He flipped the script in the middle of the play.
There to love me at first, there to save the day.
My Samson to his Delilah, he soothed my soul.
My King Solomon standing tall and bold.
He flipped the script at the end of Part One.
He didn't seem to notice I wasn't done.
I was just getting started, it was just getting good.
He changed like a chamelion while there I stood.
He flipped the script while my love was still strong.
My feelings were not even present for long.
Love had just entered, my soul was on fire.
He turned cold as ice and quenched my desire.
He flipped the script before the curtains came down.
The show was still going on, audience still around.
He made me feel like a foolish child.
He started ad-libbing and took away my smile.
He flipped the script before the Second Act.
The screenplay ignored when he truned his back.
The whole thing disrupted by his selfish ways.
I'll remember forever, 'till the end of days.
He changed the story before he turned the page.
Turned my loving emotions into fits of rage.
Made me a spoiled, bratty child begging for more.
Before he dissapeared out the dressing-room door!!!!
He flipped the script on me unexpectedly!!!!!
Copyright 2011 ~Trinity, Angie-O-Genesis Books, Inc.
Summers spent in the country at Grandma's feet. Shelling peas on the porch so we all could eat. Picking pecans that had fallen to the ground. For her 'Sock-it-to-me' cake when the sun went down. Plucking feathers from the chicken for the evening meal. Floatin' potatoes in a bucket once they were peeled. Kneading flour into dough so we could all eat bread. At Grandma's house we knew we'd all be fed...Not just food for our stomachs, but also for our minds. Cause her love was unselfish, her wisdom always kind. She spoon-fed us knowledge very slowly and true. To ensure that her message always got through. Once dinner was done and we all were fed. We'd sit on the porch and she'd fill our heads... With stories from way back in our history. 'Bout our ancestors, and how some got free.
"When the quilts were washed and hung out to dry. And the sun was up high in the noon-time sky. They were hung all in order, one by one. Everyone knew the message, the time had come. Just follow the direction of the Eagle's beak. Be sure to wade in the water where the scent is weak. And keep your eyes focused on the Northern light. When you pass the Old Mill, just make a right. You'll come to a Cabin, with a lantern lit. There you'll rest your tired soul just a bit. Be careful not to leave before the sun goes down. Keep your eyes on the sparrow, he'll make a sound. After many moons you'll see the promised land. Then your souls will be free from those evil hands. That's the story of how the ancesters snuck away free. To start a new life up north, making a way for you and me."
Copyright 2011 Angie-O-Genesis Books, Inc.
(Artwork: "Line By Line" - Leroy Campbell)
My hands want to write, but my mind has a block.
Can't seem to think so I'm watching the clock.
Time is ticking by awaiting my words.
But for some reason they just don't want to be heard.
I want to write but I've got a brain freeze.
Got a block on my mind that just won't leave.
Guess I'll have to take a trip into the sky...
To grab some knowledge from the ethers floatin' by.
Got a book I'm trying to finish, suspended in animation.
Characters frozen in tme, waiting in anticipation...
For me to bring them back to life, but still I can't think.
Guess I'll just try and meditate...try not to blink.
Let my mind take a trip into a higher plane.
Go into alpha state to stimulate my brain.
Dive into the subconcious so it can work it out.
That's what higher learning's really about.
Take some deep breaths, exhale, then breathe.
Go inside my mind...let my soul be at ease.
Talk to my higher self, see if he knows what to say.
The I Am that I Am that I forget each day.
That inner power that runs your daily life.
It remembers to breathe, you forget how to write.
Just go with the flow, let the other one run things...
Then wait and see how much power it brings.
Peace... Copyrigt 2011 ~Trinity aka Ariel aka AngieM
Though we go to work each day... Because those bills we have to pay.
We're not in it to win it, 'Cause are hearts aren't in it.
So we grab our pens and pads and continue to pen it.
Our daily drudgery like a penance. Purgatory for us from start to finish.
Our nine-to-fives are paying the bills... But with our poetry the soul is filled.
'Cause our hearts know the joy with our pens in hands.
Most of us will never reach the promised land.
But instead of sticking our heads in the sand.
We return to our true passion, with pen in hand.
Or maybe on a keyboard our fingers may click.
Puttting our dreams on paper, though we may never get rich.
'Cause our souls are filled without all the dollars.
And a lot of us may want to scream and holler.
'Cause we may never be heard, though our hearts want to sing.
But we keep on writing for the joy that it brings.
While our tears smear the ink and our hands all a-flutter.
We know in our hearts we're not like the others.
Only the chosen few will be seen and heard.
Only the chosen few will be paid for their words.
Only the chosen few will continue to rise.
Only the chosen few will win the Nobel prize!
Keep writing anyway!!!!!
Copyright 2011 ~AM, Angie-O-Genesis Books, Inc.
(Artwork: Self Educate - Leroy Campbell)