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She raised me like I was her own daughter from the day I was born 32 years ago.

She loved me like nobody else has ever loved me in my life.

She stood by through the most difficult days I’ve ever known.

She showed me more unconditional love and support than I’ve ever imagined.

She taught me how to live, how to love, how to be a lady, how to be a mommy and how to survive.

For 78 years, she had always been as healthy and stubborn as a mule.

About a year ago she stood by my side and fought tooth and nail to help me survive a bitter custody battle and win primary custody of my wonderful two year-old son, who is her only great-grandchild, and the love of her life and my life.

After fighting with everything she had inside of her and seeing me prevail in court, she suddenly became deathly sick. Within days she lost her ability to walk, eat, dress herself, or even get out of bed.

I quit my job to take care of her 24 hours a day. I spent every moment possible at her bedside, talking to her, trying to feed her, bathe her, brush her hair, change her clothes and make her take her medicine.

Finally my uncle, who lives 100 miles away from us, responded to my calls for help. He forced her to see a specialist in his home state.

She spent three months at one of the top hospitals in the country with more than ten doctors trying to figure out what was wrong with her. She suffered a heart attack. She had to be connected to life support. She was forced to have several emergency surgeries to remove a tumor, to remove a blood cot, and a few others to save her life, they said.

My son was not allowed to visit her. She cried a lot. She begged me to bring him. She asked for me constantly. I was told I couldn’t visit for various reasons, primarily, because I was too emotional. I called her every day until they took her phone away.

I thought she was going to die.

She gave me a list of things I had to know, like where the safety deposit keys were hidden, where her cash savings was stowed at the house, where the bank accounts were and how much money she had and who was supposed to get what when she died.

I prayed every day - several times a day. I began a nightly ritual with my son, who learned to say “God Bless Ger,” when he barely said other more common words, like “daddy.”

Somehow, some way, some where, God was listening. He gave me the greatest blessing and answered our prayers about a month ago. The doctors finally identified Grannio’s illness as ‘vasculitis’ and began intensive treatment.

Two weeks ago she was moved from the hospital to a rehabilitation center, just 10 miles from our home. She can’t walk and she is just beginning to regain use of her arms, but she’s alive. Thank God.

God granted us a miracle by giving life back to my Grannio.

My faith is unfathomable.

Resource Box - © Danielle Hollister (2004) is the Publisher of BellaOnline Quotations Zine - A free newsletter for quote lovers featuring more than 10,000 quotations in dozens of categories like - love, friendship, children, inspiration, success, wisdom, family, life, and many more. Read it online at - http://www.bellaonline.com/articles/art8364.asp

FIND the MAGIC

Find the Magic
As you release old bondage
Come out of hiding
And see the stars

Find the Magic
As you expose the pain
Let the tears flow
And find beauty in your body

Find the Magic
As you scream from the beating
Run from the threats
And feel the warmth of a hug

Find the Magic
As the little girl is silenced
Told she is too smart for her own good
And she finds her place of honor as she speaks her mind

Find the Magic
As the ghosts creep into dream
Haunt your daily life
And you meet them at the crossroads and move on

Find the Magic
As you drift out of your body, avoiding the anger
Observe the separation
And you join the body temple once again to rejoice in this unique wonder

Find the Magic
As you listen to the conflicts and
Watch in horror
And emerge from the water whole and beautiful in a rainbow of colors

Find the Magic,
For you are whole once again

© 2004 Susan Bacon

Susan Bacon is an researcher, teacher and author. Contact her through her web site http://www.ecoentrepreneur.org

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I’m not well. Can’t you tell?
Kinda low, so,
give me a dose of laughter.

Mirth will heal my every ill
and give me rest from my distress.
Now, give me a dose of laughter.

Glee can revive, keep me alive
and give me chance to happy dance.
So, give me a dose of laughter.

I’d crawl a mile for a smile;
but to get relief from my grief
I need a dose of laughter.

Isn’t it plain that I’m in pain?
You can relieve if only you’d please
give me a dose of laughter.

Laughter is pure and can surely cure.
What ails my heart would soon depart
If I had a dose of laughter.

I can’t be strong for very long.
I’m sinking fast, unless at last
you give me a dose of laughter.

I don’t need a pill for my ill.
I’m just spent in lament
and require a dose of laughter.

I must retain what still remain;
but don’t delay, I’m in a bad way.
Bring me a dose of laughter.

Though insecure, I want to endure.
But I’m drifting and need uplifting.
Please, give me a dose of laughter.

Even though, I don’t know
what it contains that kills my pain.
Just give me a dose of laughter.

It works somehow, so come on now;
Let go of doubt, I can’t do without
My healing dose of laughter.

If you wait around I’ll surely be found
lying dead in my bed.
Rush me my dose of laughter.

Rev. Saundra L. Washington, is an ordained clergywoman, social worker, and Founder of AMEN Ministries, http://www.clergyservices4u.org. She is also the author of two coffee table books: Room Beneath the Snow, Poems that Preach and Negative Disturbances, Homilies that Teach.

On through the darkness she searches the bones
Seeking the hand of her love;
Deep in the stillness, the maid searches on,
Petitioning help from above.
Onward she gropes through the flesh and the blood
Of the warriors disfigured and maimed;
She carries no hope for the life of her love -
For naught but his body she came.
To see his face and cradle his head,
Hold him close to her breast;
Shed bitter tears at her sweet love’s end
And give him peaceful rest.

As dawn ascends the darkened sky
And the glow of morning breaks,
She happens upon a scene of peace -
Of death, where none awake.
Andrew is pierced by arrows, three,
David is struck by four;
She silently gives grateful thanks
He did not suffer more.

She reaches forth and takes his hand,
Her heart leaps in ecstasy!
“He is not dead! He is not dead!
His hand feels warm to me!!”

She knew she must act rapidly,
The sun was near the crest;
The hilly peaks that shadowed still
This morbid plain of death.
She broke the back of every shaft
Then pulled the rest clean through,
And taking his ankles with tightened grasp
Her strength and courage grew!
Pulling forward with all her might
They started across the plain,
A horse and portage waited there
To bring them safety, again.

Faint, a cry came from behind
A voice she knew, in fear!
“Andrew”, cried the voice in pain,
“Come…die with me here.”
Her mind now raced a hundred ways -
Must she return again?
Compassion and terror racked her mind,
Each vying for preference to win.
“David”, whispered her own true love,
And she knew she must give in.
Yet something haunted her troubled heart,
Urged her not to stay;
Leave David to die this honorable death,
Take Andrew and run away!
“I’ll not come between my love and his friend,
I would not even try;
For it would cause more grief and pain
For which I’d wont to die!”
So one by one she dragged them through
The moldering stench of hell
And safely returned to the retreatment camp
To nurse and make them well.

For days they lay near Death’s cold door;
She tended to their wounds.
And tended to others, wounded sore,
Who made the grave their home.
The crusading band, now broken down,
Their cause but memory;
Now turn for home, most who remain
They taste not victory.
The commander and a few brave men
Remain and do their best
To help some in their recovery
And give others peaceful rest.

Conscious now, gaining strength
And ready to be gone,
Andrew and David share their thoughts
On war and going home.
David speaks of raising men
And returning to the fight!
Andrew’s had his fill of death
“This war just isn’t right.”
“Your brother was no coward, son,
He fought most valiantly.
Let us avenge our Jonathan’s death!
You’ll change your mind, you’ll see!”
“At least he’s got a mind to change”,
A voice comes from behind,
“That’s more than you left poor Jonathan.”
The maiden speaks, unkind.
“What do you mean?!” Andrew cries
With anger in his voice;
He glances between the man and the maid
And knows he must make a choice!
“MY love, your brother did not die
At the hands of an infidel”,
The maiden’s eyes burst forth in tears,
“T’was someone he knew well!”
David felt his heartsick curse,
His curse of blood-stained hands
And wringing them madly, he exclaimed,
“How oft must I defend?!
It is not true, I’ve done no wrong!
T’was Providence’s will
That Jonathan would stand my way
And thus receive the kill!”
Andrew’s mind now fills with rage,
“Why could I not see?
The change that’s taken half your mind,
And nearly mine from me!
Now, through deceit, I’m driven far
Across this wilderness
To maim and kill these innocent lives
To set my soul at peace!!
I curse you David, I curse your breath,
May conscience tear your heart!
May your soul forever burn -
I can only mourn your loss!”

David cries in anguish deep,
Andrew prepares to leave.
The maid must bear her anger out
And turns as she makes to leave;
“You were caught up in the joy of death,
Caught up in the thrill;
That caution had escaped your hand
And Jonathan you killed!
You glory not in the cause of truth,
You do not seek God’s will,
You glory not in His good grace;
You glory in the kill!!”

Deathly silent David falls
His mind recalls again
The look upon his true friend’s face
As his life before him drained.
Sanity leaves his weakened frame,
Revenge is in his eye!
T’was Andrew’s fault his friend is gone,
T’is Andrew’s turn to die!
An evil smile forms the lips
From a vile, cankered brain
That gropes to plan young Andrew’s death
With a maximum of pain!
“Let him die before my eyes
With a maximum of pain!!”

(this is an excerpt only)

Bob Curtis has been writing articles, short fiction and poetry for over 30 years. He is the managing director of http://www.people4people.blogspot.com, and is the president of Nexus Publishing, http://www.nexus4u.blogspot.com

For information on obtaining a complete manuscript of “The Crusader”, write to nexushelps@gmail.com.

Azra, Azra,
Wake up Azra.
Wake up Azra,
It is time to go.
Go where you must
But hate to do so.
Azra, it hurts me to say,
But you are the way.
Wake up Azra,
You have to go.

Azra, Azra,
You are made of gold,
But the gold, I cannot hold.

Wake up Azra, you must go.
I know Azra,
The world is cruel world.
This world is not yours or mine.
This world is not the one
We want to be.
This world is not
For you or me.

Azra, my little girl,
Your magical power,
Your ocean blues eyes,
Your smile of innocence,
Your body like a bud of rose
Is what will save us all?
It is your sweet innocence Azra,
That our lives depend on.

I know Azra it is not fare.
I know Azra it is too much
For you to bare.
But you see Azra,
I do deeply care.
For I love you more than you
Will ever know.

It is you Azra
That will save us all.
Wake up Azra
For you have to go.

Oh Mother, must I,
Must I really go?
Oh Mother, don’t you know,
I am only five years old.
Oh Mother, can’t you see
My body aches.
Oh Mother, can’t you hear the screams-
The screams of my soul.
Oh Mother, must I really go?

Azra, Azra, my heart aches for you.
Azra I would love to
Instead of you, go.
You see my child
They do not want me.
They say I am too old, and
They want a little girl like you,
In their arms to hold.

Zora Teofilovic

In the midst of darkness, there is light.
In the midst of evil, there is virtue.
In the midst of war, there is peace.
In the midst of agony, there is ecstasy.

In the midst of night, there is day.
In the midst of illness, there is health.
In the midst of winter, there is summer.
In the midst of hate, there is love.

In the midst of grief, there is healing
In the midst of hunger, there is Bread of Life
In the midst of thirst, there is Living Water
In midst of loneliness, there is companionship

In the midst of sin, there is redemption
In the midst of catastrophe, there is restoration
In the midst of rain, there is a rainbow
In the midst of adversity, there is privilege

In the midst of decay, there is renewal.
In the midst of hopelessness, there is possibility.
In the midst of poverty, there is wealth.
In the midst of pain, there is joy.

In the midst of tears, there is laughter.
In the midst of anguish, there is pleasure.
In the midst of disappointment, there is satisfaction.
In the midst of futility, there is hope.

In the midst of the bad, there is the good.
In the midst of the ugly, there is the beautiful.
In the midst of the unholy, there is the sacred.
In the midst of the body, there is the soul.

In the midst of suffering, there is mercy.
In the midst of rage, there is calm.
In the midst of failure, there is success.
In the midst of death, there is life.

In the midst of all…. THERE IS GOD.

Rev. Saundra L. Washington, D.D., is an ordained clergywoman, veteran social worker, and Founder of AMEN Ministries. http://www.clergyservices4u.org. She is also the author of two coffee table books: Room Beneath the Snow: Poems that Preach and Negative Disturbances: Homilies that Teach. Her new book, Out of Deep Waters: My Grief Management Workbook, will be available in July.

Do you ever stare at the paper, waiting for poetic inspiration? Well, you can stop waiting and start using systematic techniques for creating poetry. If it seems too mechanical or artificial at first, don’t worry. The point is just to get you writing, because creativity is stimulated by work.

When You Have A Poem In Mind

If you have your topic, ask yourself why it’s important, and write down your answer. How do you feel about it? Write down those feelings. Write a line or a scene that exemplifies what you are trying to point out. Then, start rearranging the words into a poem. The main thing is to do anything other than waiting to stimulate your creativity.

Sometimes poems can come from a simple description. Write down a description of an event, and then find a way to form it into something more succinct and poetic. The poem below, “Religion,” was created in this way:

On the shoulder of Keystone Road
A woman was laying in the dirt
Calling out for help
While ninety-three christians
Fourteen muslims
And five jews
Drove by
On a sunny afternoon

When You Need Ideas For Poems

1. Look around and write down what you see.

2. Write about anything that you felt today.

3. Ask anyone for a topic and start writing.

4. Use random words, one per line, to create a verse.

The following verse was written in a few minutes using four randomly chosen words:

Our dirty little secret
Our sorrow none can see
Is not
For things we cannot have
But for things we cannot be

Poets can break through the worst writers-block, by simply using any “tricks” available to start writing poems. Try it. Even very artificial, or “mechanical” techniques will get your creativity flowing. You’ll find more of these poetic techniques in part two.

Steve Gillman has been playing with poetry for thirty years. He and his wife Ana created the game “Deal-A-Poem,” which can be accessed for free at: http://www.dealapoem.com

(The city by the bay of Northern California, near which the Pacific Ocean resides; the year is 1967)

Mid October seemed like some spring day,

When through the poised waters, dry as lead,
The ferry, like vague shadows that stand the dead,

Slipped down the curved coast of Frisco bay,
Rounded the Golden Gate,and San Francisco lay,
Before me, that gay city, pink and red,
Hippies covered Haigh Asbury’s homeless head,

My home, to be, I found stirring and grey.

The waves busted on the wooden-sides; fishermen

Nearby with long necks, looked and cast again.
Deep in emerald waters we wandered free,
When abruptly the bay currents were stirred

The ferry bearing restrained the great sea bird
Settling, like Asbury’s spirit, in the sea.

6/4/05 #708

Note by the Author: Sonnets are tricky little creatures, and although I started out to create one, I found I had to lay it aside, and create a semi-sonnet, for I did not want to lose tone, and spirit of the waters around the bay of San Francisco, and the echoes that came with it. I had lived there in l967-68 for a year. And many ferry rides were available for a few dollars. Some even chanced it by going under and out beyond the Golden Gate, and so it was the supreme achievement of my youthful years to have become a part of this fascinating city, in such a fascinating time period, one unequalled since the 1920’s when Hemingway and Fitzgerald walked the streets of Paris, and Scott, coined the term, “The Jazz Age,” back in l967, it was the Hippie Era.

I suppose for me, I do not feel bound by formal regularity to create a full sonnet, but in this poem neither did I want blank verse, which is unrhymed iambic pentameter. So this is what I came up with. The trip I took on the boat was actually with my mother, who came to visit me in the city by the bay, as I had gotten drafted to go into the Army, and onto Vietnam. It was a joyful memory for both of us, which lasted until she passed on in 2003; yes, we talked about those far off days in San Francisco, of which she only stayed for a week, for 35-years; what more can one ask for out an experience.

Poet Dennis Siluk web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com