Thoughts for the Heart 

"Daddy, how much do you make an hour?" 
With a timid voice and idolizing eyes, 
the little boy greeted his father as he returned from work. 
Greatly surprised, but giving his boy a glaring look, the father said: 
"Look, sonny, not even your mother knows that. Don't bother me now, I'm tired." 
"But Daddy, just tell me please! How much do you make an hour, " the boy insisted. 
The father, finally giving up, replied: "Twenty dollars per hour." 
"Okay, Daddy. Could you loan me ten dollars?" the boy asked. 
Showing his restlessness and positively disturbed, the father yelled: 
"So that was the reason you asked how much I earn, right? 
Go to sleep and don't bother me anymore!" 
It was already dark and the father was meditating on what he said and was feeling guilty. 
Maybe he thought, his son wanted to buy something. 
Finally, trying to ease his mind, the father went to his son's room. 
"Are you asleep, son?" asked the father. 
"No, Daddy. Why?" replied the boy, partially asleep? 
"Here's the money you asked for earlier, " the father said. 
"Thanks, Daddy!" rejoiced the son, 
while putting his hand under his pillow and removing some money. 
"Now I have enough! Now I have twenty dollars!" the boy said to his father, 
who was gazing at his son, confused at what his son had just said. 
"Daddy, could you sell me one hour of your time?"




Untitled

The clock ticks
As minutes pass
And my friends and I
Sit together in mass

Our hearts beat quickly
A scream is heard
No one moves
No one is disturbed

You may wonder
Why we show no care
But even though we do
Our feelings we must not share


Our wounds are deep
Our minds are shallow
Because we are told 
In the dirt we would wallow

We are cold
Our barracks are damp
We are Jews
Of the concentration camp.
 
        -Naomi

Colour

When you are cold, you are blue.
When you are sick, you are green
When you are burnt, you are red
When you die, you are white

When I am cold, I am black
When I am sick. I am black
When I am burned, I am black
When I die, I am black

And you call me coloured?
    -Unknown
Friendship

Friendship's like a sweater
It's been ripped, pulled, shredded and tried on many times
Before it's faded
Friendship's like a sweater
If its quality, it'll last
Make you warm when you are cold, It'll go with almost anything
Friendship's like a sweater
If its cheap it will come apart at the seems
Be harsh and abrasive
Be in with the current styles one day, out with the next
Friendship's like a sweater
Be careful when you choose
       -Lisa

Never Gone

I light a match 
And watch it burn
I think of our love
I watch, I learn
It starts with a spark
String, intense
It burns for awhile
Then becomes less dense
The flames are gone
Smoke hangs in the air
Such as my love for you
Still lingers there.
     -Jenni

A Friend of Mine

Today I lost
A friend of mine
A friend of mine
Who was very dear
A friend if mine
Who always cared
A friend of mine
Who made me laugh
A friend of mine
Who made me cry
I miss this friend
This friend of mine
This friend of mine
He's gone, he died.
      -Carynne

Why Wear a Poppy?

Please wear a poppy, the lady said
And held one forth, but I shook my head
Then I stopped and watched, as she offered them there,
Her face was old and lined with care

A boy came whistling down the street
Bouncing along on carefree feet
His smile was full of joy and fun
"Lady" he said, "May I have one?"
When she pinned it on he turned to say
"Why do we wear a poppy today?"

The lady smiles in her wistful way
And answered "This is Remembrance Day"
And the poppy there is a symbol for 
The gallant men who died in the war
And because they did you and I are free
That's why we wear a poppy you see
And I had a boy about you size 
With golden hair and big blue eyes
He loved to play and jump and shout
Free as a bird he would race about
And the years went by he learned and grew
And became a man, as you will too.

He was fine and strong with a boyish smile
But he seemed with us such a little while
When war broke out we went away
I still remember his face that day
When he smiles and me and said, "Goodbye
I'll be back soon mom so please don't cry."

But the war went on and he had to stay
And all I could do was wait and pray
His letter told me of the awful fight
(I can still see them in my dreams at night)
With tanks and guns and cruel barbed wire
And the mines and bullets the bombs and fire.

Till at last at least the war was won
And that's why we wear a poppy son
The small boy turned as if to go
Then said, "thanks lady I'm glad to know.
That sure did sound like an awful fight
But you son…did he come back alright?"
A tear rolled down each faded cheek
She shook her head but didn't speak
I slunk away in a short of shame
And if you were me you would have done the same:
For our thanks in giving, is often delayed
Though our freedom was bought-and thousands paid.

And so when we see poppy worn, 
Let us reflect on the burden borne
By these who gave they're very all
When asked to answer their country's call
That we at home in peace might live
Then wear a poppy. Remember and Give.
               -Unknown

Listen

Listen to the quiet
Listen to the invisible tear
Listen to my feelings
Listen to what you can not hear
         -Natasha (that would be me!)

A swing is like a piece of freedom on a leash.

How come it's a penny for your thoughts when you give your two cents worth?

Why is it when conflict arise you have to choose between your friends and you feelings?

The only thing about being first is you don't notice those behind you.

If everyone sees things differently, Who sees them as they really are?