The Rain People

The Rain People

The Rain People are you and me and all people
immersed in the human frailty of emotionalism.

The Rain People are the drops of substance on
your window, your windshield when it rains.

The Rain People are those drops of water that dance
so closely, but afraid to touch and are so weak in
the abyss of love, for should they make
one mistake in love, and cry!........ they wash
themselves away and dissolve, becoming a vast
sheet of nothingness............ to love no more!

by poetry byWilly Art by The Peter Jones Studio and Gallery

Guardianship Hearing Caught on Video

Are You Quicker than Sheep?

by Investalot

I thought I'd start my quest to improve the mental health of the human race by pitting you against a recalcitrant gang of sleepy sheep. How quick are your reactions ? You gotta shoot 'em before they escape ! Beware - it's addictive - you have been warned!

Sheepometer

Are We Here to Take Life From the Future, Or to Give Life to the Future?

Credit Thomas Panto, thank you for the wonderful picture and the thought evoking question.

W/End Music Thread - Faye Wong- Eyes on Me

A Poem for Guardians: by Janet Phelan

Buy low
Sell high
Get rich
You still die

Kill the old
Rob their breath
Stuff your pockets
With your Second Death

Kill the old
Kill their young
Kill the song
Before it's sung

Burn the fields
Poison the well
Stick your profits
In your bank in Hell

There's a snake in the garden
There's a snake in your bed
There's a snake in your mirror
There's a snake in your head

It's a beautiful planet
So rich and green
And the Angel of God
Is nowhere to be seen

It's here for the taking
And when the day is through
It's all about money
And it's all about you

Janet Phelan

Slow Dance

SLOW DANCE

Have you ever watched kids
On a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain
slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's
erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the
fading night?
You better slow down don't
dance so fast
Time is short the music won't
last
Do you run through each day
on the fly?
When you ask How are you?
Do you hear the reply?
When the day is done do you lie
in your bed
with the next hundred chores
running through your head?
You'd better slow down
Don't dance so fast
Time is short the music won't
last
Ever told your child, We'll do
it tomorrow?
And in your haste, Not see
his sorrow?
Ever lost touch, Let a good
friendship die?
Cause you never had time
To call and say,'Hi'
You'd better slow down
Don't dance so fast
Time is short the music won't
last
When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there
When you worry and hurry through your
day
It is like an unopened gift....
thrown away.
Life is not a race
Do take it slower
Hear the music
Before the song is over.

This is a poem written by a teenager with cancer. She wants to see how many people get her poem. It is quite the poem Please pass it on. She is a terminally ill young girl in a New York Hospital. It was sent by a medical doctor -

O Captain! My Captain! -

Walt Whitman (1819?1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather?d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up?for you the flag is flung?for you the bugle trills;

For you bouquets and ribbon?d wreaths?for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck
You?ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor?d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Remember My Name

By AUSTIN CUNNINGHAM

"My story must be told,

Must remain in constant memory

So my daughters won't cry my tears,

Or follow my tortured legacy ...

Love ain't a tricky thing if it's coming

From a healthy place ...

Maybe I should have loved him a little less ...

Maybe I should have not believed he'd

Never hit me again;

All those maybes will not bring me back again."

That's a prose poem by a dying woman and I've taken liberties in compressing the words of a final victim of domestic violence -- repetitive, relentless, domestic violence, a war between the sexes. We're aware of its presence, going on behind those walls we walk by, drive by every day. Maybe we're tired of hearing about it, bored by it because of its propinquity (nearness). Behind expensive walls but mostly behind dirty, littered walls. It's as old as Genesis but as current as the next 15 minutes, a strong body beating on a weaker body with fists, furniture, whatever's handy. The reasons are multiple, no single pattern. A man (most often) with the self control of a child. In his mindless fury taking his revenge on adults like those others who may have abused him when he was weak, helpless and tiny.

Elder Abuse is Everyones Problem:

Excerpt from Paradise Costs



A mouse looked through the crack in the wall to see the farmer and his wife open a package.



?What food might it contain?? the mouse wondered.

He became frightened and devastated to discover it was a mousetrap.



Retreating to the farmyard, the mouse proclaimed the warning to all: ?There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!?



The chicken clucked and scratched, raised her head, and said, ?Mr. Mouse, I can tell this is a grave concern to you, but it is of no consequence to me. I cannot be bothered by it.?



The mouse scurried to the pig and told him, ?There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!?



The pig sympathized, but said, ?I am so very sorry, Mr. Mouse, but there is nothing I can do about it. I?d be very careful if I were you, but it?s no threat to me.?



The mouse turned to the cow and said, ?There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!?



The cow sighed and said, ?Wow, Mr. Mouse. I?m sorry for you, but it?s no skin off my nose.?



So the mouse returned to the house, head down and dejected, to face the farmer?s mousetrap alone.



That very night, a sound was heard throughout the house the sound of a mousetrap catching its prey.



The farmer?s wife rushed to see what was caught. In the darkness, she did not see it was

a venomous snake whose tail had caught the trap.



The snake bit the farmer?s wife. The farmer rushed her to the hospital, and she returned home with a fever.



Everyone knows you treat a fever with fresh chicken soup, so the farmer took his hatchet to the farmyard for the soup?s main ingredient: chicken.



But his wife?s sickness continued, so friends and neighbors came to sit with her around the clock. to feed them, the farmer butchered the pig.



The farmer?s wife did not get well; she died. Many people came to her funeral to share the farmer?s pain. To provide enough food for all of the mourners, the farmer slaughtered the cow.



The mouse looked out on it all from his crack in the wall with great sadness. All of his barnyard friends were gone, and he was all alone.



He sniffled and choked back tears, thinking, ?I tried so hard to warn them, and they wouldn?t listen.?



Perhaps next time you hear someone is facing a problem And, you think it doesn?t concern you, you?ll remember:



When one of us is threatened, we are all at risk.

Lao Tsu

Watch your thoughts, for they become words.

Watch your words, for they become actions.

Watch your actions, for they become habits.

Watch your habits, for they become character.

Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.

What Depression Takes Away- Poetry-

What Depression Takes Away

Bright eyes, Smiling face, Where have they gone?
It left no trace.
Uninhabited holes, A smile never true,
You wouldn't believe it,
Unless it were you.

Every day is a struggle. Each new breath is more painful than the last.
Your body, every single muscle, bone, tissue and vessel aches for freedom. Freedom from this nightmare.

Pain comes with every movement. Just forcing yourself up from your never restful slumber hurts your being, your very existence.

Words seem like never ending stories.

Each word has to be painfully processed, through the worn down passages of your mind.

When is finally reaches the end, you have somehow passed by all the other words.

Leaving you with a fragment of the story - never to be re-told.

by : A Lily Or A Rose?

WHAT TO DO IF A NUCLEAR DISASTER IS IMMINENT!

by Pamele Geller of Atlas Shrugs

This guide was purposely designed with the sober realization that the overwhelming majority of our fellow Americans would not be compelled to read such a guide until a nuclear crisis was imminent and, unfortunately, their preparation options and time to prepare then would be very limited. www.ki4u.com and other survival equipment suppliers will again be quickly sold-out, as all were after 9/11. This guide then will be the best/only help that we can offer. If you are fortunate enough to be exploring your family preparation needs and options before such a future national crisis, there is much more that you can and should do now to insure that they are even better prepared.

"A prudent man foresees the difficulties ahead and prepares for them;the simpleton goes blindly on and suffers the consequences." - Proverbs 22:3

Tears Are Like Raindrops

Michael writes on 12-16-2007:

Tears like raindrops

tears like raindrops
fill my face
memories of unspeakable
acts done to me

the pleasent times
are lost among the
thorns and prickers
that poke and scrape me

Tears fill my face
like raindrops
as they fall in
the here and now

a place I rarely
stayed, but now
it is safe enough
to wonder freely

Tears like raindrops
dried on my face
as I look out my
window and see today

Michael Joseph

Que Sera, Sera

When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother
What will I be?
Will I be pretty?
Will I be rich?
Here's what she said to me:

Que sera, sera.
Whatever will be, will be.
The future's not ours to see.
Que sera, sera.
What will be, will be.

When I grew up and fell in love
I asked my sweetheart
What lies ahead?
Will we have rainbows
Day after day?
Here's what my sweetheart said:

Que sera, sera.
Whatever will be, will be.
The future's not ours to see.
Que sera, sera.
What will be, will be.

Now I have children of my own.
They ask their mother,
What will I be?
Will I be handsome?
Will I be rich?
I tell them tenderly:

Que sera, sera.
Whatever will be, will be.
The future's not ours to see.
Que sera, sera.
What will be, will be.
Que sera, sera.

posted by Kathleen Riley