Inner Child Enterprises: January 2012

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Half Moon Light, Half Moon Dark

I stand in the not so silent night

Contemplating the resonating of life about me

And me is semi absent form this consciousness

What a mess

The test to find ones way

Out of their own convolutions created

Never to be abated perhaps

Half Moon Light, Half Moon Dark

But we must believe

So they tell us

Or we will never achieve

What I may ask

Half Moon Light, Half Moon Dark

The task at hand always

In all ways

In all the days

Is to find our way

Through our own wilderness

Half Moon Light, Half Moon Dark

My mind stirs and picks at things

Singing song I have forgotten

To annoy me

Or incite me

To further the quest of being free

Half Moon Light, Half Moon Dark

The body has need of things

But there is this thing inside of me

That cares not about such things

For I am enjoying just the “being”-ness of things

Half Moon Light, Half Moon Dark

I cling to the nothingness

In my feeble attempts to make it something-ness

Another fine mess William

For thy inquisitiveness

Comes with a payload of reservations

Doubts and Fears abound

And they never flee

At the sound of my feeble

Soul Blowing of what I claim certain

And certainly I will never overcome

That which is the ultimate validity

Half Moon Light, Half Moon Dark

The moon peaks through the clouded heavens

Half Moon Light, Half Moon Dark

There is a distant train whose whistle is blowing

For those who seek the knowing

To awaken

From their soon to be forsaken journey

And still the resonant “I” in me

Wants of things

Half Moon Light, Half Moon Dark

And the equation that fulfills it’s self

Has cosigned to imbalance

So it seems

Yet in the dreams

I am whole, wholly

Even in my folly

Half Moon Light, Half Moon Dark

Am I the light

Or the dark

Or a contextual representation of the complete

Half Moon Light, Half Moon Dark

I must ask again

Am I ?

Half Moon Light, Half Moon Dark

Friday, January 27, 2012

Rain

i love the sound of Rain

every single uncountable drop is unique

they each bring their own color

and give it freely to life . . .

i listen to . . .

the places they fall upon

the things they have come to meet

and the sound they co-make

yet in spite of their differences

it is One Rain

Thursday, January 26, 2012

losing the battle . . .

he held his dreams closer than reason

to him the world as he knew it

was losing the battle of importance

cleverness was overrated

no one gets out alive

we were just moved to another cell

and then the rumors started

life is like that, isn’t it

you know . . . what you believe

and we approach with reverence

laced with a fear

the edge of the abyss

the voices whisper from the void

“Jump”, but you aren’t are you ?

You will return to the village

with another adventure story

to tell the children.

They used to call them Fables,

i call them Lies

for within me belies

a certain desperation

only the cries of a desperate soul

can abate with it’s rationale

and tears and cheers and laughter and smiles

a spiritual cocktail is being concocted

by some would be Teacher somewhere,

at this very moment,

one who wishes to instruct me

how to walk my path

i say, write a Book

and maybe someday

when i have time away from my life

i will read your story

that is what you want me to do isn’t it

read yours and forget about my own ?

Another “Self Proclaimed Knower”

of things they have never seen

through the portal of any of their eyes.

Surprise, that is what “Id” does

when the “IS” ness of self fades

we envision.

Like Television we turn on

and what peace you had

is gone

faded

in the wisping ether

of the yesteryears of thought

no longer remembered

for the tethers of significance

are undone

we are filled with commercials

Prophets and Prophecies

and Legacies of times past

but what about NOW ?

i don’t want to dream no more

of what may be.

Dammit . . . i am a Beetle in the Bog

please . . . “Let It Be, Let It Be”

Words of Wisdom . . .

only the “i” in Me can speak

and the irony of it all

the calling prevails

to hold on to the unseen

and he obeyed

he held his dreams closer than reason

for

to him the world as he knew it

was losing the battle of importance

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i serve the silence

within the folds of silence

there is a noise

a voice

constantly beckoning

for my reckoning

and the awakening

of my greater self

all riddles have answers

i am told

all solutions

serve the equation

for that is their duty

i am listening

and i await the lighting

of the candle

that i may remove the bushel

that all in the room may see

and again the formulas fails

where, what is that cloak

that veils the essence

of this light within

casting dispersion upon self

to what end does that serve

does it validate sin’s presence

of that of the illusion

the age of confusion

is upon us

twirling and knitting

and gnarling and sitting

working convexments

around and through

the minds of men

that we may create our own delusions

by the dozens

wholesaling our souls

to the highest bidders

bloodied esteems

litter the landscapes

of the promises we dream of

for some, it is all we have left

dreams so we may think on it

so why not think on

about the uselessness

of aspiring thoughts

which are tethered

neither to deed not intent

the jackal captures the imaginings

in the throes of carnality

revealing the futility

of our mountains of civility

laced with the bitters

the poisonous flavors

of protocol

and the call

is unanswered

so this is why

i chose the silence

though it is but another tease

i yet still seek it

here upon my proverbial knees

listening for that voice i serve

for

i serve the silence

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Tuesday, January 24, 2012

losing the battle . . .

he held his dreams closer than reason

to him the world as he knew it

was losing the battle of importance

cleverness was overrated

no one gets out alive

we were just moved to another cell

and then the rumors started

life is like that, isn’t it

you know . . . what you believe

and we approach with reverence

laced with a fear

the edge of the abyss

the voices whisper from the void

“Jump”, but you aren’t are you ?

You will return to the village

with another adventure story

to tell the children.

They used to call them Fables,

i call them Lies

for within me belies

a certain desperation

only the cries of a desperate soul

can abate with it’s rationale

and tears and cheers and laughter and smiles

a spiritual cocktail is being concocted

by some would be Teacher somewhere,

at this very moment,

one who wishes to instruct me

how to walk my path

i say, write a Book

and maybe someday

when i have time away from my life

i will read your story

that is what you want me to do isn’t it

read yours and forget about my own ?

Another “Self Proclaimed Knower”

of things they have never seen

through the portal of any of their eyes.

Surprise, that is what “Id” does

when the “IS” ness of self fades

we envision.

Like Television we turn on

and what peace you had

is gone

faded

in the wisping ether

of the yesteryears of thought

no longer remembered

for the tethers of significance

are undone

we are filled with commercials

Prophets and Prophecies

and Legacies of times past

but what about NOW ?

i don’t want to dream no more

of what may be.

Dammit . . . i am a Beetle in the Bog

please . . . “Let It Be, Let It Be”

Words of Wisdom . . .

only the “i” in Me can speak

and the irony of it all

the calling prevails

to hold on to the unseen

and he obeyed

he held his dreams closer than reason

for

to him the world as he knew it

was losing the battle of importance

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the Words . . .

the words

do you still remember the words

to the Declaration of Divinity

“I AM”

do they still resonate with you

in you

through you

will you be you

when you

speak them

tell me

do you remember

the words

New Haiku

lacking clarity

mud puddles stirred once again

unseen diamonds hide

1/23/2012

racism adrift

untethered consciousness speaks

streams engulf oceans

1/23/2012

war within the self

the hull lets loose the flower

smiles adorns faces

1/24/2012

anger awaiting

volcanic excuses here

peace visits again

1/24/2012

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Damn Muses . . gotta love them

i have taken a seat beside the waters

and i listen to the babble

of the babbling brook

while looking upon the reflective rivulets

as my life streams by

the superfluous needs are evident

for my tears are flowing to join the run

the journey

to the ocean

where perhaps meaning may be lacking

but the embrace is calming

the questions of life

i have let go

and my frustrative heart vacated as well

yes, tired is an understatement

life never did offer a full stomach

in my brief stay here

all the meals

were but a temporary cessation

to what angst ?

i can not tell

for all i know is the emptiness

oh sure, like most of us

i vied for happiness

cried as well

and as far as i can tell

it is but a state of mind

until you find something else to focus on

and then . . .

yes . . . and then it is gone

vanishes in the ether

and neither way

whether i am Yinging

or i am Yanging

can i in permanence

tether it’s attributes

to my nonplussed Soul

we speak such lies in word

like Namaste’

do you have a mirror

so that i can peer

through that looking glass

the one where you see God ?

not just feel Him

for feelings are but a tease

i wish to be blinded like Tommy

by the Light

and have Elton sing

my Wizard Song

and i will Hum along

while sitting by this babbling Brook

who took time

to dictate this Poem

Damn Muses . . gotta love them

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Thursday, January 19, 2012

Faith . . .

the Cock crew

the Crow caws

Soul falls

Man Calls

out

while housed in this vessel

we wrestle with self

grabbing for strings

to hold on to things

to secure bodies

but bodies does not

secure

that which has not

a home here

the Sun rises

we criticize

our eyes

still see that glint of wonder

light filters through

transmutes

what’s within you

and we pull the curtain shut

for we are not ready

are we ?

and the Cock still

does what he does

all through the night now

and the quandary still prevails

what ails man

that he can not find peace

will the search ever cease

for that which is everlasting

we fast

we pray

we give

we say

help me

in many languages

a mixture of joy

of hope

of anguish

souls being tried

vying

lying

crying

dying

where do they go ?

we sow seeds

perform good deeds

trying to balance a “Karma”

Ma never told me about that

the fruit of the spoils

of the sacrifice

escapes my reason

for its sweetness

is but a season

of finite pleasing

and the Gods are teasing us

yet they tell us to trust

all about me

is suffering

and you say

it is perspective.

and that soul in me

laughs

in a most sarcastic voice

and you speak to me

of the choice

of free will

the shrill and the jester

scream and dance

i hear the dichotomous symphony

of life revisited again

reminding me

of the perils of a man

who is filled with questions

self becomes the enemy

the friend

all housed in that vessel

where the eternal like wrestling match

has no time outs

except when i

deliberately delude myself

or seclude my self

in the darkness

which runs and hides from me

offering me not any lasting solace

and still those damn birds

i hear them every dawn

and all day long

reminding me

of what we mourn for

the answering of the prayer for

a better life

where there is a peace

without cease

and still yet

the Cock crew

the Crow caws

Soul falls

Man Calls

out

Faith . . .

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

Friday, January 13, 2012

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Heaven again

i took money

i took the toaster

i got laid

me, i took the trip

the all expense

never to be paid vacation

around the flag pole

and then they stuck

it up my azz

with the 24.99% APR

what did you take

in lieu of

your divinity

where peace of mind

and serenity

were once ours

guess i’ll buy a lottery ticket

and if i win

it’s on

Heaven again

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

of things in a frame

the picture frames hung upon the walls

of my house

in an ambient,

yet reverent silence

adorning my home

with a warmth of memories

and there were some

sitting on Coffee tables and such

some were ornate

others plain

but all placed where

there

as a reminder

of this path i have walked

at some time ago

into my “Now”

i sit and revisit

thoughts, smiles and tears

i had let ease into

a state of distant embrace

where these memories had been bedded

embedded into my character

shaping me

molding me

yet still holding me

in a weathered tethered web

that could not

would not

let go

there were pictures

of my children

friends, acquaintances

sisters and brothers

my Father and Mother

and grandchildren too

and many other souls

i at one time knew

and though i was somewhat cognizant

of the people

who adorned this steeple

where my life’s alter resided

which coincided in my now

there were the times

that somehow

escaped me

and left me

to become some sort of history

reminding me

of who i used to be

i look at the holders of these memories

and each perhaps had a meaning

some uplifting

some gleaning me

from my hull of self

i look at these frames

who embrace the names

of the times

in a land of rhymes

the ones i loved

and love still

yes, these frames

embrace that part of me

i no longer face

a part of me

i had long put away

just for this day

that i may reflect

while looking

on the meaning

of things in a frame

Frames

sometimes a thought

sometimes a word

sometimes a taste

sometimes a smell

sometime a touch

but always a feeling

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Chaos

there is a presence

a chaotic noise

awaiting it’s turn to speak

lurking in the shadows

on the fringes of my peace

seeking naught but opportunity

to poison and infect my consciousness

yes, these voices

they offer reason

laced with a twisted logic

that we all can understand

and relate to

but you

can never get rid of them

once they move in

they look to sleep on your bed

lay their head

beside you

on your soft pillow

that they may whisper

in moving silent syllables

to you

in your ear

in lieu

of dreams of beauty

and other sweet ecstatic things

so we think

and we awaken

each morning

carrying forth

the darkness of doubt

into a world of sunshine

and rising suns

giving them to our Sons

and our Daughters

drawing no quarters

as we diligently attempt

to slay their futures

labeling life with such things

as respect

and obedience

i call it forced acquiescence

we make careful incisions

and infect their open wounds

that fester in their eternal souls

we pretend to suture

the holes

with the offerings

of empty

meaningless

and false compassions

but why do we have

such passions for darkness

and self inflicted pain

found under the rock of rote

and rite

and doctrine

and dogma

can you build a house upon it

shit

i think not

for it is a rock

that rocks

and sways

each day

with the winds of change

and challenges

for it is a house

that stands on its own

only in the enigmatic imaginings

of mad men

and women too

like me

like you

within each of us

there is chaos

to which we apply

such rationalizations

of actualizations

with validations

and falsely induced

affirmations

we feed this too our offspring

that they may grow to be like us

and we see that same bullshit

in the reflections

of their characters

looking just like us

i am not impressed

have we ever

truly addressed the truth

that we know Jack Shit

yeah he live next door

a doctrinal whore

who sells her soiled panties

to all who would listen

polished and glistening

the lies

to make them a bit more palatable

but a mistruth

fib

fable

deliberate misinformation

or whatever we wish to call it

is still a lie

so let us clear the table

and start all over again

clean the pots Ma

scrub them well

let us loose

all remnants of Hell

before we prepare the meal

we are all too willing to eat

and feed our children

let us not give this present

from the presence

to the world to come

by accepting the redundancy

of stupidity

and insensitivity

and indifference

with deference

and an alacrity

of our own numbness

let us sit in the silence

and take watch

and observe

the shadows dance for attention

move not

close you ears

to the incessant whispering

of their reason

and logic

for what comes thereafter

are the lost souls

who continue

the venue

and there

is but chaos

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

Monday, January 9, 2012

she smiles . . . but not like Sarah

she smiles at me

through the veil

of Pinks and Lavenders

pained

with hauntings of past lives

her heart still longs

for that embrace

that all Virgins

who came to this world

dream of

the face of our Joys

they bore an innocence

for they only knew

this simple Truth,

that Dreams do come true

only to learn . . .

but not always here

for this is a different place

with different tastes

of self effacing realities

and the shadows enticed us to play

as they tease our longings

for they too clearly understood

the Heaven we journeyed from

we come for this brief visit

seeking the exquisite promises

that show up as lies

and in our own stubbornness

and obstinate-ness

we refuse to succumb

to the dumbed-down-mess

and confess

our errancy of thoughts

and visions

yes we must manifest

and employ our will

is this but another test

we ask

as we quest

to break the self agreed upon tethers

and borders

and boundaries

we must weather the pending storms

in this journey through

this wilderness

this fleeting mixture

of convolutions

until we find solutions

and become clear again

as we face our fear again

and the tears again

will help

so we smile

in spite of

in light of

like Sarah ? . . . perhaps not

but we smile

like we know that we can

as we peek through the Veil

of this loosely woven fabric

called yet again . . . Reality

she smiles . . . but not like Sarah

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pets

people collect pets

i suspect

that is to detect

a certain level of compassion

within themselves

we have pet Goldfish

pet Dogs

pet Cats

pet Snakes

and Rabbits

and Habits

and pet People too

why i can even be a Pet for You

the farther West you go

the bigger the Pet Test you know

in some lands

if they could get their hands

on your pet

it becomes a meal

but we don’t feel

their need do we ?

we would kill

at will

anyone who puts

their hands on our pet

that’s a bet

and yet

there is a possibility

it will come to this yet

if we let our “Compassion”

or lack there of

continue to rule

“The Days of our Lives”

there are lands

where Dogs are not safe

Cats either

and there are lands

where people eat People

don’t we

you see

it is a matter of perspective

the electives we employ

and how we deploy them

with a little Soy Sauce

and they will toss

that baby on the plate

why you ask ?

when was the last time you ate ?

Yeah, people are hungry

for something

like such things as Food

for the Body

the Spirit

the Mind

or some Hottie

who makes them salivate

to taste how it feels

for hunger

to be abated

once again

keep an eye on your Pets

and your compassion too

but first let our love

be between me and you

Feed the people

9 January 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

outside the Rabbit Hole

any idea of how deep the Rabbit Hole is

well i’m the one that dug it

and i ain’t done yet

can you dig it

bet

are you having fun yet

in your illusory

collusory

delusory

world

as we herald in

what we want you to believe

dummies

diggin’ for mummies

with overstuffed tummies

and minds

what will you find

when that mirror

of self

has to be finally confronted

another blunt

or blunted

stunted

soul

in that hole

you call self

ha !

take your mind off the shelf

step out of inventory

and see the masturbatory

way

we have been livin’

outside the Rabbit Hole

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

again today

oh where o where

o where is my mask

which one should i wear this day

my dear my dear

let me hide my face

before i go out to play

the tears i shed are hidden inside

i don my mask that i may hide

and perhaps i can fool my self as well

but i can’t, i can’t i tried

so when the play is over

our true faces must be uncovered

but just the same

oh where o where

o where is my mask

which one should i wear this day

my dear my dear

let me hide my face

before i go out to play

again today

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

Glass Houses

we often go shopping for windows

and Someone’s Glass House as well

“DO TELL

what the hell are

you going to do

with that Rock Son

seems like to me

you only need One

yep,

just throw it straight up in the air

and see if you can catch it

and if you are lucky

you won’t

and perhaps it will crash

and smash

that delusional reflection of self

you see

and the way you look at me

look at the world

through the windows

of your own Glass House

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

Saturday, January 7, 2012

i am listening

where i come from

where i been

only footprints

and memories can tell

and memories fail me

at times

where i am going

God only knows

at least that

is what they tell me

like a leaf in a Spring wind

i am disconnected from life

like a leaf in an Autumn breeze

the Trees that were once my solace

have let me go

to die

that i may serve

i look over my shoulder

at the plundered furrows

of the garden

that once bore luscious greens

and imaginations

and dreams

of past harvests

and fruits

yes, time

suits not the seeker

but it has served me well

i have gathered

collected

inspected

reflected

on more stories

that i can tell

and there are more

in that well

if not

me and my failing memory

will concoct a stew for you

to leave you wide-eyed

with awe

about all the things we saw

along the way

yesterday

and tomorrow too

how about you

do you have a story

about where you come from ?

please tell me . . .

i am listening

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

smack me dammit till i wake up

i walked the street

in the neighborhood

i looked in the windows

and they were empty

sure, there were bodies

i called to them

and all i heard

was my own voice

reverberating

within the empty chambers

where souls once lived

there was furniture

with imprints in the seats

where spirits once sat

and laughed

together

the walls were that dirty old City grey

like the Bus Stations

polluted

colluded

by deluded reflections

for i saw myself

like the ghost town

our neighborhoods became

i too was cold

and quickly approaching

the gates where one could not pass

holding on too the ass of compassion

but i held on any way

the alleys

where we kids used to take shortcuts through

were empty

no place to hide

or surprise each other

for who wanted to play anymore

everything

i mean everything

was now too serious

and seriously

the ominous clouds of life

were becoming much too much

did i say that before ?

much too much

well that is what it is

people had let go

taking care of business

was the new flow

of the people you know

“SEE ME”

yeah right

i looked in

and i saw emptiness

i don’t know

what i was expecting

sunshine perhaps

finger snaps

hand claps

cause i was in town

something inside me laughs

at the self effacing metaphor life presents

or should i say forces upon us

with our blind consent ?

and i laugh again

for i am much too familiar

with my own sarcasm

which has now filled this void

this chasm

where i used to be warm

so in my disconnected purveyance

i took a chance

and hollered

i screamed

and there was silence

for no one

i mean no one

heard my voice

that of the lost

who walk our streets

smack me dammit till i wake up

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

Friday, January 6, 2012

yes . . . i want

i want to whisper sweet things into your ear until they start to drip with honey and the sugar crystallizes so i can suck on your lobes forever . . . ya ready ? . . . do you hear me ?

i want to visit your Holy Garden and plant deep kisses in your furrow that i may restructure your mind and your vocabulary so that the only three words you will ever utter again in your life are “Oh Bill mmmmmmmmmmm”

i want to lick your Desires for Divine Ecstasy until you want no more, for that is what i come for, to make you my Vision, my Blissful Objective and i your Dream Master.

i want you to scream those three words i have taught you every time you blink your eyes for i am all you see . . . me, preparing you once again for that next step as you taste of this heaven where we become eternally connected in the Communion of a Love that makes the Angels blush and God smile.

i want to teach you the Acrobatics of Love beyond understandings of possibilities, those positions that make the Kama Sutra run away and hide like the Kids Play it is.

i want you to hold my Head Softly, Delicately, Lovingly upon your Breast, in between every Breath and every Heartbeat, for you complete me as i complete you, for i am your life essence as you are mine.

i want you to be thankful for every wrong turn you have made in life for it was those wrong turns that were the right turns, for they brought you to me, for i have been waiting for you a Lifetime . . . and the song of your heart you now sing makes Flowers Dance and Butterflies Smile and God pats Himself on the back as He says to Himself “Well Done”

yes . . . i want

(c) 6 January 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

but a test you say

the uncertainty of the next footstep

though not prevailing

does have a permanent home

in the recesses of consciousness

with anguish and trepidation

it laces messages of woe unto all

who would listen

we call it wonder

a pretty little term

dressed in pinks and lilacs

to evade our fears

we have already prognosticated the tears

so that failure would not be so stinging

and we then can tell our selves

“I told you so”

you know what i mean

we have not yet seen

the wonder of our glorious beings

though we dream about it

speak about it

in attempt to conjure it forth

drawing it from the veiled dimensions

of our Supra Consciousness

but those whispering voices

steal our joy

before we can even deploy

something significant

in movement

so we pray

that the day will come

when we are blessed to hit the lottery

or manifest the imagery

of some other far fetched reality

that looms in the silt

buried diamonds

that need to be cleaned and polished

then sold

we sell our selves short every time

don’t we

and yet we beg

plead

to be free

from the Demons we create

that our “Fate”

is understood

and we tell ourselves

we deserve such things

over and over again

we walk this cycle

sometimes we run

that we may again

start all over

funny the pleasure we seek

know that a treasure of self is peeking

as we are seeking

to not discover

the cover of our fears

yet we dare not reveal them

so we seal them

in the seas of our convolutions

again praying for solutions

we already possess

but a test you say

well . . .

5 January 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

well . . .

i was in my Sock Drawer digging

looking through my underwear drawer as well

in the closet

under the bed

i bumped my head

for . . .

i was looking for a delusion

that would fit this day

i needed one badly

the way was dark

and i needed some light

even if it was but and illusion

created for my sedated self

i woke up this morning tired

grateful yes, for i did awake

to what is the issue

the same old perspectives greeted me

in the form of Emails

and messages

and posts

and i knew right then

that the first 3 hours of my day

was toasted

a waste ?

yes i needed a delusion

that would fit this contusion

where my heart was bruised yesterday

and the day before

as it is every day

the score is

Home ~0~

Visitors ~0~

and my Hero is still

the Silver Surfer

what for you ask

‘cause he can escape

with no need of a cape

like Superman

or Batman

or that man

who feeds me lies

every day

that he knows the way

is the Truth and the Light

where is it i ask

what is the task

of obeisance i must perform

is it prayer

the loosing of my fear

or is more tears raining down on my Soul

that is required ?

the Fire is not out

but i am pissed

to be constantly dismissed

to gather more damn wood

shit i have clear cut the forest already

and Betty and Boo

still give me the finger

and in other words or gesture

they say “F” you too

what are we to do . . . now

some how i must find that perfectly fitted delusion

that fits like a glove

they keep telling me

it is love

well . . .

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

the House with no Heat

i went outside this morning

and it was COLD

i said “DAMN”

it’s “Cold as a Witches Tit”

a saying i often heard

and repeated

i finished smoking my Cigarette

and went back in

and immediately huddled

next to the Fins

of my “Rolling Plug In Radiator”

and then . . .

i thought about

the House with no Heat

as i sat on this seat

constructing this ? Poem

my mind became adrift

and again i thought

quite a challenge now

because i was cold

caught in my own drama

but think i did just the same

i thought about those who may be living

in a House with no Heat

that’s “F’ed” up

imagine that

and i did

and i went to visit it

in my mind

that we, the inhabitants

may converse in kind

about that House with no Heat”

and i could complete

this ? poem ?

in spite of the dire-ness

of the situation

what i saw was

a sort of elation

for the children were bundled

and playing games

entertaining themselves

Momma was cooking

and Daddy was looking

at the newspaper. . .

last weeks i think

so i struck up a conversation

created some dialogue

about how Cold it was

in this House with no Heat

for i forgot to bundle up

my imagination

and i was shivering

quivering

as my imagination was slithering

back to a warm fireplace

burning brightly . . . hotly

so i asked them

how do you do it

and the all stopped

and looked at me

smiled at me

and said to me

that can’t you see

we are grateful

because last year this time

we were living in the street

with nothing to eat

so here we are

we have come so far

though we now live

in a

House with no Heat

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Inner Child Services Announcement

Dear Family and Friends . . .
as a part of the continuing efforts to expand our Services, Inner Child is now offering Various Marketing and Production Products aimed at making Your Brand, Your Product or Your Persona more visible.

We are now offering the following :

Custom Book Markers for Authors

Electronic Press Kits : For Personal and Business

Book Snippets : See Samples Attached
Video Promotion Services

Web Site Design

Advertising

Publishing : All Forms