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 Jun 2015 AK Bright
David Hall
turn out the lights
and lock the door
my heart can’t live
here anymore

I beg don’t laugh
it’s not a joke
a heart won’t stay
where the heart was broke

my heart still beats
my heart moves on
but it’ll take some miles
til the cracks are gone
 Jun 2015 AK Bright
Jason Cole
He raised me the old-fashioned way
Never spared the rod
Worked daylight to dark
Except for Sundays
Never heard him say
His life was hard
Taught me to drive a stick
To hunt, to fish, to throw a lick
And how to take one

Good times fly by
Years fade away
Yesterday dies
Time cries

Daddy was a good ol' boy
I'm talkin' about them good ol' boys
They're the heart of the South
Them good ol' boys
Well they're about as good as it gets

He gave up all the boyhood dreams
And plans he'd laid  
So that I'd have some
Sometimes he'd speak and gaze
A glimpse of better days
Back on the farm
I can just see him now singin'
"Not Fade Away" and "True Love Ways"
There in the sun

Good times fly by
Years fade away
Yesterday dies
Time cries

Daddy was a good ol' boy
I'm talkin' about them good ol' boys
They're the heart of the South
Them good ol' boys
Well they're about as good as it gets

I carry his picture in my wallet
Together with his boyhood dreams
The picture is of him at 12 years old
My wallet's bustin' out at the seams

Time cries out for them good ol' boys
I'm talkin' about them good ol' boys
They're the heart of the South
Them good ol' boys
My Daddy was as good as it gets

Time cries out
For the heart of the South

Time cries out
For the heart of the South

Time cries out...
Time cries out...
Time cries out...

© Jason Cole
A song that I wrote about my Daddy. He died in 2010. Country-folk style.
rained heavy on the forlorn
white stone

April dusk had stood still
on deserted lane

iron gate to the lawn
showed mossed sleepy graves

tiptoed on the overgrown grass
for epitaph hard to read

Expect great things from God
opened eyes to more widely catch

Attempt great things for God
couldn't ruin it the ravage of years

outside tombstone waited a world
in the drizzle echoed the missionary's deathless sermon.
Reflections on my visit to William Carey's grave at Serampore, West Bengal, India.
William Carey (1761-1834) was a missionary and reformer who worked in India.
He may have done more for modern missions work than any other man who ever lived with the exception of Saint Paul.
The words in bold are his epigram.
Please note the first line of each stanza has 5 words and the words in the second lines increase from 2 to 8.
 Jun 2015 AK Bright
Emily L
The soles of my feet
     kiss the lush blades
     that never harm or
     undo me.
     It's the sound of
     jays in the trees
     and the wood burning
     fragrance from
     Autumns offering
     What magic is this?
     is it the work of a witch?
     Or a God that knows
     full well of their creations.
     Do they master the landscape?
     deciding where to place
     every work of art,
     like fingers uncurling
     to breathe life from the dust.
          One single motion,
           scatters us all
           to become runners
           in all the colors of fall
           Blank canvas of winter,
           Cherry lips in spring
            blooming fully in summer,
            I know the way to
        make an offering
        of thanks,
        I kiss the face of one
        who knows the pace
        Of my heart through the seasons
        giving me reasons
        to never fear the leap
        or the break.
             They know my footsteps
             won't regret or forsake
             The adventure of
             discovering beauty in
             Both joy and suffering
             because life is as fleeting
                     as seasons.
 Jun 2015 AK Bright
gith
-
 Jun 2015 AK Bright
gith
-
I am not quiet.

I have wrapped my voice carefully
in forgotten notebooks and scraps of paper
from busy places.

I leave these for the people
willing to listen.

My voice is everywhere.

It’s in everything I touch.

The roaring words in my head
slip down through my fingers
and leave a residue on surfaces
marred with careless touches.

but I can’t walk away
without  leaving pieces
of myself
behind
in the hopes someone will take comfort in my silent voice.

Do not tell me I’m quiet.

I hide my voice from those
who think I have nothing to say and give it freely to those who listen.
on the wind
wild flame is my muse

i write on frozen wasteland
the colors that i choose

i write in the Andes
of mystic glowing things

i write in the deepest ocean trench
of a fish with wings

i write in blackest dungeons
of painted birds of blue

i write on walls of paper

of my love for you


soulsurvivor
(c) 6/11/2015
A rhyming verse that seemed
to write itself

---
 Jun 2015 AK Bright
Chris
~

Within my heart resides
an ever wondrous song
~drenched~
in blushing daydreams,
oh won’t you sing along

Harmonies now dawning
whispers on the winds
~melodic~
is the love I feel
as this new day begins

A happy sun is rising
in choruses so fair
~singing~
my good morning song
*with you I long to share
Good morning Beautiful
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