If I should be a flower

I would spread my precious

petals in the sprinkly shower

soaking myself in the falling rain for hours.

I'd greet all the plants

in the days

and shake their hands

always

I'd hear everything the wind says.

In colourful costumes I would dress

and show off

my beautiful headress.

My flower friends would

play in the breeze

and I would sway and

tilt with bees.

If I should be a flower

in my garden I would sleep

at nights

and bask in the sun in daylight.

The hummingbird wings

I would touch and

swallowtail butterflies'

wings and such.

If I should be a flower

my little seedlings in the garden will

sprout from the ground

so many more flowers would be all around.

- T. Rolle

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The Sunday Gleaner

The Sunday Gleaner attracting over 670,000 readers,

The paper for the young, middle-aged and the old, the paper for leaders.

The Sunday Gleaner, the preferred choice, but it must be,

because it's filled with variety and spice,

From you can put two and two together; you'll just roll through the pages

like a pair of dice,

News, Arts, In Focus, Career, Social and Entertainment,

Auto, Memoriam, Sports, Classified, Business and Advertisement,

The Sunday Gleaner has a section for everyone,

Read, uplift your minds, know the facts, don't depend on the opinion of anyone,

The paper that helps you to reach your goals,

jamaica-gleaner.com, truly where life unfolds.

- Richard A. Palmer

-----

The wound

How do I pull this dagger from my heart,

this blade of bloody iniquity stuck

in the sinews of life-enabling flesh,

this deep pain inside, the wish to vanish,

to 'vacate this human space' and dock in

'harbour spirit' with the 'Apparition?'

I wonder whether it is sweeter to

die a slow and painful death or endure

a bit longer and revel in the stress

of elimination. Or is it

the joy of departure from a place that

has been nothing but misery ... misery after misery?

I battle the stress of living

among people: the Claudiuses and

Macbeths who would stab or pour poison in

the ears of a sleeping king; a Brutus

who would betray a trusting friend, frightened

to see, upon spinning around, the stab

of fatality from the knife of malice

is born of the hand of a would-be friend

draining the life blood of trust from the wound.

- Nicholas Damion Alexander

--------

Freedom

Chained down by my emotions,

Tourchered by my fears,

Wrapped up by my faults,

Weighed down my tears,

Blinded by pain,

Not knowing there is a better way.

Release my heart from its captives,

Break the chains of emotions,

Drive away my fears,

Rewrap me in tender love and care,

Open my eyes to what's fair.

Freedom, freedom, freedom,

I'm free at last.

- Ron Stephens