tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46804680255520497002024-03-05T13:10:36.967-05:00They call me "dark" and "bright"We are in Mystical Times, at least I am......
Wysteria ---
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQWwZQxSwoMWysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-83090079834261818142012-05-30T10:05:00.000-04:002012-05-30T10:05:59.351-04:00FriendshipThe meaning of friendship<br />
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Today, I don't think people understand that sentence<br />
It's not "who" you know, or, "What" they have<br />
It's what they give from the heart.<br />
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People pretend to be your friend for many selfish reasons<br />
They take advantage of what you can GIVE them<br />
I am blessed, I have FIVE, REAL friends<br />
No, they are my sisters and more<br />
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Some have more, some have less,<br />
But, we have all of these special things<br />
Love, respect, and a deep, deep friendship, a loving bond<br />
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When I say I don't think I could make it through life without them, I mean it<br />
We laugh together, cry together, share our most intimate secrets and TRUST<br />
The more we are together, the more I realize how blessed I am<br />
Life is a struggle, but with all of them, it makes it so much easier<br />
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All of our personalities are different, we know our own faults and strengths<br />
We admit them, and don't have to apologize for our short comings<br />
Six, strong, caring, loving, honest women, together<br />
A life-long bond that can never be broken.<br />
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To my sisters, I love each and everyone of you, and need you more than you will ever know<br />
Thank you for being in my life. If I don't tell you enough, I know that you know I love you all<br />
<br />Wysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-85697310454808009652012-05-30T09:09:00.000-04:002012-05-30T09:10:24.804-04:00The Black RoseHe left a black rose on my pillow,nightly<br />
Curtains snapped and lifted with the humid breeze that entered my room<br />
A scent of musk, wafted and hung heavy in the air<br />
A chill ran down my spine, the moonlight gave an eerie aura surrounding my bed<br />
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He, had no name, just a presence in my dreams, or so I thought<br />
A kiss that left my lips swollen and ruby red<br />
Breathless<br />
A touch that was cold, yet filled my being with fire<br />
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Demanding my submission, I gave it willingly<br />
Unspeakable acts, that I surrendered to<br />
Needful<br />
He was pleased, I begged for mercy and more<br />
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Nightly, I waited for his presence<br />
Afraid he would come, but, disappointed if he did not<br />
His mocking laughter at my weakness<br />
Sadistic power made me melt under his weight<br />
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Screaming for more, not recognizing my own voice<br />
His coal black eyes burning sins into my soul<br />
I knew I was a prisoner of his power<br />
Not even God could save me<br />
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Wysteria <br />
<br />Wysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-46694338280268016302012-05-16T08:41:00.001-04:002012-05-16T08:42:10.051-04:00Laughing through LifePlease visit : <b style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><a href="http://www.threewordwednesday.com/">Three Word Wednesday</a></b><br />
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Today's words are Fawn, Juggle and Navigate<br />
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I watched as my father would fawn over my siblings<br />
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Me? I would navigate around his verbal abuse -<br />
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Justifying them, that it was my fault for being ugly in his eyes<br />
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Learning to juggle emotions, and laughing outside and dying on the inside<br />
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As an adult, I have learned we do not become what we are told we are<br />
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Though, it takes many years to realize it was not my fault. I still, am laughing<br />
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WysteriaWysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-22006315549036330032012-04-09T12:44:00.001-04:002012-04-09T12:47:20.527-04:00Three Word Wed -http://www.threewordwednesday.com/<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn214fNvdnF_7g8UkoF98V1zQL_tLZj282SmJr3_TXgatPwNTwmKLMoW2d7_9mBZbEt1cSqAH9MGv4M-nhRfptSY_LyFRNx33j6Oifau1a1-aDDnwmhLvBk6ceOIPYbYb2eGU2M7RHUuBB/s1600/Love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn214fNvdnF_7g8UkoF98V1zQL_tLZj282SmJr3_TXgatPwNTwmKLMoW2d7_9mBZbEt1cSqAH9MGv4M-nhRfptSY_LyFRNx33j6Oifau1a1-aDDnwmhLvBk6ceOIPYbYb2eGU2M7RHUuBB/s320/Love.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Three Word Wednesday- I might be a little late for this one.. "Growl, Hype and Justify"<br />
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<a href="http://www.threewordwednesday.com/">Three word Wednesday</a><br />
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I know it is Monday and soon the new words will be up. These words, just seem to fit something I want to write about.<br />
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I expected a <i><b>growl</b></i> on our first meeting. Instead I was met with a slobbery wet kiss on the cheek and huge paws resting on my shoulders. Wait! Am I suppose to be afraid? I heard all the <i><b>hype</b></i>, I read all the gory details and the vicious dog laws.<br />
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I have owned many dogs, but, there is something different about owning Pit Bulls. They are a dominant breed. Proud, fiercely loyal, and rambunctious. Stubborn as HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes, stubborn as hell. They are not a breed for everyone. They require lots of attention and constant commands. BUT, they learn who is boss. They learn that yes, they too, can be loved. Despite of the bad reputation these dogs get, my daughter and I have become absolutely in love with them.<br />
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I am tired of having to <i><b>justify</b></i> my love of the breed. Defend their natures and remind people, there are no bad dogs, just bad owners.<br />
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This breed does have a jaw with pressure. And, when they do bite, they don't let go. However, NOT all Pit Bulls, are BAD, BAD, DOGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br />
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I own six dogs. Two of them are pit bulls. A male and a female. They are adorable. Funny, loving and just plain loads of fun to play with. They are rescue dogs. I probably will never own another breed, they have convinced me that they are wonderful pets.<br />
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Thousand of pit bulls are put to sleep each day. There are laws that need to change and if your State or County needs to change their vicious dog law, please sign a petition. <br />
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<b>Please note, the loving dog on the right was put to sleep because we could not find a home for her.</b><br />
Don't let others tell you horror stories. Any, and I mean ANY dog can be vicious. Please support your local rescues.<br />
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WysteriaWysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-76566407635869824222012-03-28T13:20:00.001-04:002012-03-28T13:23:15.875-04:00It's been awhile but....Pit Bulls???<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUQym0YjmTgEbUUDIMDkIKjSV59cQ2QxqiVXYE_D3VXt4TG5cH2igKgZK7tW8XOSxlbA0mXVApy_vjEL02hdYaq-eh80lBiry8RQuagNuZUmFiTgZvvHWXMyFBF03R9YqsY0lI_HLcr3uL/s1600/Brutus+and+pit+fosters.aspx" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUQym0YjmTgEbUUDIMDkIKjSV59cQ2QxqiVXYE_D3VXt4TG5cH2igKgZK7tW8XOSxlbA0mXVApy_vjEL02hdYaq-eh80lBiry8RQuagNuZUmFiTgZvvHWXMyFBF03R9YqsY0lI_HLcr3uL/s320/Brutus+and+pit+fosters.aspx" width="320" /></a></div>
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I am still ALIVE and doing... well....well... "maintaining my life"<br />
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It seems so long that I have made an entry, and though I have visited here, I have lost motivation to write. Some call it writers block, others call it life interference. For me, I can't find time, can't motivate and feel that if I do start writing it will sound like a bitch session, a pity post or boring as hell. Whatever..... anyway.....<br />
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I want to get connected again. Miss reading other posts and have decided that I need to read and write again. Have felt lost in my own daily <i><b>have to do things</b></i>. Tired of that, done with that and want to share with some of you, other things that I have been doing in my <u><i><b>SPARE</b></i></u> (what the hell is that??) time!<br />
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As some of you know from other posts I may have written (not sure that I have written about it or not) that I am involved in Pit Bull Rescue groups. Fell into this by accident and have learned so much about the breed that I am now a pit bull advocate and absolutely LOVE the breed. Misconceptions, lies, and rumors about this breed has led to so many loving pets being abandoned, put to sleep, killed, and owners having to surrender them because of laws in their communities. The surrenders are probably the most heart-wrenching of all. Loving owners who have had their pets for years, having to give them up, knowing they will be put to sleep because their communities banned the breed, labeled them vicious and if they do keep them have to take out enormous liability insurance that they just can not afford to keep them.<br />
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Please, like any other breed, these dogs are what they are because of how they are, raised, loved, cared for.<br />
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I own six dogs. Two labs, a Rottweiler, a Chihuahua and two American Bull dog, pit bull mix. Out of the six, the dog that I have to watch the most is a lab. Wow! Believe it or not a LAB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! He is not mean, but occasionally will snap if another dog comes to close to him and his treat.<br />
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My new found love of the Pit bull breed is amazing. They are amazingly smart, loveable. Mean? Ugh.. NO!<br />
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I foster Pit bull mix dogs because here in our City Kennels, they are put to sleep within 24- 48 hours of surrendering, found, or abandoned. So... my daughter and I rescue, find them homes and love and put them through many tests. Cat test, dog test, kid test, aggressive tests. Guess what? Out of all the fosters, not one has shown signs of any of these traits.<br />
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Fostering, is not for everyone. It is very hard on both us and the dogs. The dogs, think they have a home and we get attached to them. But, I keep in mind that I am saving a dog and finding them a<i style="color: red;"><b> furever</b></i> home!<br />
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Please note, the pic is all pit bulls. Mine, is the middle, the two others are fosters. This was the very first day they met each other. Wow.... don't they look mean!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br />
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Wysteria... <br />
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<br />Wysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-51201956815811574852011-06-04T09:24:00.000-04:002011-06-04T09:24:02.291-04:00A little late for One word Wed...) The final straw<div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>Erratic - luminous - Omen...</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><br />
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</div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>I should have seen it coming. Knew her behavior for 34 years and after problems, and forgiving, but never forgetting, allowed her back into our lives.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>This time, she managed to top herself. I thought she had plunged a dagger into our hearts ten years ago, never thinking we would heal. We did. This time, there will be no healing, no forgiveness, no forgetting.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>I often said and have heard it said, that you can do anything to me, but don't mess with my kids. No matter what age my "kids" are, they are still my kids. </b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>My daughter and I planned our first holiday together. We were and are still going to make it a yearly ritual. Even after the fiasco of this last one.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>A little history. My Mother in law and father in law own a condo in Florida. They told us we could go down there anytime we want. They spend most winters down there and I figured there would be no problem going in April with my daughter. I called to tell the out-law - in law and asked if it was OK that my daughter and I spend two weeks there. Her first response was.."I'M GOING!" Oh my God. I was speechless, I knew there was no way out, and she is a demanding, spoiled, narcissistic woman who would have her own way. She knew it was daughter and mother, her intentions were to spoil it. Nothing more, nothing less.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>I should have seen the signs, the OMEN was there. I felt it in my gut, and was nauseated at the thought of spending two days driving down to Florida and two days back and spending the rest of the time with her.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>We wanted to drive our car, it is great on gas. She refused that idea and told us we would take her van, which would cost me over 100.00 to fill up each time. We accommodated her. Took the van. </b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
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</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>She has always had ERRATIC behavior. Demanding and vindictive. I knew this was going to be tragic.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>I told my daughter that we should tell her that there was a change of plans and she had to work. No, my daughter said "No, let her come, I don't want her feelings to get hurt." Ok... it was finalized. She was going.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>For days before leaving, I had a sick feeling in my stomach. I tried to look happy and excited for my daughter, however the OMEN was there, I could not deny it.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>The drive down went with just one incidence, and that was tolerable. But, once we arrived at the condo, the demon was born and showed to be a force we could not reckon with.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>She began to corner my daughter behind my back and say nasty things to her. I caught her twice and asked her not to do that anymore. She picked on my daughter about what places to eat, we always gave in to her, after all she made it clear it was her van. So, we were at her mercy in more than one way.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>The days flew by and she continued her wrath. The ERRATIC behavior grew more frequent and more hurtful.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>Finally, I had enough. I told her to stop, to please let it be a nice vacation and let us all enjoy the rest of the time we had. Well, behind our backs she was calling her husband and telling lies about us. He told my husband and the war started.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>She continued to be nasty with my daughter. I began to see there was a jealousy there. My daughter and I have a wonderful relationship .She never had a daughter, though through the years, I took care of them when ill, spent every other Sunday there playing cards and visiting with them. I tried to be that daughter.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
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</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>We all fought. I stood up for my daughter and she didn't like that. Why would she think she could treat my daughter like shit and I am suppose to stand there and take it?</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>Two days of hell driving home with her. She tried to pick fights with my daughter. Finally her nastiness really showed. Twice, she told my daughter - "I don't like you" with a hatred and ugliness in her words and face.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>This time, I didn't silence my daughter, she is 25 years old and can stand up for herself. I crossed my arms in the back seat of the van and let my daughter tell her what she thought after being stuck with her grandmother for two weeks. My daughter was sobbing, her face red and her breathing Erratic. She was driving.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"> <b><br />
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</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>I had her pull over and I drove the rest of the way home. Hours. I didn't speak to her and listened to the radio, knowing my singing and finger tapping got to her, but at this point it felt good, knowing she was on the side of misery.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
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</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b> When we pulled up in her driveway, our car was there, I told my daughter to remain quiet and to get our bags and leave without making a sound. My father in law met us and when his wife got out of the car she yelled loudly enough for all the neighbors to hear "I AM HOME FROM THE VACATION FROM HELL". Needless to say... Lost it. I told my father in law a lot that happened, I told him just like he has to stay by his wife's side, at my daughters side I remain.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>I don't stop my husband from visiting his mother, though I do feel some betrayal there.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>His mother insists on telling him her side every time he visits. He knows, my daughter and I don't lie. He told his mother he stands by our side.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>Something came over me in that driveway. It was LUMINOUS. The sun was shinning brightly and I felt the warmth of it mixed with the blush of anger on my cheeks. It was healing to be able to tell her what we thought and felt. It was renewal.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>It has now been two months. I have had no contact with her. As far as telling my daughter she didn't like her, she denies all of the things she did and said.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>We miss my father in law and love him very much. I have told him he is welcomed out here any time.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"> <b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b> As far as her, the OMENS were always there. Her nastiness, mean, and vindictive ways, always will be there.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>But my daughter and I, will never have to be witness or take any of her abuse again.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>Sad story, but true.</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>Wysteria<span style="background-color: #d5a6bd;"></span></b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><b><br />
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</b></div>Wysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-51769517137403885782011-04-05T20:39:00.000-04:002011-04-05T20:39:15.788-04:00My son and I and music<div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b> I know I have been away for awhile. I hope to be around more often. Please visit One Stop Poetry!</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><br />
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</div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>At the age of five I was told, he was hyperactive.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>Medication was what he needed.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b> Of course, politely, I declined.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>To the teachers disappointment.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>I don't blame all teachers</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>in fact, I have respect for what they do.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>However, some would rather you medicate </b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>Then channeling the energy of a challenging kid.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>Instead, I met with teachers and principals weekly.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>Trying hard to think of someway or somehow to help him</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>After-all, it was not his fault he had creative energy and-</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>at the age of five didn't know what to do with it.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b><br />
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</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b> Luckily, I had a set of drums in the house and a light bulb went off in my head</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>I led him to the spare room with the dusty drums, put him on the chair</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>And wrapped his fingers around the sticks.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>It was MAGICAL! BREATHTAKING!</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>I was witness to a miracle.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>My son, with all the energy pounded and beat until he was tired</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>Daily, for hours he drummed.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>I found drum teachers and they would teach him and then tell me,</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>he was just as good as they were and could teach him no more.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>He was in band after band, was in love with music, art and the drums.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b> He taught himself to play guitar, keyboards and even went to a school for the arts.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>Would medicating him take him down this creative path?</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>Because of his energy he was able to sit for hours doing something he fell in love with.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>I am the proud mother of a son who has a deep passion for music.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>He lives it, breathes it and is totally in love with it.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>My son is grown now and if anything has brought us closer</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>It is music.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>I've loved his music, I hated his music, I danced to it and hid from it</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>Music has made him the man he is today</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"> <b><br />
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</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b> Don't stifle creativity, let it run rampant, screaming,thundering through your house.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b> I am proud of my son and the man he has become.</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>He can love, laugh, show passion and feel it. </b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b> My son, and I and music - not necessarily in that order</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><b>Wysteria</b></div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;"><br />
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</div>Wysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-75321263402923297702011-02-25T08:03:00.002-05:002011-02-25T08:15:30.286-05:00Teetering on the fence of Spring - One Stop Poetry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjudUiaEt0klqLRoN7-ke8UIDogXTubpaGg3rO270b5QhlItUuD9DAMbX7uUm-9VGRHYgi_ZpRqHuMBRujlHuc2Z-6shCi4PQzzWTdXguAxET8hZ09Sk_Pq8uLuFNtY2CKqMn_y0w6v1Ra5/s1600/table.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjudUiaEt0klqLRoN7-ke8UIDogXTubpaGg3rO270b5QhlItUuD9DAMbX7uUm-9VGRHYgi_ZpRqHuMBRujlHuc2Z-6shCi4PQzzWTdXguAxET8hZ09Sk_Pq8uLuFNtY2CKqMn_y0w6v1Ra5/s320/table.jpeg" width="191" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">I sit here wondering when it will come?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Hoping I don't miss the explosion of color,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Once this ice and snow melts</div><div style="text-align: center;">Again, we are wearing Mother Nature White.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Fashionable, perhaps.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Seasonal, perhaps.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Wanted, I speak for myself. No.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mother Nature has once again, handed me <b><i>her hand me down</i></b> whites.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Blustery, chilly, ice, snow, freezing rain,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Words I have become to hate and shiver as if hypnotized to do so</div><div style="text-align: center;">Where is the sun? Can't it tease us with a showing?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Of course not with all of this snow blowing.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">With one hand, my coffee to warm my palm and fingers,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I type words that soon will be gone from everyone's vocabulary</div><div style="text-align: center;">Hopefully I will feel the sun's loving rays</div><div style="text-align: center;">and soon feel like I have been reborn</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Wysteria</div>Wysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-32233216416057224342011-01-20T10:05:00.000-05:002011-01-20T10:05:34.595-05:00"O" is for "Olden Days - Alphabet ThursdayOlden Days<br />
<br />
You know you are really getting old when the kids say "Mom, back in the <b>"olden days "</b> did you have cars? TV's and a host of other things they want to know.<br />
<br />
<br />
One year my son, who was five then and in school, told the teacher that his mom rode a horse and buggy to school and to work. UGH!!!!!!!!!! What the heck was that all about??<br />
<br />
When he told me this I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.<br />
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Yes children we had TV's too. We had the first color TV on the block. We put a film over the screen and it tinted the picture green and red. WOW... we thought we had it all then. <br />
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In the "olden days" we didn't have video games. We actually went outside and played, kick the can, red rover, red rover, hop scotch, jumped rope, even double dutch. Uhm.. "What"? "how?" I would get questions like that. They were dumbfounded on how to play any games. So from that point on, I started to teach them how to PLAY!<br />
<br />
Hide and Seek, kick the can and others were a nightly ritual. I taught them games I learned in the<b> "olden days"</b><br />
<br />
Think about it, how far have we come from our "olden days" Would you leave this time era to go back? Doubtful. The only thing we have lost is innocence. Now, a five year old could probably teach me a few things. I wonder, what the <b>"olden days" </b>will be for them, when they are my age? <br />
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WysteriaWysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-52505368795935305172011-01-18T11:28:00.000-05:002011-01-18T11:28:04.617-05:00Sunday's Best Tradition - Written for Magpie Tales<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjABAsVx8nWCKECUFrS1fkKUSp0IkAjwJ6uC60StmYA57QOHA2t4mp_h97QMG9KUkaHaz1PSW6vamp74ftt5RPRw2YtVO5BlqtM-JB1ofFgQbznqvr_ngjWpi50XJ_2WYCzOUO0lIC1T6sn/s1600/snow+trio+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjABAsVx8nWCKECUFrS1fkKUSp0IkAjwJ6uC60StmYA57QOHA2t4mp_h97QMG9KUkaHaz1PSW6vamp74ftt5RPRw2YtVO5BlqtM-JB1ofFgQbznqvr_ngjWpi50XJ_2WYCzOUO0lIC1T6sn/s320/snow+trio+.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">No matter what the weather, going to church in Sunday's best was a happy day</div><div style="text-align: center;">Seeing old friends, greeting new one's, and always dressed in Sunday's Clothes.</div><div style="text-align: center;">What traditions are elders had! How it seems we have destroyed them.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Church was a special thing to do on Sunday, and respected.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Today, I see people in shorts and sandals and no children with them.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The faces in church are weathered and old, where are the young people?</div><div style="text-align: center;">What will happen to our traditional Sundays?</div><div style="text-align: center;">No more going to Church, No buying new Sunday clothes,</div><div style="text-align: center;">No visiting aunts and uncles and parents and grandparents after Church.</div><div style="text-align: center;">How many more traditions can we kill before our kids ask "Why don't we?"</div><div style="text-align: center;">Too busy for church, too busy for relatives, and it takes too much time to keep traditions.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Are we leaving a piece of our ancestors with our children?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Let's not forget the people who believed in family and God, they gave us something that can not be bought or replaced. Traditions</div><br />
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WysteriaWysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-72164219255495646462011-01-18T09:56:00.002-05:002011-01-18T10:40:51.572-05:00This too Shall Pass! - Jingle Poetry Pot Luck MondayIt's the New Year with new things to do<br />
Haven't written anything lately because -<br />
Believe it or not, I am too busy<br />
<br />
Have started so many projects for myself<br />
That I can barely keep up with them<br />
Painted the bathroom and fixed it up cute<br />
Only to hear "you have dripped paint on the floor"<br />
<br />
I could care less about the droplets. I covered them with a rug<br />
At least until I find some product in the store to take it out.<br />
Another, project. UGH!<br />
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Now, I have started to remove a border in my kitchen<br />
Bought all kinds of wallpaper remover, none and I mean none<br />
Work!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br />
So-<br />
<br />
Trying a good old home remedy - fabric softener and hot water.<br />
Hopefully this will work, or I will be in the kitchen for weeks<br />
Without cooking!<br />
Now-<br />
<br />
I am sorry I started it, but have to follow through<br />
The border removal is hard work, I already hate the sight of the scraper<br />
The rest of the house is a mess<br />
And on top of all of this- I got a new puppy! Am I absolutely out of my mind????<br />
<br />
I must be going through something in my brain - up one day - down the next-<br />
And not only is my brain cluttered and over worked<br />
But so is my body and the house looks like a tornado hit it<br />
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Oh I guess I have to keep saying what my mother would say to me<br />
"This too shall pass"<br />
Yes, of course it will pass but what is next?<br />
Another - "this too shall pass"<br />
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Well I have to go, my house smells like fabric softener and the walls have running drips down them<br />
Sorry I started but I will be happy when it is all done.<br />
I miss my special time writing and hope I can find time to do some in the mornings.<br />
Until then - "this too shall pass"!<br />
<br />
WysteriaWysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-56932432684684570862011-01-06T07:53:00.002-05:002011-01-06T07:58:36.876-05:00Mark Twain - Posted for Alphabet Thursday M- MarkIt is with sadness that I write this,<br />
<br />
so many emotions and, disbelief the main one<br />
<br />
How can people justify editing classic literary works?<br />
<br />
Where does this begin and end?<br />
<br />
<br />
What group thinks this is OK to do?<br />
<br />
This is not a poem, but a stand against this blasphemy.<br />
<br />
Who will be next? Yours?<br />
<br />
WysteriaWysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-25797697964832488492011-01-03T10:30:00.000-05:002011-01-03T10:30:53.975-05:00Winter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhCIAiXDEjAelhFiPE3k3aj-DjYjk5I3xX4_jJq978qhgbHfg7-bCSYqVFyGMPv051uuUQhNykuqHL6b_WSlepcszVLxzsb6pX8Kdze7Dim3PGZSQXEs9jFpbaP32uEcY1Dl1zOWmj28E/s1600/clouds+and+sun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhCIAiXDEjAelhFiPE3k3aj-DjYjk5I3xX4_jJq978qhgbHfg7-bCSYqVFyGMPv051uuUQhNykuqHL6b_WSlepcszVLxzsb6pX8Kdze7Dim3PGZSQXEs9jFpbaP32uEcY1Dl1zOWmj28E/s320/clouds+and+sun.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Shadowed by thick clouds<br />
Sun beams try and warm the earth<br />
Winter has its grip<br />
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WysteriaWysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-80260384527956395752010-12-29T10:23:00.009-05:002010-12-30T12:16:35.136-05:00Hush---- Posted for One Shot Wed<div style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/2010/12/alphabe-thursday-happy-new-year.html">Alphabet Thursday</a></b></span></div><br />
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Different sounds echo in my chamber<br />
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A veil to hide the look behind my eyes<br />
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Winter solstice peaceful and comfortable<br />
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Yet, a feeling of the unknown lurks at my backdoor<br />
<br />
It must open, yet, I hesitate<br />
<br />
Unwilling to let go of things I could cope with<br />
<br />
Not wanting to know what the future will unleash<br />
<br />
Hush, here it comes without a sound<br />
<br />
New beginnings, endings, gains and losses.<br />
<br />
Fears and joys, old and the new<br />
<br />
Challenges, triumphs<br />
<br />
Promises kept, promises broken<br />
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Only good intentions<br />
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A baptism of new dreams and hopes for all<br />
<br />
WysteriaWysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-76324031592421347322010-12-22T10:02:00.001-05:002010-12-22T10:07:02.466-05:00Dear Santa - Carry On Tuesday<div style="text-align: center;">Dear Santa,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">For as long as I can remember, I have been a good girl.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">I know, it is expected to be a good boy or girl throughout the year.</div><div style="text-align: center;">However, after many years of reflection, I have been too good.</div><div style="text-align: center;">This behavior did not bring me more or less of anything.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Now that I am older and toys (childrens) are no longer an option</div><div style="text-align: center;">I find myself longing to be the bad girl, I have deep down inside always wanted to be</div><div style="text-align: center;">It is probably too late for this Christmas, but I am trying to prepare you for next year</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to be a dirty little girl, naughty, insatiable and a sexy being. Please don't leave me frilly things.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Leather would be nice</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">If, it isn't too much to ask, I might need someone to go with all these desires.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The one I have, doesn't seem to be interested in naughty things</div><div style="text-align: center;">So, dear Santa... I will keep you posted this year</div><div style="text-align: center;">Please keep in mind, I am tired of the good girl and want to bring out the bad girl in the New Year</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh and Santa... you look extremely sexy in Red and White</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Wysteria</div>Wysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-90161738447104369302010-12-20T08:06:00.002-05:002010-12-20T08:23:22.169-05:00Funny Christmas Gifts Written for One Stop Poetry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxfGTo-ZlukOyH6cAKgghyBrg8tIHWV16_4AbNtrkP52ncdH6cfzZ_ayFdrHgX36XuhEjDzU7jY5MVzjmt1LgTz_kV_AYvZAHBUklfYY2AHdrQkLmxalzFsq-NwgzcvX53VKb683hJD94u/s1600/preparation+h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxfGTo-ZlukOyH6cAKgghyBrg8tIHWV16_4AbNtrkP52ncdH6cfzZ_ayFdrHgX36XuhEjDzU7jY5MVzjmt1LgTz_kV_AYvZAHBUklfYY2AHdrQkLmxalzFsq-NwgzcvX53VKb683hJD94u/s1600/preparation+h.jpg" /></a></div>Well, it does have an H in it. Could it be for Holiday?<br />
<br />
Many years ago when my siblings and myself were in our teens our family started a tradition on Christmas Eve. If someone had an ailment, a funny thing happen to them, or what ever we could think of, we bought funny gifts. This tradition soon took over and what we looked forward to every year.<br />
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Honestly, we ended spending more money on funny gifts than the traditional ones, but oh, how we laughed through the night.<br />
<br />
No one was safe, parents included. Thus the picture of the Preparation H. One year my mother battled with this problem and everyone heard about it. So! For Christmas she got tons of tubes. However, we learned the real truth. Somewhere she read it took swelling and bags under the eyes away. She was actually thrilled to get the tubes!<br />
<br />
I was young and cruised nightly at the local "Manners" that year for Christmas I got flashlights, a manners hat and menu and a special red light for the top of my car with a sign that said "Manners Patrol" all homemade of course.<br />
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My Italian Father was 'somewhat' of a gambler. We went to the local Horse races and got him all kinds of racing programs and books on betting tips.<br />
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We made chick magnets for my brothers, bought zit cream and so many to list I can't even recall all of them.<br />
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These Christmas's I remember the most. The laughter, sometimes the defensive shock and then laughter. It took us hours to open presents and it brought our memories together. Each Christmas to this day, we talk about those and laugh. How easy it is to make a tradition, especially one to bring family's together in only a way they can understand<br />
<br />
<br />
WysteriaWysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-4158140236943059182010-12-19T12:20:00.003-05:002010-12-19T12:30:08.268-05:00Arrow Shot One Shoot Sunday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibe4SooDg2cWLhELgfyeXKYp_vIG5WFkEeb9hbcWhwBiGlIWvuZzWEDpn4Sz4Gh22zf1xcYsxwtHyQxFJboSXJmaPRHosY2bZKer6bGX8919BYXjtRvA9OTvpZ1_dLqktkqIb5C5f4yFa8/s1600/The+Arrow+Shot-Photomanipulation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibe4SooDg2cWLhELgfyeXKYp_vIG5WFkEeb9hbcWhwBiGlIWvuZzWEDpn4Sz4Gh22zf1xcYsxwtHyQxFJboSXJmaPRHosY2bZKer6bGX8919BYXjtRvA9OTvpZ1_dLqktkqIb5C5f4yFa8/s320/The+Arrow+Shot-Photomanipulation.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Wishful<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Exhaling, you leave me</div><div style="text-align: center;">Your presence only felt</div><div style="text-align: center;">Inhaling, your spirit enters</div><div style="text-align: center;">Lifting me to heaven, with you</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Wysteria</div>Wysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-19347834617178959952010-12-14T09:37:00.000-05:002010-12-14T09:37:37.965-05:00To all of my readers who like me or don't..lol<span style="font-size: large;">I will be out of order for a day or so... Going in for surgery. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Maybe it will give me something to write about, happily of course!!!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Wysteria</span>Wysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-35459091626958316192010-12-12T09:37:00.002-05:002010-12-12T10:48:49.213-05:00And, So this is Christmas - John Lennon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTy7-crQG7Hp37AieWI1hwXavc4BScmb6rpli0q83qgGFirrdEKae-pKHlOCw2eUuoF6JXjdlnNtPGhyoSWtx-KlZbhZ6MyeBQK-S3cETh354VlJ5VM3W7FTYhWM5OuOwPETqLkIZJRuoZ/s1600/John+Lennon.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTy7-crQG7Hp37AieWI1hwXavc4BScmb6rpli0q83qgGFirrdEKae-pKHlOCw2eUuoF6JXjdlnNtPGhyoSWtx-KlZbhZ6MyeBQK-S3cETh354VlJ5VM3W7FTYhWM5OuOwPETqLkIZJRuoZ/s1600/John+Lennon.jpeg" /></a></div>In the words of John Lennon...<br />
<br />
<br />
"So, this is <span style="color: #cc0000;">Christmas</span> what have you done"?<br />
<br />
Have you given of yourself this year?<br />
<br />
Have you made a difference?<br />
<br />
"So, this is <span style="color: #cc0000;">Christmas</span> and what have we done"?<br />
<br />
Fed the poor? Saved an animal? Gave children our time? Loved and cherished our parents time with us? <br />
<br />
I can ask so many questions, but I believe you know them all<br />
<br />
WysteriaWysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-78355095558106321972010-12-12T08:15:00.000-05:002010-12-12T08:15:23.204-05:00Written for One Stop Poetry - Sunday Shoot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCA6xNYc5MOQHl5j9oLvhZHPr6-9NyyJId3xN9oKM-Piv8WKI-SDiY3RZzgiMW-Bzy1yjZvupBThRQQTkkybIYoGyTPmiQ5eCfgfpo1JvsiVRSg__vNWzVwh336W_D0nIhhezwGwhjt050/s1600/Car+1906+one+stop.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCA6xNYc5MOQHl5j9oLvhZHPr6-9NyyJId3xN9oKM-Piv8WKI-SDiY3RZzgiMW-Bzy1yjZvupBThRQQTkkybIYoGyTPmiQ5eCfgfpo1JvsiVRSg__vNWzVwh336W_D0nIhhezwGwhjt050/s320/Car+1906+one+stop.png" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The blue sky blends into the background of straw colored mountains</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Flicks of white snow struggle against melting on the slopes</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">It is extremely desolate</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Beautiful and yet an urgency not to be alone on the road</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Praying the vehicle makes every winding turn</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And yet, the beauty of it all, mesmerizing</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">It is so peaceful, and sings me a lullaby in silence</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Driving toward the azure sky, as it nestles into a crook and valley</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">My goal to stay awake and enjoy natures beauty</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">It would be a shame to slip down a slope</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Though the scenery is hypnotizing me </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Never to tell anyone of the beauty I have witnessed</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Wysteria</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Wysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-11470501310421834212010-12-12T07:52:00.000-05:002010-12-12T07:52:50.173-05:00Little Ballerina<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsONl_LTlwUWjBCaXfLmJ5CGTFHh12E-7sEo6NWH3LuInTPRZFRgZjBv0xn_hJI3TiaiUVmHCJWYPFRolUQBjFkl8ckevrU4jcU6dvt5Q23ANQX-QUrxlL3IY4YTJr5qGYYJPF6zLRRF6I/s1600/Ballet+SHoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsONl_LTlwUWjBCaXfLmJ5CGTFHh12E-7sEo6NWH3LuInTPRZFRgZjBv0xn_hJI3TiaiUVmHCJWYPFRolUQBjFkl8ckevrU4jcU6dvt5Q23ANQX-QUrxlL3IY4YTJr5qGYYJPF6zLRRF6I/s400/Ballet+SHoes.jpg" width="310" /></a></div>This has been written for Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus. Please visit her site...<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">I was only five when I started taking many different types of dance classes</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Loving them all I spent many years learning and practicing.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> Every lesson,having a goal to meet, a little block inside new shoes.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">After many years of learning the basics and the french names of each new step</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;">My mother gave me a box wrapped with a pink ribbon</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <b>"An involuntary gasp of shock escaped my lips when I opened the shoebox and saw the pointy-toed shoes..."</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> I think, this was the happiest moment in my life</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Wysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-4621066268538768822010-12-11T15:10:00.002-05:002010-12-11T15:10:27.258-05:00Feel Lucky Punk??Okay.. I usually don't add something from You Tube. However, I'm a fan of this band and the remake -"Bad Company" Thought I would share<br />
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Wysteria - Bad Company, until the day I die....:)Wysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-70410179785241794692010-12-07T20:00:00.000-05:002010-12-07T20:00:23.316-05:00Who is that in the Manger?<div style="text-align: center;">Please note- I did not take this picture and don't know who did. It came in an email from a friend and I thought I would share it with all of you. However, it is my poem..)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqyhU-q79KGUIt-Zr5ySzLwue9O2tn4grpioxwDWTaC18jIL735sJ8FDLuCX5WgXaeoM9y0qM15HQzDVJBOMlaVgPyNkheRMR7GZx06NZHYV5fkZXMSl9HGnASTel78mQPYDm2X1wMaSA1/s1600/nativity+scene.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqyhU-q79KGUIt-Zr5ySzLwue9O2tn4grpioxwDWTaC18jIL735sJ8FDLuCX5WgXaeoM9y0qM15HQzDVJBOMlaVgPyNkheRMR7GZx06NZHYV5fkZXMSl9HGnASTel78mQPYDm2X1wMaSA1/s320/nativity+scene.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">It was a bitter cold night</div><div style="text-align: center;">And, no one was in sight<br />
I'm just another stray,<br />
tired of running away</div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">I sniffed around the manger</div><div style="text-align: center;">There was no danger</div><div style="text-align: center;">Hungry and cold</div><div style="text-align: center;">against a baby I mold</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Three men watched over me</div><div style="text-align: center;">They would do no harm, I could see</div><div style="text-align: center;">The baby held me in his arms, on a blanket of straw<br />
I could hear a hush from those who saw<br />
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A simple bed that someone made,<br />
Hunger and cold, seemed to fade</div><div style="text-align: center;">Please, if you find a stray during this cold</div><div style="text-align: center;">Give him a warm place to sleep, and your arms to hold</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Wysteria</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"></div>Wysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-19888346914622497162010-12-06T09:05:00.000-05:002010-12-06T09:05:00.972-05:00J- is for January Junk<div style="text-align: center;">It's that time of year again.</div><div style="text-align: center;">When the Holidays are over</div><div style="text-align: center;">And, January is Junk month for me</div><div style="text-align: center;"> Bag the old stuff, box it, and I will be clutter free</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Now that I am older, I find I can throw things away</div><div style="text-align: center;">However, just as I get rid of it, I need it.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Off to the thrift store I head</div><div style="text-align: center;">To rummage and riffle until I am dead</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So, as you can see</div><div style="text-align: center;">January is get rid of Junk month</div><div style="text-align: center;"> Only to make room for more</div><div style="text-align: center;">This January as I box the old, there will be new bargains I can't ignore!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Wysteria</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Wysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680468025552049700.post-19851384678497172482010-12-05T09:11:00.000-05:002010-12-05T09:11:22.393-05:00Picture Prompt - One Shoot Sunday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpd9vHxtPE3_30VDrFaCYGgWtjj24OSheJReFbOiPr9mEKWh3k6uUhBENEtCiGPsEGPNpqVhFqLpmaZGtgI2z5aIvLwSsPpI2p8lweCNJ6gGHeyo7xyGvUHBJTTKIrpJkkGURa_n0Xzul/s1600/kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpd9vHxtPE3_30VDrFaCYGgWtjj24OSheJReFbOiPr9mEKWh3k6uUhBENEtCiGPsEGPNpqVhFqLpmaZGtgI2z5aIvLwSsPpI2p8lweCNJ6gGHeyo7xyGvUHBJTTKIrpJkkGURa_n0Xzul/s1600/kiss.jpg" /></a></div>Passion<br />
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When does it start and when does it end?<br />
Longing for the feel of lips brushing against my skin<br />
Heated moist breath, making me shiver<br />
Secretly, I dream for another kiss like that.<br />
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What happens after you have grown apart<br />
and live together for convenience?<br />
A part of you is tucked away in a heart shaped box<br />
Wounded and ignoring your wants and desires<br />
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Not a victim, only a victim of circumstances<br />
No money, nowhere to go , no insurance<br />
These things have somehow grown to out weigh passion<br />
It seems, there is not enough room for all of them<br />
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We make choices, sacrifices, and follow paths<br />
Happy, or unhappy we choose our destiny<br />
Of all the things, I have given up<br />
Passion and breathless kisses, I miss the most<br />
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WysteriaWysteriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249516708737350017noreply@blogger.com18