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Passions in Poetry

serenity's interactive journal

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Nightshade
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275 posted 03-15-2004 06:37 PM       View Profile for Nightshade   Email Nightshade   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Nightshade's Home Page   View IP for Nightshade

Smiling and giggling with Ethel & Ringo.
Cars have minds of their own - I am sure of it!
I remember that the house-apartment that my daughter and I rented at the time, had a very slight incline on the driveway that I had to park in. Perfect! I could put the old 72 Duster into drive, then quickly into reverse(which wasn't really there any longer) and sort of roll out into the street. Depending on how strong the roll had been I either headed west or east....lol. The thing that makes me shake my head is, I used to drive from my sister's home to my home on the I95 Expressway in the States - an hour's trip, in that vehicle, with a jug of water in the trunk because it also overheated quickly!! What was I thinking?!! LOL.
Susan Caldwell
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276 posted 03-15-2004 09:17 PM       View Profile for Susan Caldwell   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Susan Caldwell

*shudder*

Please don't talk about overheating

*whispering to myself*

"It's okay, the Satan Van is really dead...

It can't hurt me anymore..."

Enchantress
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277 posted 03-15-2004 10:32 PM       View Profile for Enchantress   Email Enchantress   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Enchantress

LOL@Susan..

"It's okay, the Satan Van is really dead...

It can't hurt me anymore..."
garysgirl
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278 posted 03-16-2004 07:12 AM       View Profile for garysgirl   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit garysgirl's Home Page   View IP for garysgirl

Susan, when I thought of old Betsy yesterday,
I thought about you writing about your "Satan Van".
I've had a few of those, too...not vans, but
other vehicles that were demon possessed. LOL
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279 posted 03-16-2004 10:09 AM       View Profile for Ringo   Email Ringo   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Ringo

Susan- The "Satan Van" wasn't named Christine, was it???
lol
And are you SURE it's truly dead???

My ex-wife says I never listened to her. At least I think that's what
she said

Susan Caldwell
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280 posted 03-16-2004 11:02 AM       View Profile for Susan Caldwell   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Susan Caldwell

Okay the Satan Van.

Pontiac Transport, a '98.  Got it in the divorce and it apparently wanted to stay with him.  So it gave me every kind of trouble.  Seems it has a coolant in it called Dex-cool.  Long story short, replaced the water pump, radiator, and various hoses.  Dang thing just would not stop overheating (the dex-cool, kids..beware).  The entire coolant system had sludge everywhere. Over 25 flushes and it still was messed up.  Finally the intake manifold gasket went, and soon after the engine.  I still owed a bit of money on it.  Couldn't afford to continue paying it and find a new mode of transport (no pun intended).  So I let it "go back", and got me a '97 S10 (I know, but the dex-cool had been taken out of this one).  Well, fast forward a month and in the mail I get a notice from the loan company saying the Satan Van had been auctioned off for $1500!!!! Someone bought it!!!! It lives!!!!  I can only hope it doesn't find it's way back to me....
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281 posted 03-16-2004 04:07 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

indeed some stories that perhaps we all relate to in some way or the other...

enjoying this thread...

[This message has been edited by Cpat Hair (03-18-2004 01:49 PM).]

Sunshine
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282 posted 03-16-2004 04:19 PM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine

Yes...perhaps someday, you will.  This brought back some wonderful ex-memories for me, too.  No matter the clouds, there were the clear days, and those are the days that we don't want to seem to put out of our minds, because for that brief bit of sanity, we were in love, and we were feeling quite immortal...

Yes, please, do think of telling the "rest of the story" sometime soon.
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283 posted 03-16-2004 05:01 PM       View Profile for Enchantress   Email Enchantress   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Enchantress

Gee Ron..what a beautiful memory!
Thanks so much for telling us about it.
It makes me realize that even during the darkest clouds of relationships past there are always rays of sunshine..memories we will never forget, nor want to.

For some reason as I read your story..I kept thinking about that movie.."A River Runs Through It".

More stories please...we have received about 5 inches of snow today, my youngest son and his bride are moving out into their own home and I feel....not sure, I just know I feel.

Does that make any sense?

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284 posted 03-16-2004 05:05 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

K.. someday perhaps... someday.

nancy.. yes ma'am.. it makes perfect sense. The feel sometimes is enough..and if it is not peaceful then all one can do is hope, that no matter the storms they remember what is important..

as for telling more..lol.. we'll see...

serenity blaze
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285 posted 03-16-2004 06:57 PM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

hmm...this one sounds sorta familiar, except in the version I'm remembering...

well. Um. There was a car.

giggle, and that's about all I can relate of it here.

naughty Cap....*smooch*!
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286 posted 03-16-2004 07:29 PM       View Profile for Nightshade   Email Nightshade   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Nightshade's Home Page   View IP for Nightshade

' The others seem clouded with all the garbage from both sides that cloud what it is we did to each other over the years.'


Yes, we tend to lose sight of the fact that we once had a deep bond with this person we are now distant from. Good one Cpat. ... but do gift us with more....sometime.
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287 posted 03-16-2004 10:47 PM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine

I’m pretty sure Eddie was 12.  As I’ve said before, I was a good six to nine months younger than most of the kids in my class.  But I was taller than he was, and he was one of those boys that you know will make a difference some day – but not all that great to look at.  At least, not then.  But of course, neither was I.  

He claimed to have a crush on me, and he found some courage in his back pockets to hold on to, because his hands stayed there, while he made this pronouncement.  We were in my front yard, there in California, and the sun had gone behind the pine trees over there in Waller Park, across the highway.  

For a moment I wished we were over at the park – at least I could have been sure that my younger brother or little sister wouldn’t come wandering outside and making a big deal over nothing.  I mean, it was okay that he was telling me this, and I was surprised that he was telling me, but since I didn’t feel anything much about it, all I really noticed was his face growing flush with a redness that made him even more…different.  I truly didn’t know why he thought he had a crush on me.  What I did know was, he was lonely, and a loner.  And I was naďve enough to feel sorry for him, because what the heck did I have to offer?

I wasn’t even wearing a bra yet.

But, I remember his eyes.  In them, there was such an outpouring of truth.  And I didn’t feel sorry for him, but curious as to why he wanted to tell me these things.  We were sitting on the rock retaining wall, and he finally pulled his hands out of his pocket, and took my right hand in his left hand.  It was with some objectivity I noticed he had warts – just like the younger girl friend I knew across the street, and I sat there thinking if he needed to know about the medicines her Mom used to get rid of them.  

And that’s when he kissed me.

It was one of those dry-lipped, nervous, pre-pubescent kisses.  When he drew away, I noted his eyes were so big, that I felt this kiss must have meant something to him.  I didn’t know what to say, so I kept quiet.  He grew shy, and whispered something about having to move away, and he knew before he left me forever, he had to give me at least one kiss.

The next week, at school, I noticed I missed Eddie who usually hung back from the crowds, like I did.  

For some reason, Eddie crossed my mind today.  I wonder if he is a poet somewhere, and I wonder if he ever remembers giving a little girl in pigtails her first kiss.

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288 posted 03-17-2004 09:39 AM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

Eddie may indeed be a poet, or he may have found himself an artist, or a bricklayer. Whatever, he found his path to be in life, I'm sure he remembers that kiss... who could forget?

Ringo
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289 posted 03-17-2004 10:03 AM       View Profile for Ringo   Email Ringo   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Ringo

Ron- I would also like to thank you for bringing up memories... although not of a river, rather of my "lovely, adorable" ex-wife. When she was pregnant, she was the absolute most beautiful, and sexiest creature the Good Lord had ever seen fit to grace His planet with. And every time I told her that, her own insecurities didn't allow her to believe it.
I would like to state for the record, after having done a very informal survey of friends and family, that pregnant women have a very special allure to their men. One that can never be explained, and that only happens during those few months. I realize that most of the women that are participating in this thread are beyond the desire to go through that process again,. however, if your significant other told you these things, and you didn't believe him, then go apologize, because he told you the truth.

Sunshine- As Ron said, I'm sure he remembers that kiss... That's something you just don't forget. Mine was with Carol Tagalar when I was 7. She was blonde and gorgeous, and I was... well... 7. And Angela Aldrich was PEEVED. lol. However, that is a story for another time.

My ex-wife says I never listened to her. At least I think that's what
she said

garysgirl
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290 posted 03-17-2004 10:28 AM       View Profile for garysgirl   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit garysgirl's Home Page   View IP for garysgirl

My first kiss.....it happened when I was very young, about 5 or 6 years old when one of my little boyfriends and I decided to play house instead of climb trees. I lived across the street from two little brothers. We used to climb trees all the time. My Mama would tell me not to do it anymore every time that I would fall out of one of them. She'd tell me that little girls were supposed to play with dolls. I did inside the house, but those two little boys were my best friends at the time and they didn't like to play with dolls. There were many, many kisses through the years with different guys. I think that I was the one who was experimenting. Then, my Mama started telling me that I could get pregnant if I kissed a boy, so I slowed down a little bit. LOL My Daddy was really, really strict.....

Now, my first kiss with the first guy I really fell in love with is a different thing. We were so in love. I was 16 and he was 18. We worked together. It was my first real job, besides baby-sitting jobs.  My parents and his Mother (his Daddy was really cool about us) were so afraid that we were getting too serious. They were always trying to keep us under their wings. I have so many memories of him....some I could tell here, some I couldn't........His name is Barry and he has run into my parents a lot over the years. He used to be a manager at Sears..........
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291 posted 03-17-2004 07:31 PM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

Hi Honey(s), I'm home!

Didja miss me? *battin' eyelashes*

I had to get out for awhile--I sat here so long my feet were started turning blue from lack of circulation!

and oh boy, am I just in time for first kiss stories? (Is that the french variety, or just the first...hmmm.) Well, now you know, I have two stories, but I have (somewhere) a pic to accompany the first story. Because, as it happens, it was also the day of first grade pictures, and they were taken immediately after recess, but then, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Lemmee go see if I can go dig up that ridiculous thing--nodding, ya'll can laugh with me if I find it.

and mercy, it's good to be home...



Susan Caldwell
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292 posted 03-17-2004 07:45 PM       View Profile for Susan Caldwell   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Susan Caldwell

Okay...

Some things that have been revealed are a bit shocking..

Ethel, you smoke????  

And why is it you people got your first kisses so young???  I was a freshman in high school!!  

Goodness....

I must be a late bloomer.
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293 posted 03-17-2004 08:01 PM       View Profile for muted   Email muted   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for muted

oh, Sunshine, your first kiss story has given me tingles and chills....that is the kind of moment we all watch in movies with tissue in hand...

i hope somewhere he is a poet, and im sure he couldnt forget that lovely girl with the pigtails....maybe you were his first muse

oh dear, *sniffle*, need another tissue!

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294 posted 03-17-2004 08:12 PM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine

(Blame this one on our place for therapy…and thank you, Serenity…)

There, in Nipomo, before puberty hit, and I, being safeguarded by very protective parents, and only three channels on TV, if we had owned a TV, with all of the naivety in the world sitting on my shoulders, I could have easily been swayed, had I not had this uncommonly high ground approach in right and wrong.

Oh, what hormones do.

Yes, I was all of nine, for that very short year, my youngest sister just toddling, my younger brother being a particularly shy boy…we were all under the auspicious care of Candy, while my mother and father worked jobs to make ends meet.  We were not wealthy in the financial sense, not at all…but we always ate, even if it meant stretching a pound of hamburger from Monday to Friday; Sundays were always chicken meals, fried…in wonderful bacon grease; and a whole lot of beans, and casseroles.

I guess I counted the smiles I banked on to make me one of the wealthiest kids alive.  My father was kind; my mother, when not strained by three young ones, was very wise, and intelligent.  I wanted to be so much like her.

But I digress.  Candy was our sitter.  At nine…I was not ready for this task.  A lot of nine year olds today know more than I did when I was fifteen, but still and all, they should be left to be children, and be allowed to enjoy that period of their life, in order that memories grow.  But some kids, even way back then, have some memories that weren’t made to order, and this is certainly not one that my mother or father would have approved of.

Mom was really big on children taking naps, especially during the summer.  She had suffered from infantile paralysis, and knew that resting [or siestas] was good for everyone during the hot summer months.  Dad was away on a large construction project, and was gone for several days at a time.  Mom was working at a telephone answering service, newly hired, and didn’t have seniority to request certain hours yet.  Candy was a 16 year old from the small community neighborhood, and was making hay at $.50 an hour, babysitting us three.

Oh, she was making hay, all right.

It was right after lunch when she put my little sis down for a nap, and read a book to my brother, who knew the routine, and gladly napped.  But she asked if I would like to stay up with her, and I remember, even then, the combined joy of something different, and the red flag of something wrong.  Her smile was too big.  Way too happy to have this “kid” hanging around.

It was about thirty minutes into the “little kids” nap time, and the doorbell rang.  Candy rushed toward the door, and let in a…stranger.  Not a stranger to Candy, of course, but a stranger to me.  And I knew Mom’s rules.  No one in the house.  No one.

Candy’s eyes gleamed differently.

She turned to me and said,

“Karilea, I need your help.”

Ah, help.  She had me there.  I loved to help.

“I want you to follow us outside, we have some talking we need to do.”  

Outside?  But, but, my brother and sister are in here, sleeping!  Shouldn’t someone be in here, in case they woke up?  What if they woke up, and were frightened because no one was close by?

“It will be for just a few minutes.  Your dad said I could show Joe the barn.”

I remember feeling strangely uncomfortable.  Could it have been the electricity in the air, the way Joe kept his hand on her arm, running his finger up and down her forearm?

“C’mon Karilea, we won’t be long.  I just want you to watch the house, in case your brother wakes up and comes outside looking for us.”

So I’m thinking…wouldn’t it be more logical for me to stay here?  In case my brother needs me?  But I was one of those kids who was always doing what she was told.  Candy was 16.  My math was good…she was seven years older than me.  She would surely know right from wrong, and only do what was in all of our best interests, right?

Wrong.

I heard a shy voice say…“I can stay here, and wait for you to come back.”

“No, I want you with me.  I’ll show you where to stand, so you can watch the house.”  I knew the window she was speaking of.  Dad would tell me, “look out the window, is there a blue towel in the kitchen window at the house?”  That was Mom’s way of saying “come in” without her coming all the way down to the barn, when it was close to supper time.

I’d say, “yes” or “no”, depending on whether the blue towel was showing.

There wouldn’t be blue towels today to watch for.  First of all, my brother was too short.  And at seven, I don’t think he realized what Mom did with that blue towel.

But I did as I was told, and followed them obediently to the barn.

Once inside, Candy turned to me, saying, “Now you stand here, stay here.  I want to know if you see your brother come outside.”  Then she joined Joe behind the partitions in the barn.

I remember watching out the window.  I remember, … sounds…, I remember studying a spider web so closely, I gasped when I realized how close the owner of the web was to my face.  I jumped back – I knew black widows were nothing to fool with.  Neither were the strange sounds coming from the back of the barn.  I remember, I felt like I was holding my breath from that moment on.

I was scared, and I felt some sort of fear.  Not personal fear for myself, but for Candy.  I couldn’t describe it, but I knew if my folks found out what she had asked of me, she would not be coming back.  And overall, I knew I liked Candy.  I knew I liked the way she played board games with me; how we played Old Maid, and how her face squinched when she was the “old maid”.  I was pretty good with card games.  

Soon enough, Candy came out from behind the partitions, and she seemed pink, somehow.  Flustered, in some way.  I knew “big words” back then.  Mom and Dad pretty much treated me as an adult when it came to words, and “flustered” entered my mind.

Me? I felt vast relief.

“Can we go back to the house?  Please?”

“You go.  I’ll be there in a minute.”

I ran.  I remember my legs pumping so hard, my heart, beating so fast, and I barely remembered not to rush so fast that the screen door would slam behind me, possibly waking the sleeping siblings.

My brother was sitting there, at the kitchen table.  

“Where you been?”

I shuddered.

Candy came in behind me.  “She was with me.  We were out, walking in the back.”

A lie.

“Mommy doesn’t like us to be alone.”

“It was just for a few minutes.  You were sleeping.  In fact, you got up early.  Want to play a game?”

A game.

Later, as I remember, Candy was looking at the clock, just before Mom was due home.  She had set my brother by my sister, and fingered at me to come into the main room of the house.  

“Can you keep a secret?”

I nodded.

“You don’t need to tell your Mom that we were outside.”

We weren’t outside, we were in the barn.

“Your brother seemed upset.  Just tell your Mom, if he says anything, that we were only outside the porch door.”

A lie.

My mind repeated silently, but, but….

I saw the look on her face.  It was not kind.  It was not Candy.  It was someone else.

~*~

I remember Mom saying, a few days later, to Dad, that she needed to take a small vacation until they could find a sitter.

(This is the first time I have ever released this memory.  I was not as graphic as I recall things to have happened.  You are all smart enough...to know.)

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295 posted 03-17-2004 09:03 PM       View Profile for muted   Email muted   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for muted

oh my! poor little karilea what a horrible posistion for a young kid to be in ....
but, you tell a story so well i felt like i was in that barn standing next to you...
...funny, her name was "candy"..LOL..that name has such a stereotype attached! looks like she lived up to it ....
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296 posted 03-17-2004 09:23 PM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

*a touch on the screen*

You've brought me to a strange place tonight Kari. One full of secrets, and sex, and lies, and writing as therapy.

I told myself when I started this, it would be good for me, to get some things out of me--to find a place for some of it outside of myself--so I can finally type "the end" to some memories and be done with them. And yet, I began wondering if that is a good thing--should we rewind the tape and play it over? I'm not sure if I'm strong enough to do that alone, but tonight, I'll try to write this story for the last time and be done with it. You see, I'm just tired of "looping" the date and the circumstances over and over in my mind. I'm weary of picking scars back into wounds. Let them heal, I say, finally.

Resolved: I will not punish myself anymore for a mistake a child made almost three decades ago.

You see, today is a very strange anniversary for me. It was on St. Patrick's Day, in 1976, that I was assaulted.

There are only a few details that I could actually relate for certain, because I was completely unconscious during (what I assume to be) the worst of it.

I was fourteen years old, wearing my sister's clothes, and I was completely incapacitated--drunk--on green beer.

I could tell what I remember, but it's just such an unholy place that I have to tread, that I think I prefer not.

I woke up on the side of the levee, on River Road, here in Algiers. It was dawn and I was in shock.

There had been four of them, and one of me. I sometimes wonder though, if I didn't splinter somewhere deeper than they could touch, into more, just to make it an even fight.

Fourteen years old. I had just gotten over the initial shyness of puberty that makes little girls hide in clothes too baggy--and it seemed that this was going to be my first lesson as "a woman."

That day (night) has done more trauma to me, my psyche, than anything else. It sickens me to know how common a story this is, and it also perplexes me, because I can offer hugs and assurances to others--"it wasn't your fault"--and yet I don't believe those words when I apply them to myself.

I still feel responsible. No matter that I could look back and forgive them--they were kids--they were drunk--they didn't know what they were doing.

It's that child within me, still raging at adult me, accusing: "You didn't take care of me."

*   *   *

I never even told my therapist that one, but he knew there was more to my games than my own amusement.

He and I never had enough time to go into the "all" of my complexes--I fell in love with him fast, and he was my genuine hero, and he had let me go. You see, I was compounding those issues, and distracting myself by focusing on him.

I didn't understand, of course. Even with him, I didn't know that the lines had been blurred. It's only now that I understand he cared about me as a human being first.

It never occurred to me that some people might.

Smile. Till now.

So thank you, and now I'll just type "The End" to that particular saga.

It's done.

  
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297 posted 03-17-2004 09:28 PM       View Profile for Nightshade   Email Nightshade   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Nightshade's Home Page   View IP for Nightshade

Ah, Karilea. That terrible feeling of being torn between what you knew was wrong and not wanting to upset someone else who was also your elder. Then to top it off....what went on in the barn was confusing, and frightening. These happenings mark us - remain with us, no matter how many years go by. I too, have had moments such as this.
  You were coming into puberty and this teenager was asking a "favour" of you. Act like a child and shy away? Never.  Then she doubled your already guilty feelings by telling you to keep a secret. Yes, these things stay with us....until we let them out...like now.   Hugs lady!!
Sunshine
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Listening to every heart


298 posted 03-17-2004 09:30 PM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine

"it's done"

And if my folks are looking down, as I feel they are, they know now, that I knew then.

There are more.

Yes.

It's a beginning, to a beginning.

I'm proud of you.  So very, very proud of you.
Nightshade
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just out of reach


299 posted 03-17-2004 09:38 PM       View Profile for Nightshade   Email Nightshade   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Nightshade's Home Page   View IP for Nightshade

Karen.....my, my, my.
After reading your last entry in your journal I shall say something that I just told someone else this evening. This is so odd as I knew that the first time I heard these lines.....they would fit somewhere. This is the place. For you and so many others whose inner child is now speaking up. The author is unknown.

"Sometimes God calms the raging storm. Sometimes God lets the storm rage and calms the child."
Hugs & Peace,
Chrislane  
 
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