Memories One must always have old memories and young hopes. --- Chinese fortune cookie
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"Gary" Stapp FOR FUN: •NEW: Crossword Puzzle •Magnetic Poetry •Shakespearean Insults •What time is it where you are?  ABOUT US: From the Editor Favorite Links Copyright Info		Editor's Pick: REMEMBER Will you remember when I picked you up The times you fell and skinned and cut your knees Will you remember that I was the one That wiped your little nose when it just wouldn't stop     Will you remember when I was there to hold you When that bad dream woke you up Will you remember that I was there when He did not call you to go out Will you remember that I was there When he picked you up for that first dance Will you remember that I wiped away Those tears through each and every fight Will you remember the time that I told you You will remember this always as the best day of your life Now remember this, my little girl, As I will not remember Time will rob me of my memories Remember always that I love you -- Submitted by Janet Reynolds from Kerrville, Texas e-mail: janet@janetscrafts.com   Editor's Pick: MY FATHER His hands smelled like Cheerios When he would tuck me in at night I later discovered that smell to be Not my favorite cereal But his brand of cigarette  He would stand over me singing Songs I was sure he had made up I later discovered the songs to be Not from my father's heart But the records that he played  He told me stories of adventure He and I were the stars of his tales I later discovered the stories to be Not from my father's mind But the books that he read  He told me I was his life, his love Words I doubted in troubled times I later discovered these words to be Not from mine or my father's imagination But the truest thing I've ever known  -- Submitted by Airen from Dallas, Texas e-mail: airen_69@hotmail.com HUNTERS' MEMORIES "Poppa John" We have walked many mountains together Thru snow storms and nasty weather We have seen a bear and a buck or two Rushed back to camp for a cup of brew. We joked and we laughed, shared many a hunt Walked many a valley, pulled many a stunt We cussed at our losses and we had a few But at the end of the day we had meat for that stew. We hunted for trophies every year Laughed and reminisced till our eyes filled with tears Found each other when we were lost Kept each other safe at any cost The hunt will be different, one less rifle to fire I'll listen for your laughter I'll walk till I tire I will miss you my friend, as all hunters will You will be in our hearts though your rifle is still. -- Submitted by Janet Reynolds from Kerrville,Texas e-mail: janet@janetscrafts.com LITTLE GIRL  She flew the winds on angel wings But left her songs on golden strings In melodies both far and near That many souls will stop to hear She walked away but left her worth On footsteps tread upon the earth So that those who cross her path Hear echoes of a child's laugh She skipped along a river's edge And hid behind a garden hedge I saw her mark upon a tree And underneath a bandaged knee She played in grasses of the field Where happiness would be the yield She left behind a teacup's fill Of daisies on a window sill She went to bed with peace of mind With good-night kisses pure and kind Before the hour of morning dew She left behind a prayer or two She left the strength of mighty oak Some childhood thoughts she never spoke A million kisses to be kissed A sunny day that will be missed For what was lost, so much was gained More joy she brought than grief or pain She left within each trembling heart A love that never will depart The greatest gift she gave the world Was when her little hands unfurled Her fingertips on life were such They left their mark on all she touched  -- Submitted by Elizabeth Santos from Pottstown, PA e-mail: mesantos1@comcast.net DAD, YOU ARE MY HERO  When I was little, you held me in your arms, and always kept me safe, from every day's passing harm.  When I look up into your deep blue eyes, and feel your sweet embrace, I look up to the sky above, and thank the Lord, for the angel he sent down to earth, is now, and will forever be my wonderful and caring dad. Now that I am older, my life is changing more every day, but I still love you, for you are my hero, and that will never change.  -- Submitted by Katie from Washington e-mail: ShasaKarla@msn.com WITHIN THESE WALLS I feel your presence in each room As if these walls could to me speak. Your memory lingers within these walls That seem to not want me to leave. Your picture sits upon the mantle And on your pillow at night I sleep. I seem to feel you everywhere And wonder if these walls have eyes. I feel a prisoner entrapped within For from these walls I find no out. So each passing day, in here remain, Within these walls that hold your memory. -- Submitted by Gloria Sarasin from Trinity, North Carolina e-mail: sara689@yahoo.com TO HAVE BEEN BLESSED BY YOU I met you in a garden where nothing but weeds seemed to grow I was so astounded to find a lady that I've been blessed to know You were a ray of sunshine that brightened up my life One look into your beautiful soul and I asked you to be my wife The weeds in the garden started to disappear and quickly fade away Your love caused flowers to sprout and grow that very day Oh, what a beautiful garden it has turned out to be Darlin, I wish you could see the flowers... They've turned out so beautifully By the flowers I mean the love that you so willingly shared with me That love reaches into the core of my being and will forever last eternally Everyday I thank God for the lady that I was privileged to have held her heart With your sweet love darlin', I was blessed right from the start Although I know now that you have gone to a much better place The flowers of your love in our garden will be a reminder of your beautiful face In this beautiful garden I found love so fine, so pure, and so rare A love equaled to none other... I was so blessed and privileged to share -- Submitted by Dan Kelley from Ripley, WV e-mail: data42@yahoo.com WHERE WILL BE HOME? Where will be home when mama's gone; When my childhood home is no longer mine? What will they do with my memories; When mama's dead and gone? Will they quietly allow them to live Within the walls that whisper; A child's life was painted here; Where all of her memories live. Where will be home when mama's gone; When my childhood home is no longer mine? Where will I go, when home I want to run; When mama's dead and gone? I've moved around from state to state, But only one do I call home; Where will it be when my home is gone? When going home will be too late? Where will be home when mama's gone; When my childhood home is no longer mine? Should it be, I make it mine; Would it be home with mama gone? -- Submitted by Gloria Sarasin from Trinity, North Carolina e-mail: sara689@yahoo.com MEMORIES, PHOTOS AND DREAMS Captured memories stare back at me from the pictures in this book happy smiles set against blue skies vacations taken when we were young the dreams of childhood forgotten for awhile then remembered with a rueful smile I wanted to be an astronaut a dancer a fireman an actress of the first order my name in lights my feet on the stage fame fortune easy life but, those were just childish dreams never worked for never realized but tucked away here in my book of memories photos and dreams -- Submitted by Carra Wilmoth from Pearl, MS e-mail: mscriquet@aol.com Here I am again Lying in my bed, With oh, so many thoughts Of you dancing around in my head. The smell of your aftershave The softness of your touch, The words of love you whisper All these thoughts seem to come in a rush. The clock keeps on ticking Time is drifting by. I see the sun is rising Out of the corners of my eyes. Yet sleep has eluded me Once again I did not sleep, The love we shared was wonderful These magical memories linger on, Treasured days we shared together Lasting long after you have gone. Precious moments Trapped in the corners of my mind, My sweet precious love These gifts you left behind. -- Submitted by Gladys Cairo from Bay Shore, Long Island, NY MEMORIES OF THEN Walking among the stalks of corn Towering overhead, clutching grandma's apron As through the rows, she led. The smell of camphor salve And fresh homemade bread, Logs burning in the fire; Memories in my head. Plastic fruit in pretty bowls And fancy braided rugs. Smell of manure and chickens And catching lightning bugs. Writing on walls covered with coal And freezing in bed when the fire went out. Santa leaving giant colored books And remembering times we went without. Plain house dresses and fancy fur coats, Business suits and bib overalls, Winters so cold and snow waist deep, Icicles and flying snowballs. Memories of then, of so long ago, Mixed and scrambled inside of my head. I look in the mirror and search for that child; I know she's there somewhere, I know she's not dead. For often when I'm losing touch, She brings me back to my beginnings; Bringing back my memories of then And sharing with me, all of my feelings. -- Submitted by Gloria Sarasin from Trinity, North Carolina e-mail: sara689@yahoo.com WHITE ROSES Our mother died, Lost now to the wind; In just eight months, She pulled our father in.  She found her peace, And broke again his heart; Now they lie cold, Just steel and earth apart.  Life passes strange, Just so, they say, it goes; And stranger still, To wear this sad white rose.  Look deep and close Inside the blossom fair, And you will find The marks of passion there;  Like drops of blood, The last to leave the bloom, Whose beauty fades, And passes far too soon.  This day we smile, The fragrance to recall, Smiling as tears, Like white rose petals fall.  -- Submitted by Aamie Burnley from Paducah, KY e-mail: izeopen@yahoo.com DETENTION The clock ticks ever so slowly. I sit very still. I've stared at almost everything, detention isn't a thrill. In a closed off room, my feet go numb. I start to fall asleep, I wish the time would zoom. And I stopped to think, If only I would have paid attention, I wouldn't be sitting here in detention! -- Submitted by Jordan S. from Katy,Texas e-mail: RealFX@aol.com (This poem is dedicated to one who sadly became a victim to Heroin) FALLEN ROSE It withdraws and falls each petal bleeds with blood the night's cold the winter, it chills the wood Unholy drops fill its veins with sadness Oh how? Winter frost it stings. There will never be another rose that shines and used to grow like that one. What devastation it brings. Brown toxic waste fills its veins with sadness turns the sunlight into blackness. Once it was a beautiful white rose with its healthy leaves in place. Now just a rotting female. The rose, it turns to black and fails to open wide. Why did my beautiful favourite flower have to die, barely from a seed. I named this rose after her, as she died when her favourite flower in our garden died. -- Submitted by Natalie Coen from Manchester, England e-mail: CountessDarkRose@hotmial.com GREEN LINE She came to me on a green line bus, It stopped outside my door She looked so good, I fell about in rapture on the floor, "Hi there Rosie", I called out glad that she could make it, "Come inside and sit ye down, I think were gonna make it"  For weeks and weeks she came around I thought I had it made, that green line bus became my pal a saviour and a friend, But one day when the bus pulled up and Rose did not allight, it made me feel my world had crashed, it was an awful sight.  A while ago I found out, much to my dismay the driver of that green line bus had much too much to say, He had stolen my Rosie's heart and claimed her as his own, Now that little green line bus don't stop here any more. -- Submitted by Roger Stewart from Perth, Western Australia e-mail: rojak1@bigpond .com RECURRING MEMORY I've tucked you away in a corner of my heart where no wind or rain could reach you. So deep inside my emotions of you are hidden Sometimes it's as if you never existed. Then suddenly for no reason explained you show yourself like the sun peering through on a cloudy day. And I am again reminded that my love for you does not fade but grows stronger with each pounding of my heart. "I love you"  -- Submitted by Paula from Conway, Arkansas e-mail: surfind@cyberback.com A THOUGHT OF YOU A thought of you, in the silence, with me, My living, my loving Aphrodite, Once we were together, a moment's time, A moment now captured in common rhyme; I have not the genius to conjure you, The soul of you, all of you, born anew In letters that linger and notes that sing--- A memory's vision is all I bring. I wander the passages of the past, The caverns of conciousness, running fast, To try and remember the day we met, An hour on which my mind has been set. I cannot recall it, and that is pain That pierces the images that remain Of you in the splendor of summer dawn--- In waking from slumber, you stretch and yawn. That movement of limbs, the flexing of thighs The finding of slippers and rubbing of eyes, As naked as me, you stood without clothes--- To this did I rise, my lover in pose. That one night alone, fulfilling my dream Of passionate bliss, that daily I scheme To bring back to life, in my life at least, The poetry that you helped me release.  -- Submitted by Michael James Foley from Columbia, Maryland e-mail: MFoley2@aol.com SAID AND DONE I lie awake at night in my bed, Thinking of all the words you said. You said that you'd always be there for me, You said that me and you would always be. I don't understand why you did what you did, You don't know how much I hurt, I keep those feelings hid. But what was said is said and what was done is done, But I still wish that I was your only one.  -- Submitted by Amber from Wisconsin e-mail: Ggrrbabyyeah14@aol.com OF THE MOVIE STAR, ME AND A ONCE-FAMOUS SINGER A famous movie star yelled at me though he did it over the phone. I worked at an answering service in Provo graveyard and weekends alone. A struggling new mother helping with bills, I always felt so tired; A note said not to call in before 3, and basically here's what transpired. I waited, believing that when I called that in the aftermath, all would be well for I'd done my job, but I still got this actor's wrath! He screamed that his meeting was still going on, and why then was I calling? But I had not done anything wrong, so his shouting at me was galling. For weeks I had worked and phoned things in to this big shot's secretary, hoping one day "his" voice I'd hear so charming, not so contrary! To this very day I think he's terrific in looks and in his acting, but focusing now on the good in him I find to be distracting. All for that one time he yelled at me, a someone he didn't know. I was just a stranger to him, so he let his anger flow. My voice, of course, I'd not raise to strangers. That is not my style. Still, when I am feeling bad, do I forget to smile? To people in this world I've met have I ever rudeness shown? When strangers couldn't help me out, did I maybe start to groan? And worse, do I barely give a glance to people serving me? Do I sometimes go briskly on with my life, forgetting humanity? Another time I remember when in a department store another man, once famous, made my aging spirit soar. I can't recall this singer's name. We know him for a song. He sang, "The Lion Sleeps Tonight." (His fame did not last long.) Promoting new Christmas music there with the other guys, he looked at me, a stranger, and said, "You sure have beautiful eyes." -- Submitted by Andrea Dietrich from Pleasant Grove, Utah e-mail: wordwarrior55@hotmail.com Poised to leap, Into the world I once perceived. Black I breathe, A dream once inhabited. This can only get better; Only better. Some day I will wake from this Some day I will wake from this, And see the beggar I once knew. All I do is gather space, Gather time. I want him to come soon, We'll wonder again, Appreciate, Hate. Just a breath Scatters the taut dampness, of my mind. I know his small variations I bend through them. All over my reflection This was my texture Was my torture My memory.  -- Submitted by Helen Taylor from New Zealand e-mail: hellytaylor@yahoo.co.nz
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