Time

There’s never enough time
Time to be grateful
Time to say thank you
Or time to be appreciative

Perhaps it’s time to say sorry
Sorry I never took time to appreciate what I got
Time to say; sorry I forgot to meditate in the moment
Sorry I should have been thankful

There’s never enough time because time flies by
Or is it us who fly by?
Chasing after time, when time is right behind us

Looking back in time is always melancholic
There’s no room for us there anymore
And the future seems somewhat of a mysterious creature
Never showing it’s face in time to keep our fears at bay

But I’m grateful I’ve got this moment in time
To appreciate and say thank you.

A Poem for my Son

It started with a thought
A simple but fervent prayer
A longing for you
Faith in the one thing I knew for sure
Hope in the ONE I’ve known all my life
I knew one day you did be mine
It was only a matter of time

On the 3rd floor, Room 7 wasn’t a coincidence
You’re my dream come true
My answered prayer
My completion
My very own blessing
A son to love for eternity.
Always and forever
It’s team 5
& our love surpasses the mistakes in this world
Now all I can say is, Thank you Lord!

A Tribute to Nelson Mandela AKA Mandiba

I was seven when I first heard his story.
I still hear the voices of his people screaming and chanting “Free Mandela”
And the voice of a female singing “Winnie Mandela”
It was the story of hope in the face of persecution
Strength and Will in the face of oppression
A woman standing as a soldier beside her husband
Laying their lives for the lives of the weak

A humble man giving up everything for an idea he believed in.
The idea of freedom and equity
He was broken in body but not in spirit
His pain would draw the light back to a generation riddled with darkness
His tears would be between him and his GOD
But his sacrifice was for all men

The sages say; in every generation, there are 36 Tzadiks (righteous hearts) on the earth
Sent to justify mankind’s continued existence before GOD
I believe Mandiba was one of them
A light in a dark society
A beacon of hope for generations to come
A seed of yesterday for a new breed of humanity
He came, he saw, he conquered!
Heaven has gained its angel back
A Star’s been lit up in the galaxies
And men will tell his story over and over again

RIP Mandiba!

~ GE

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Happy Thanksgiving

Love, Life and Poetry

Naughty Things You Can Only Say On Thanksgiving……………..

1. Talk about a huge breast!
2. Tying the legs together keeps the inside moist.
3. It’s Cool Whip time!
4. If I don’t undo my pants, I’ll burst!
5. That’s one terrific spread!
6. I’m in the mood for a little dark meat.
7. Are you ready for seconds yet?
8. Its a little dry, do you still want to eat it?
9. Just wait your turn, you’ll get some!
10. Don’t play with your meat.
11. Just spread the legs open & stuff it in.
12. Do you think you’ll be able to handle all these people at once?
13. I didn’t expect everyone to come at once!
14. You still have a little bit on your chin.
15. How long will it take after you stick it in?
16. You’ll know it’s ready when it pops up

happy turkey…

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Pregnancy Sex (Pregnancy Humor)

I know you didn’t wake up just to read about pregnancy sex
Then again, maybe you did
Well maybe not pregnancy sex to be exact
But we both know the word sex got your curiosity peaked and your eyes glued to a poetic piece that isn’t so poetic after all when you come to think of it.
The how to have pregnancy sex should be the title
Like how does one get past those gas bubbles and constant bloating
Or how do you get past the constant need to pee every 2 seconds, just so you could reach for a blissful orgasm that is intense and more memorable than the fart you just let rip 2 mins into that blessed fore-play session with your darling spouse

Trimester 1 is both blessed and cursed
It can go one way or another
The morning sickness either turns you off completely or your growing uterus suddenly turns you into a nymph wanting to devour her partner every time there’s a flat surface in sight
Trimester 2 is where it starts to get interesting
Your bulging stomach reminds your kind hearted husband that there’s a little hugglemonster in there.
He must now constantly thread ever so gently and lightly else his imaginary ginormous genital rips the veil and cracks the skull of his precious child
Then again that giant bulge can make you too tired to want anyone touching you in the first place

Trimester 3 is usually my favorite.
Morning sickness is a thing of the past.
You’re pretty much used to the pains of your stretching ligaments
And your humongous uterus pushing hard on your feminine parts makes you once more, a sex addict craving only for imaginary sex.
Lets face it, you can hardly bend or lie properly, let alone present your nether regions for some gentle loving

When it’s all said and done
You know you love it.
You love being pregnant and you love pregnancy sex
Be it awesome or non existent
Cos you know it can only go 2 ways
Deliciously GREAT
or Completely Non-Existent
The only thing you want even more is food

🙂

~GE

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SIDE NOTE:
** You wont get the humor in this poem if you’ve never been pregnant, aren’t currently pregnant or if you’re male** 🙂

In honor of Veterans Day, A poem by Rupert Brooke

1914 IV. THE DEAD

By Rupert Brooke

These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.

There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.

End of the Road ~ Machine Gun Kelly (MGK)

Somehow I’ve become addicted to this song, there couldn’t be any lyrics more poetic, so I had to blog it 🙂

Lyrics******

Yeah, it’s a long way home at the end of the road
I’ll be paving my own way, to the top, I be here to stay
So take my name, remember this face, keep the change and have a nice day
And live for the moment, not by the past, homie live each day like it’s your last

All my life, I couldn’t fit in, like a bad shoe
I was always too square, too cube, too tall, too weird, too blue
Forget them high-school’s hotties now I’m too cool
I guess I came a long way from that young kid
The school’s most popular lane, no friends, no style, no clothes, no ends
Just a bed fell asleep, never woke up again
Yeah, and my last prayer was don’t ever let me end up like the people that’s down here
Cause the one that fear change be the one that don’t care
Look at themselves and see somebody else in the mirror
But you can always pick me out of the crowd
Loud mouth with my very own style
And what I know now is don’t ever pretend
And live every single day like you won’t see it again

So take my name, remember this face, keep the change and have a nice day
And live for the moment, not by the past, homie live each day like it’s your last
And if you only have 24 hours, 1400 minutes before your dream.s gone
Then you better go live it, cause whatever you love could be taken away
So live like it’s your dying day

I dedicate this to my teachers that never believed in me
And the mother that conceived, but ended up leaving me
I just wish you all can see me smile, there’s big grins on the tv now
And I took it from the bottom to the top
From the holes in my socks, ramen noodles in the pot
Used to rob them on the block, now they spot me in the drop
Middle finger up and that ain’t gonna stop
I used to take orders, now I make bets
I used to scrub floors, now I sign checks
I used to push carts, now I push songs
I used to be there, now I am so gone

I fired myself, found a job myself
Established my name and then I signed myself
And what I tell myself, is you did this by yourself
And when I’m on so long, I’ll be by myself

So take my name, remember this face, keep the change and have a nice day
And live for the moment, not by the past, homie live each day like it’s the last
And if you only have 24 hours, 1400 minutes before your dream’s gone
Then you better go live it, cause whatever you love could be taken away
So live like it’s your dying day

I wish I could see their faces when they heard your boy speak
Wish I could know what they’re thinking when they heard my first hit
Cause I remember them wishing that I wouldn’t get big
Now I bet they’re wishing they never said that shit
I came out of a dying city brought back life
Everything they said I couldn’t do I did about twice
Multiplied by the bottles that we popped each night
That equals out to a celebration, bitches more ice
Ni**a toast to the underdogs, toast to the team
Toast to the fact, we this close to the dream
Pour one for my exs, used to talk reckless
But now I push Benzes and rock Rolexes
Came from the city and until they come and get me
Turn around and see the whole east side’s still with me
And that’s how we live it, you mans don’t change
Look, it’s still the kid, still can’t tell me a goddamn thing

So take my name, remember this face, keep the change and have a nice day
And live for the moment, not by the past, homie live each day like it’s the last
And if you only have 24 hours, 1400 minutes before your dream’s gone
Then you better go live it, cause whatever you love could be taken away
So live like it’s a dying day

Yeah, it’s a long way home at the end of the road
I’ll be paving my own way, to the top, I be here to stay
So take my name, remember this face, keep the change and have a nice day
And live for the moment, not by the past, homie live each day like it’s your last

What’s In a Poem?

She asked me what’s in a poem
She wanted to know If the poems were true stories
I told her; a poem isn’t always fact
But it could be true
A poem simply uses the best words to express an emotion
Be it love, lust, pain, epiphany, anger or madness
The poet searches for the soul in words
And puts an unheard rhythmic melody only visible to the heart
A poem isn’t always for you, me, him, her or anyone
But a poem will speak to someone

She asked me again; what’s in a poem? And are the stories true?
I told her; A poem is a fairy tale come true.
A philosopher’s stone.
A prophet’s thought
A musician’s string
A poem is what you make of it

She asked for a third time; what’s in poem?
I told her; I don’t know
Cos when I wrote this poem, it wasn’t about you
It was about me

~GE

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