, but what transpired within this school can not be contained by any boundary created by man. We have but one opportunity to trespass on the time owned by the ages, and to share the journey with those we call classmates. If we are very, very lucky, those classmates remain with us until we are melded into the eternities, as footsteps of the past … forever holding hands.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 583 (view)

Your Dreams© Posted: 7/24/2008 12:17:48 PM
In the Dark of Night, when all is still And heat’s humidity is the swill That adds odors to the musty smell Of black dankness in the Moors of Hell No winds nor any wisp of air Disturbs the evil lurking there And within the sewer of the moat Rotted things do stir and float From dead trees does Evil ooze And mists from it arise in hues Of sickly yellow and putrid green The promised pain completes the scene There are You, invited in To recommence the trek again To run the gauntlet of life past Where sharp, stinging things are cast By a mind that never lets them go, Those horrid things that haunt you so And that’s the way it will always be: Your dreams from now through eternity.

posterchild4ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 70 (view)

Final One© Posted: 6/8/2008 6:00:26 AM
Before World War 2, a little boy was born And the family count was five Rejoicing was: Word of the Day, A good time to be alive Then came The War in Germany And the husband/Dad was gone The family count was down to four But still, they carried on The kids grew up, and helped their Mom With chores, and paying jobs But Times were hard and difficulties Often came in globs. Then came the call: The oldest son Died where he’d gone to ski Sadness and misery The family dwindled down to three Hard times and tragedies Continued to accrue … Then God called the Mom away, Now there’s only two. Today my only sister passed away in sleep It cannot be undone Now the little family Has come down to me: I’m the final one.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 130 (view)

Almost 50 and starting to hate mirrors Posted: 5/3/2008 12:51:16 AM
Well, maybe the mirror isn't the "friend" it once was but ... The Mirror© Sunshine shoots through the windows and fills the house with grace, Ricochets around the room and finds my weathered face. Standing at a mirror I see refracted light On wrinkles, lines and eyes of mine reflected to my sight. The youth that once looked back at me Has gone – I know not where – in vain I search the glass, and find: No … it isn’t there. Instead I see the wrinkles – they are stress of many years Produced by times of doubt and my unfounded fears. My eyes see lines and furrows as they track across my face Hard times are buried there as my eyes complete the trace. At the corners of my eyes I see a pair of old “crows feet” They’re etched there forever from those times my life was sweet. A lifetime full of memories comes bouncing off the glass A memory consumes me - as I feel still more time pass. In the Winter of a lifetime, ‘tis memories that come to stay Oh, thank God I have them – pray they never go away. I turn from my glass mirror – that used to be my friend As thoughts of those reflections I try to comprehend. My face it is my diary of experience I’ve had And then I tell myself: “You know … those lines … they really aren’t so bad.” j. hogan clark - 2001

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 104 (view)

Retreat© Posted: 5/2/2008 9:34:57 PM
There is a Place indigenous to each of us which we seek, and go to, on those occasions when everything and everyone else is perceived as having failed us. It is our cocoon of safety, our refuge of last resort, our inter sanctum of conscious retreat and analytic thought. We use it seldom, thankfully, because when we enter into that seeking process, it is at a time when Life is blackest and Hope is dim and woefully thin. It is in that cubby-hole of self-solicitous retreat where we can find absolute and total truth. It is within that realm where we are no longer able to lie to ourselves, and all self-serving and falsely fabricated justifications are swept aside and ignored. … and it is where we can examine the essence of our very being and perhaps as close as we’ll ever get to seeing and touching our own souls. In that sacred environment we can find our answers.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 103 (view)

Humbled Supremacy© Posted: 4/23/2008 1:35:57 PM
Those dedicated and gifted teachers who for years struggled with difficult students; survived the unfairness of academia’s systems; tolerated the ineptitude of higher authority and made an unworkable curriculum work … need to know this: Your name has been spoken in every foreign land on this planet by former students who studied abroad, who lived abroad or were members of the military; The education you have provided survives and flourishes in every major field of endeavor from Bangkok to Bangor through those you have taught; You live in every accomplishment, every success and every venture that each and every student has undertaken that you instructed during your tenure in that most exalted profession: Teacher. As long as your former students breathe, your name and what you provided for them will be in existence, for you will live through them. When you retire, and you seek other adventures, always carry with you the unalterable knowledge that it was you that changed the world though your efforts, your caring and your dedication to your students. God bless teachers, for without them accomplishments and the betterment of the human race would not exist.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 102 (view)

Youth Versus Maturity© Posted: 4/21/2008 2:28:25 PM
It seems to me that Youth on it’s journey to maturity, and due to it’s penchant to be clad in rainbows and desire to seek substance-less glitter, has but a small chance to reach it’s goal, until slapped hard by sobering experience and harsh reality. Persons and events that prevent those slaps from occurring, keep Youth in a suspended and perpetual state of adolescence and immaturity, and therefore a lifetime of hardship, disappointment and failure.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 69 (view)

You Were© Posted: 4/20/2008 9:37:55 PM
At the crest of a hill dotted with the visible tips of large, buried boulders surrounded by lush green grass, you stand, witnessing the ever increasing bright intensity of golden sunrise turning into a brilliant yellow. You squint from the onslaught of intense light and a hand rises nearly involuntarily to shield your eyes. The world comes alive before your very eyes. Flowers begin to lean toward the light; Birds begin their songs of the day; small creatures vacate their homes and nests and begin their daily foraging; Morning breezes begin their journeys’ to … everywhere; Dew begins to evaporate as the suns rays converts the coolness they contain. The future unfolds before you, just as history slides aside, and you transcend them both, and wonder: At some time hence, will there be another life standing where you are now, witnessing the magical phenomenon you’re enjoying? And … will they realize, as you do, that someone else may have stood on this very hilltop long, long ago … and saw these same endlessly cycled miracles of Life? Is it important to us to know, on some future date, at some location on this earth that someone else should know: You were here; You lived an entire lifetime before theirs ever began; That you cared; That you, too, left footprints in the sand. That you …“were”.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 68 (view)

Life’s Tide© Posted: 4/16/2008 10:22:04 PM
As a younger man I walked in dreams But few turned out, so it seems And somewhere in Life’s foray They got lost along way Why were they lost, or where they be Are inconsequentially Without substance or even name With which to lay a claim Of evidence of thoughts long past Of lost legacy of fame to cast My minds footprints of my stride Washed away with Life’s tide.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 67 (view)

STUFF© Posted: 4/16/2008 5:35:50 PM
Stuff: … I’ve bought, sold, burned, given away, thrown out, discarded, crushed, rejuvenated, restored and reworked all kinds of “stuff” in my life time, and STILL have tons of “stuff” left over. For years upon years accumulation of this “stuff” was a priority for me. Every estate sale, every auction, every antique sale, every garage/yard/rummage sale … I was sure I had been pre-ordained to attend. After all, “people” loved to look at this “stuff” which became my possessions through such attendances. You’ve no doubt read or even seen the great mountainous regions of earth, such as the Andes or the Alps or the Great Rocky Mountains. Well, I’ve possessed and destroyed at least seven such mountain ranges – and all of them appeared in my garage at differing times of my life. There was the “Anti-Q” Mountain Range of the mid 1970’s, comprised solely of “stuff” aged 30 years and older. This mountain range was destroyed by “Lack of Continued Interest” (a mental disease of unknown origin – but deadly to such mountain ranges none-the-less). This mountain range was followed by the “Any-and-All Collectibles” Mountain Range, and while large, its’ life span was of much shorter duration, as it fell victim to the “Where-the-Hell-Has-My-Money-Gone” Virus, (remnants of this specific various is dormant, but relapses have been known to occur from time to time). Luckily most of this mountain range was “sold”. The last mountain range was the “What-the-Hell-Is-This-Junk-and-Where-Did-It-All-Come-From” Mountain Range. Though greatly reduced, this particular mountain range is still in evidence, albeit to a much smaller degree. (Atop this mountain range is a seriously faded stuffed pillow with sparkly fringe, that has the words: “You Were Here” and a stitched outline of something no longer decipherable. This pillow is mindful of an inedible cherry on top of an even more inedible sundae). Why this “stuff” is still with me has complete been eradicated from my mind by a mysterious malady called “I No Longer Care”. Over the decades I found need and justification to relocate my residences many times. Each time I did so, to move all my "stuff" I would hire an independent moving company, (because I thought I’d get a better ‘deal’ and I wanted to help stimulate the local economy). I believe it to be a Law of Man, that independent moving companies MUST be owned and operated by a converted tribe of semi-literate mountain gorillas. (The mother of the members of these gorilla bands changes semi-tractor trailer tires at the local truck stop – and she doesn’t need or use a jack or a wrench, just her bare hands.) I believe this to be true because I have actual photographs of mangled, crushed, twisted, maimed, broken, gouged, scarred and bent possessions that were physically man-handled by these various and marauding gorilla bands. One of these photos depicts a BENT-double angle-iron bed frame railing. Superman had better hope he never meets the moving guy gorilla-dude who bent this railing, ‘cause his “stronger than a locomotive” crap is gonna be challenged. I understand these people are actually allowed to walk our streets and even pro-create. You talk about a diluted gene-pool. Geez. But I regress. All kidding aside, we all possess such “stuff”, and, like me, there comes a point in time when we stop and reassess our reasons and motivations for having accumulated all this paraphernalia around us. We don’t need it. And, if we really look hard, we don’t even want it any longer. You’ll find just how important to others these things are, when you get “no takers” when you try to give it away. So, it remains just … our “stuff. Over the years I’ve found my “stuff” no longer carries the import nor priority that once it did. Oh, there are those material possessions I will always hold onto – but they are the heirlooms of relatives and ancestors, not things that I have purchased that belonged to someone else, and hold no nostalgic value for me. It seems now my only interest, where material possessions are concerned, are those items in which I have a personally invested nostalgia. Everything else is just … “stuff”. But when I am gone, so will be the memories that prompted my reasons and justification for holding onto those heirlooms – because I can still see “Mom” using that rocking chair, and I can still hear Dad thumping his cigar ashes in to that old, ugly glass ashtray, and I can remember my Grandmother washing those dishes. But, no one else has those recollections or memories, and my “priceless” heirlooms will then become just more … “stuff” to those who don’t possess the memories to go with them, which for me elevated their value to above that of “priceless”. And our hands, having writ, moves to another page …

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 66 (view)

Importance© Posted: 4/16/2008 4:24:32 PM
If you were to put to paper all your experiences, all your dreams, all your accomplishments and all those things you WANTED to accomplish … how much space would be required … how many reams of paper would such an undertaken endeavor require? Cemeteries do it with a single dash – placed between your birth and death dates on a tombstone. Is that realization humbling, or what? Maybe we weren’t as important as we thought, eh?

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 64 (view)

Mattered Not© Posted: 4/14/2008 11:10:14 PM
When I was aboard ship during a portion of my military service as a young man, the eternal vastness of the ocean, coupled with the endless umbrella of nighttime stars was humbling. On many occasions I would make my way to the main deck of the ship, and stand by the railing at night. The black water, disturbed by the ships passing, would twinkle with phosphorescence, and the bow waves would sparkle like blue-green diamonds. But it was the water and stars that were truly awe inspiring. It was not until I witnessed that incalculable surface of water and limitless expanse of heavens that I understood the miniscule insignificance of man. There was I, small, irrelevant and inconsequential to the turning of the world looking at an immensity I, nor any living thing could ever truly grasp. Oh, my. I would not give anything for that experience. No sounds and no light save the billions upon billons of stars. I’m quite sure that uninterrupted silence was the quiet heartbeat of God. But I was born and raised in Missouri, landlocked to my heritage which always beckoned me home, for I missed the seasons on the land and all the wonders they held. In each of the 66 years I’ve been allowed to breath on this earth, Spring has managed to at last fight it’s way through Winter, and bring sunshine and warmth back into my, and everyone else’s, life. This year is no different. What a blessing to see those itsy-bitsy green sprouts on the seemingly “dead” tree branches in the yard, or across the way, promising, promising. Robins’ turn their heads in order to present one eye to passerby’s while they hop across muddied but grass sprouting yards and parks in search for sustenance. It goes on. One year slowly nudging the next into eternity, and each generation takes its’ turn watching the transition. One day we will join the vast wonders of that which we could never grasp while visiting this earth, for we were filled with busy actions, duties and responsibilities that mattered not.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 63 (view)

Build, destroy, rebuild Posted: 4/14/2008 6:11:39 PM
TNT and Crystal ... I remain amazed at the talents you possess - and the seeming ease with which you convey your thoughts through the printed word ... I always enjoy your entries here, as I'm sure do the other POF patrons who happen by ... PC4U

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 60 (view)

Build, destroy, rebuild Posted: 4/13/2008 10:58:06 PM
We build our defenses against the emotional rapists, and huddle behind the ramparts protected by the moat of painfully remembered, but dead, floating relationships – which remain our proof and justifications to never go there again. Beware, indeed, and rightfully so. Facades of humor, or aloofness, or pseudo work further our defensive stances, and forbid entry by another. But the loving infant boy or girl in each of us longs to trust, and provide - and receive -love. Living behind a moat protected rampart, does nothing to re-enforce the belief that we can ever trust again. It serves only to prolong our emotional self-preservation. In our future, so great will the basic human need to trust and be trusted, to love and in return be loved, that first a window will be allowed, then, after a period of observation, so will there be a door constructed in our ramparts … and a drawbridge of faith extended across our moat. All this will occur because man is not meant to be an island unto himself, and the deep ancestral need to commune and interact with societal peers, in the end, will prevail. Our caution will be heightened and honed to a high degree, and our antenna, (searching for betrayal), will be hooked to our alarm system, activating our retreat mechanisms at the slightest justification. The final result will be: Another life; Another love; and more enduring trust, but the cost of the trip to find them will have been high, i.e., heart ache, tears, pain, irreplaceable loss of precious time, and needless self-evaluation – because the emotional rapist we dealt with was not of our doing, but theirs.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 58 (view)

A Gentle Friend© Posted: 4/13/2008 7:59:06 PM
It only takes about five solitary minutes, if there are no disturbances from doorbells, cell phones, or television sets; For it to happen, there must be nothing but a single source of uninterrupted music. The music must be that which you, personally, have selected to be reproduced. It should be a mix of slow and up-beat tunes, inter-disbursed one with the other. The tunes, however, must be those that have special meaning for just you – they must trigger memories of specific moments in your life the instant you hear them. It doesn’t have to be in a darkened room, but, it’s better if it is. It is imperative that you be totally relaxed, and lying down. Turn on the device that will reproduce the music for you. Close your eyes. As the notes of that first tune invade your mind your journey begins … The melodies erase more and more years as they tap on the Doors of Memories … and as those doors crack open, cherished faces and familiar places lift out of the lessening fog as bided … Recalled laughter and smiles begin to intermix with the misty melody, and the two become inseparable … the touch of hands … a warm, soft caress … a dance … a stolen kiss … The music beckons more memories … There’s a walk in the moonlight … a soiled shirt, from a spilled drink … a broken heel off her shoe … again, there’s laughter The graduation dance … the first fraternity or sorority party … The military … the homecomings … Mom and Dad, sis and brother … A magical courtship … a wedding day and reception … the honeymoon … A child’s birth … followed by a birthday party … and a graduation day … That memorable vacation … a tragedy of loss … a recovery … These and so many more wonders, glide effortlessly across the musical stair-steps that take you up and down their twisting path … then … you seamlessly slide into restful sleep and pursue the pleasantries the music brings to you … Music. A gentle friend of us all.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 57 (view)

Did It Matter?© Posted: 4/2/2008 9:31:07 PM
Did it matter? …I mean, we get on the merry-go-round, watch the sights as they go by, interact with a few people along the way, then we get off at the end of the ride. It’s over. Other than having children and starting them out on their merry-go-round ride, what does the average person accomplish in the period between birth and death? (The significance on a tombstone (1851 – 1901) is the “dash” between the two dates, because that’s where all the life was consumed, and it seems to me that “dash” should be a lot bigger and a lot longer). Looking back at the dusty trail that is our lifetime, what did we leave of importance to our posterity along the roadside? Each of us must answer that question, at least unto ourselves, sometime before we die.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 580 (view)

Johnsons Woods© Posted: 4/2/2008 9:11:22 PM
I don't know about the rest of you, but I am continually impressed by the writing skills of those who post here ... just magnificent works ... some are insightful, others of misty vagueness, and still others are so humorous. I thank you all for makin' my reading that much more enjoyable ... PC4U

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 101 (view)

Side Effects ... Posted: 4/1/2008 3:12:34 PM
A “side-effect” of global warming (we’re already starting to see human inhabited islands that are losing their shorelines as seas begin to permanently encroach upon their shores), is one that I’ve thought about, but a topic on which I’ve seen no commentary. Here’s the scenario: If, here in the United States, both coasts and the coast of the Gulf of Mexico, begin to lose shoreline from the swelling size of the oceans and Gulf waters, then those persons in low lying areas and those on or near the shoreline, will lose their homes. That means there will be a influx of “displaced persons” to other locales within the U.S.A.. If large numbers of these “displaced persons” elect to move to the mid-America region where many crops are grown to fed America and the rest of the world, then there could be a loss of crop-producing land, which will be converted to homes or apartment dwelling sites. That land is already being “eyed” as corn fields for the purpose of producing ethanol for fuel to run our cars and other equipment. It looks to me like we may have to make a decision somewhere along the line, and maybe these will be our choices to pick from, i.e.,: 1. Retain the land as crop-producing so we can all have something to eat, but have no place to live and no fuel with which to power our cars, or, 2. Plant the land with ethanol generating corn, so we can drive our vehicles, but have no place to live and nothing to eat, or, 3. Sell the land for housing and apartment complex construction, so we have somewhere to live, but can’t drive our cars, or have anything to eat. Are we slowly coming to the point where we are going to be forced to examine the vicious circle we’ve created from our gluttony and self-indulgences? Gee … you mean somethings ARE finite? Well, I’ll be. Who’d-a-thunk? When we’ve finally eaten, sold, burned, polluted and maimed all the land we call our country … guess what? We can’t go to the local “Country Store” and get a new one. It’ll just be … gone.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 100 (view)

Heart Wrenching Decisions© Posted: 3/31/2008 11:09:22 AM
He was an older, retired man, living on nothing more than a very small Social Security fixed income, and was at the brink of becoming “aged”, and he had health problems … potentially serious ones. He was also an American Veteran, (from the Vietnam Era, as the Veterans’ Administration terms that particular part of American history). As a veteran he was entitled to Veterans Administration benefits, and one of those was medical, (but not dental or eyeglass), coverage. This coverage wasn’t “free”, but it was provided at a substantially reduced price, with a “co-pay” arrangement between the veteran and the Veterans’ Administration. The old man heard from one of the VA doctors that a malady the old man was experiencing could have fatal results, if an expensive operation were not performed. Such an operation would include a “hefty co-pay” assessment that would seriously impact his meager income. Upon hearing the news the old man replied: “Then, I’ll just have to die. I’m on a fixed income, Doc. That limited income provides me but few things, but few as they are, I enjoy them immensely. Were I to have the operation you mention, I would enlist a debt that would all but destroy the levels of enjoyment I am now able to experience. So, if I am faced with a decision of a longer life without the benefits of my current life style, or … a shorter life with the pleasures I now enjoy … I’d have to make my decision for the latter. I just can’t see living longer just so I can pay a creditor, when I could enjoy what time I otherwise have in the company of my remaining friends without additional indebtedness. Quality of life means more to me that it’s length.” So, he didn’t have the operation. The old man enjoyed the three years he had left, and, at the time of his death was smiling, and, I might ad: debt free. It is a tragedy of our age that people are forced to make such horrific decisions.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 99 (view)

Another Ride Posted: 3/23/2008 7:30:07 PM
“It’s my life! I’ll do what I want with it!” I’ve heard that said time and again, but actually our lives are only rented, not owned. If everything we see, do and know in life, is cyclical, then why not Life itself? If the moisture in the air turns to vapor, and condenses as clouds, and falls as rain to again become a vapor and continue the endless process all over again … why can’t a similar process be applied to the essence of Life? My theory: Somewhere there are endless lines of Lives. The roller-coasters of Life stop, lets off former passengers, and re-fills with new ones, then takes off again. The chain is endless and unceasing. When you get off one of Life’s roller coasters, you immediately go to the back of the line, pickup your new ticket, and wait to board again. It may be this year, or next century, or in another millennium all together, just depends on how long the “line” has become. Oh, and another thing, there’s no guarantee what universe or country you’ll end up in, or what parents, or what color you’ll be, or what religion (if any) to which you’ll adhere. It’s the Grand Daddy of all lotteries. So, you never “own” the ride, or the experiences on it. You just “rent” the ride, and take your chances. Geez … you may have already been on this roller coaster a million times before! Okay … hold on … Here we go!

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 3 (view)

Built Walls© Posted: 3/22/2008 5:55:11 PM
The walls we build are made from Bricks – emotion fired Restricting entry of more pain In which we have been mired Each brick has a name, and maybe A special face We shaped and named those bricks When in our wall were placed: “Cheater”; “Liar”; “Infidelity” Are ones we all have made And burning hot were those bricks When in the wall were laid. The wall perhaps was built by us Several years ago But memories of our pain Prevents our letting go But there’s a little girl within you A little boy in me And we so need to love Oh, most desperately ‘Tis those innocent children who Still believe in love But dare not risk the fate Which they are fearful of: Shattered hearts; broken dreams; Hurts; the tears and pain And ‘tis our defensive wall That nastiness restrains Time passes, old pain engulfs In mist Our basic loving needs - demands That we be kissed And our hands are held, and caresses There bestowed So with such need, we lower The fence that we have sewed Once again we test Our vulnerability Slowly do we do it, Oh, so cautiously We know we can’t survive Living in a “shell” But sometimes it’s better Than emotional hell Maybe we will find someone Who wears a trusting crown But neither you or I Will take our built walls down

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 2 (view)

Ourselves Posted: 3/22/2008 5:01:26 PM
A caress, softer than cloud shadows Is all we dare desire For intimate involvement filled with All of passions’ fire Might sear away the feelings We need to keep us sane Or like a moth, be consumed By the heat of passions’ flame. The One we need is out there But fearful are we still To drop our guard, reveal ourselves No, we can’t trust them … ‘til … Our confidence of who we are Our belief: The best will be When we get past the Hurt Inflicted recently Only then, when scars are healed When our self-confidence resumes Can we enjoy again All of Life’s perfumes And to all who inflict our wounds Now in healing states Know that somewhere up ahead A crushing fate awaits.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 486 (view)

POF Limericks Posted: 3/22/2008 11:02:05 AM
Scawler ... Your wit is becoming legendary ... thorougly enjoy your posts here, and elsewhere ... PC4U

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 97 (view)

My Life’s Ship© Posted: 3/22/2008 10:28:42 AM
My mind was loosed from its’ moorings And demanded to float free My thoughts were then assimilated By a theory I could not see Controlled, then would I follow Thoughtless and expressionless be For that is the way of religions The dictate of their deity. No longer permitted to question Myths or miracles read Blindly was I to follow All that the deity said. So it had been with my parents And with my grandparents, too Just accepting words written down By earthmen that they never knew. Authority never questioned, Unchallenged in total control Is not a world to live in While I am taking Life’s stroll Religion is but a theory Conjured by shaman of old To explain phenomenon When no explanations unfold I believe there is a Power A mere mortal can’t understand Maybe it’s too immense, Or small as a grain of sand I’ll never see that Power Nor will any of you But I’ll no longer fret about What in the next world to do Around me the world is in turmoil Too many things that are vexed Fix the things in this world Before we consider the Next. So, for me, I’ll take my mind back Out of religions grip And once again I’ll be The master of my life’s ship.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 56 (view)

Fight He Can© Posted: 3/21/2008 4:22:31 PM
He walked into the barroom He was standin’ proud’n tall Didn’t say too much I see, ‘fact, he didn’t speak at all. Wasn’t dressed like “normal” No cowboy hat, or boots An’ didn’t even take one Of offered bar cheroots He ordered him a draft And began to suck his suds Twas then he was approached By some local “studs” “We don’t want you in here”, One of the locals spit, “We don’t like your looks, Besides, you smell like sht”. Quietly his beer sat down The Stranger slowly turned And deep inside him His rage began to burn As he faced them, With shoulders wide and stout His rage was building to a peak Soon, he’d let it out On his face a scar… Across one eye and down a cheek He looked them all up and down, But still … he didn’t speak “Get you’re a* out of here!”, The local speaker said “’Cuz if you don’t I’m tellin’ ya’ You’re gonna wish that you was dead!” The Stranger at the bar there Only moved his eyes ‘Twas these kinds of a**holes He really did despise. Then a local rushed the Stranger And felt his cheekbone break When he hit the floor No longer was he awake The second local right behind Heard his sternum snap As most his ribs Turned instantly to scrap Martial art was tried Of karate kick Both legs were broke Bones through his pants did stick Finally the “speaker” screamed As a fist he threw A broken arm at the socket The arm twisted and askew. All four locals lay whimpering Lying on the floor The Stranger drank his beer Then headed for the door But just before he left I heard myself inquire: “I’ve seen quick fightin’ But … how did you acquire …?” He stopped in his tracks, And faced me man to man “Those skills I’ve used in Iraq, But I hope not in Iran …” “All fightin’ should be avoided At least that’s how I feel … But if I’m forced to fight … I can, See … I’m a Navy Seal.”

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 55 (view)

Flaws© Posted: 3/21/2008 10:29:06 AM
There’s a filter on my water, I filter my room’s air The FDA watches things I eat If not …I wouldn’t dare! There’s “filters” for the airwaves that sift obscenities But the commentator windbags They still say what they please. With all this censored “filter-ship” I just can’t understand Why there’s still corruption In governance of our Land. An’ why there’s geed and avarice We all agree is bad When hungry kids are in our streets And in ragged clothes are clad Why is it our businesses send Jobs out overseas Why indeed would they do that, Don’t the hear our workers’ pleas? Why’s the American Dollar Worth less each passing day What is it our government About that facts’ to say? Outrageous price of gasoline And heating oil too With our jobs and houses gone What’s America to do? Everyday there is a wreath Upon a neighbors door We’ve lost another serviceman I fear there will be more. Yes, we can place our filters And initiate new laws But first I think we do indeed Need repair existing flaws.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 576 (view)

Johnsons Woods© Posted: 3/21/2008 6:37:35 AM
And that’s the way it’s always been, An’ I guess will always be But that don’t mean those things are right They could be contrary So if you go to Johnson’s Woods An’ start “stirrin’ up this stew”, There’s some things you need to know An’ I’m remindin’ you: That Billy Ray Thompson boy You know he’s out there yet You goin’ out to find him Might be somethin’ you’ll regret You can talk about those eerie screams An’ what their source might be But, if I was you, I’d turn blue ‘Fore I’d go out to see. Marv LaMesa you recall Showed them bleached-white bones An’ said they was all ‘twas left Of our Reverend Jones An’ don’t forget that knife they found Out near Willow Creek Of such decadence, decent Folks won’t speak Just last night ‘round my house Was tracks so deep and wide Three-toed tracks with claws Hell …I went back inside Now you can go on lookin’ I won’t stop your search But I’m goin’ to the creek An’ fish me up some perch. I don’t think that you should go Into Johnson’s Woods I’m thinkin’ what is in there Just couldn’t be too good. Yep, you can have adventure An’ your opinions too, But if you don’t come out of there I’ll not look for you. And that’s the way it’s always been, An’ I guess will always be But that don’t mean those things are right. Johnson’s Woods? … they ain’t for me!

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 54 (view)

A Dance© Posted: 3/20/2008 1:34:00 PM
(this is a "darker" entry) I am not your friend, I am not your foe But I am not the person to For comfort you should go But if you listen carefully As winds begin to blow And moonbeams on mountain tops Begin their eerie glow I’ll tell you of wicked things Of curses old and new But these things aren’t free There’s a price I’ll take from you. So sit there very quietly And do not make a sound Within your head and mind Your thoughts will all be bound ‘Tis your belief In my words all written here Controlling of your mind To summon up your fear So, please … relax … And when you think it’s safe Your mind I will attack, As words begin their strafe. Now fly with me o’er the hilltops And through the mists below As we journey back To centuries long ago Below we see “The Plague” Just now taking hold We know of the outcome But ‘tis today, not “days of old”. An’ in the midst of chaos Where Death lurks everywhere This is why I’ve brought you, And I’m taking you … in there. The rat infested cottages, The ravaged dirt-floored huts Prolific rodent feces And flies eat chicken guts The stench is overpowering For people here don’t bathe Disease is in the air Everything is in a scathe Come lay down where A dead body’s been removed It is now your resting place The one that I’ve approved. There. Go ahead and rest Feeling diseases as they do infest Fleas and ticks climb thru’ your nose … Within the week, comes Death throes. First will come the open sores While draining blood and pus Then will come delirium High fever on you thrust You will crave for water And scream that it be so But no water’s to be had ‘Tis only pain that you will know. Your agony’s exotic Your ravages so sweet Oh I so enjoy them As I stand here at your feet But I interrupt my ecstasy As my duty calls Torturing lost souls you see Of my life enthralls. The price that I eluded to When was first we met Payment … if you make it Then out of here you’ll get Your price is but one soul The one that you possess Just paying that to me Will take you from this mess What’s that you say? Was the word you spoke a “yes”? Wonderful! Now just wait … I’ll relieve you from your stress. See, how simple? How well we do combine! You with a soul-less life Me? I own your mind. So forward ‘tis we go Toward your century You think you’ll be okay now But there’s no harmony For now without your soul You’ll not know happiness Before you lies a life All filled with hate and stress And I? I will go on looking For another soul Then when I’ve found them Through other centuries will I stroll And you, my naïve reader, With Temptation do you dance You can’t keep it up forever … Soon, I’ll have my chance.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 53 (view)

Johnsons Woods© Posted: 3/20/2008 12:11:41 PM
And that’s the way it’s always been, An’ I guess will always be But that don’t mean those things are right They could be contrary So if you go to Johnson’s Woods An’ start “stirrin’ up this stew”, There’s some things you need to know An’ I’m remindin’ you: That Billy Ray Thompson boy You know he’s out there yet You goin’ out to find him Might be somethin’ you’ll regret You can talk about those eerie screams An’ what their source might be But, if I was you, I’d turn blue ‘Fore I’d go out to see. Marv LaMesa you recall Showed them bleached-white bones An’ said they was all ‘twas left Of our Reverend Jones An’ don’t forget that knife they found Out near Willow Creek Of such decadence decent Folks won’t speak Just last night ‘round my house Was tracks so deep and wide Three-toed tracks with claws Hell …I went back inside Now you can go on lookin’ I won’t stop your search But I’m goin’ to the creek An’ fish me up some perch. I don’t think that you should go Into Johnson’s Woods I’m thinkin’ what is in there Just couldn’t be too good. Yep, you can have adventure An’ your opinions too, But if you don’t come out of there I’ll not look for you. And that’s the way it’s always been, An’ I guess will always be But that don’t mean those things are right Johnson’s Woods … they ain’t for me!

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 52 (view)

Discovery© Posted: 3/20/2008 11:22:13 AM
The discovery is like a physical blow without the touch. Shock instantly engulfs you, so severe is it, it becomes impossible for you to speak. Breathing is labored and irregular. Those involuntary muscle spasms in your chest, are the forerunners of sobs, but they can’t come yet, because the shock is still paramount and controlling your mind and vision. The initial shock phase passes, replaced by rage, or disbelief, or the healing rush of uncontrolled sobs and tears, or all of those emotional explosions. For the next few days or weeks or even months, you’ll revisit that initial shocking discovery millions upon millions of times within your mind. The event is permanently burned and branded into your being, and you’ll never, ever forget it as long as you live. The pain seers within you at each re-visitation of your thoughts. With each recollection, the event is reborn all over again, in living screaming color. For most persons the next phase following the discovery phase is the denial phase. You can not and will not accept that whatever has befallen you really happened. If you do, you justify it by some invented excuse or outside influence, and grapple with every conceivable alteration or reiteration of what transpired, so as to make it acceptable. But, in reality, it isn’t. The denial phase can be the longest one. Some people never exit the denial stage, simply because they can’t withstand the pain were they to do so. Forever after, embracing denial is their method of coping with unwanted discovery. Acceptance is the next to last phase, and it is within this phase that peace of mind begins to slowly make its’ presence known. True friends, comforting family members, clergymen and self-assessment are all avenues to acceptance. Without acceptance being absorbed into your being, the next phase can never be achieved either. Finally you get to the healing phase. This is where you can re-visit the original discovery, and not emotionally break down. This is the phase where you can objectively look at the true causes of the original discovery. This is the phase where you can plan to never get into situations that would cause a repeat of the original discovery. This is the phase where you can say, it’s over, it’s done and I can move on with my life. And … you do.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 3086 (view)

Limericks. Are Us...From the Very Best Poets on Earth Posted: 3/19/2008 10:09:21 PM
Binoculars images irk … That sales clerk was just a big jerk … wait, you say … … the “other” way? To look through the “big” end won’t work?

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 3085 (view)

Limericks. Are Us...From the Very Best Poets on Earth Posted: 3/19/2008 10:08:52 PM
“Hold me knife”, (Brutus to Cae-sar). “Oh, my …That’s gonna scar!” … I’ll stick it in thrice … … That ain’t nice! No, but it’ll read well in the memoir.

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 3084 (view)

Limericks. Are Us...From the Very Best Poets on Earth Posted: 3/19/2008 10:08:08 PM
Oh geez! These new shoes are too tight On my feet they’re puttin’ a “bite” … No wonder, you twit! … You’re a half-wit! The rights’ on the left … the left’s on the right!

PosterChild4Ugly

Joined: 12/27/2006

Msg: 3083 (view)

Limericks. Are Us...From the Very Best Poets on Earth Posted: 3/19/2008 10:07:40 PM
Directions ... Two blocks left … turn right Then left at the next traffic light … … No … it’s right at that light … wait … maybe it might Be left … if the building there’s white.

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