tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55747915126914489862024-03-14T02:06:11.620-05:00White Rose's GardenPoetry and Short Stories, peppered with some political rants...White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.comBlogger170125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-84900634560298515222013-06-28T14:07:00.000-05:002013-06-28T14:07:42.132-05:00UntitledIt's hard to know when it began<br />a sharp right where truth met<br />sharpened nails<br /><br />The silver flashes of talking heads<br />their words bear <br />the sickening sweet smell<br />of corruption<br /><br />A murder of crows<br />have gathered at our <i>House</i><br />their dark maws ever devouring<br /><br />Wake us from this complacency<br />shake us into a million pieces of light<br />the world is waiting<br />
<br />
by Sherry ObsheatzWhite Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-70658153846915344252013-04-04T16:52:00.000-05:002013-04-04T16:53:26.562-05:00The Art of WritingWriting is messy. Words slithering into sleep, jabbed hazily onto napkins ringed with wine stains.<br />
Beauty out of chaos.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-89298105710914798632013-01-08T10:18:00.000-06:002013-01-08T10:49:49.439-06:00Her Name was Jyoti<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_hV0YF7jgry9MUhh9jP_3ZReZKQTmmUZFCqvMMeBClqwqftJfmg6xQfzj21oSjWQMCsUW_LJWL_-zEjnZcs04e6hhMAtO7ge91X9qJrfSUURJDvW8xlRHgdHjIGzmdfXnZsmooBnp4a6h/s1600/flame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_hV0YF7jgry9MUhh9jP_3ZReZKQTmmUZFCqvMMeBClqwqftJfmg6xQfzj21oSjWQMCsUW_LJWL_-zEjnZcs04e6hhMAtO7ge91X9qJrfSUURJDvW8xlRHgdHjIGzmdfXnZsmooBnp4a6h/s320/flame.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Her name was Jyoti<br />
and her life changed<br />
in a moment, in moments<br />
stitched together in violence<br />
<br />
I want to take those moments<br />
and scrub<br />
set them to dry<br />
in sunshine and love<br />
bright and clean and full of promise<br />
<br />
Her name was Jyoti<br />
Her words, her story<br />
salted with tears<br />
fall from eyes that bear witness<br />
<br />
Let her story fill oceans<br />
Let her story fill our hearts<br />
Let her story change the world<br />
<br />
Her name was Jyoti<br />
her name could have been you<br />
her name could have been me<br />
<br />
by sherry Obsheatz<br /><br />In memory of Jyoti Singh PandeyWhite Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-13068250714127362742011-10-08T17:03:00.006-05:002011-10-08T17:11:33.320-05:00Adrift<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUSLW8aMq5iEga8OueH971YQZxGoQ9zOxevXQnmu747SfsgxvluA2IBpn9jNzy_RTx4csUvdAzvbO_vI0BOPLDcZC3K3gqOrbKcdmd7X3ffFnPgSwck0wGvXRMi76jsLoOAT7jHA5LsCD/s1600/adrift.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 243px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUSLW8aMq5iEga8OueH971YQZxGoQ9zOxevXQnmu747SfsgxvluA2IBpn9jNzy_RTx4csUvdAzvbO_vI0BOPLDcZC3K3gqOrbKcdmd7X3ffFnPgSwck0wGvXRMi76jsLoOAT7jHA5LsCD/s320/adrift.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661246169026449282" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;">Drift<br />play another life<br /><br />Indifferent<br />home again<br /><br />Eyes, speaking ties<br />Worked skulls-for skull<br /><br />Me<br />someone by gears<br /><br />Notes<br />Feathers, find hide<br /><br />Dawn aflame<br />out of sleep<br /><br />Drifting suicide<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-64245491501897346092011-09-26T04:21:00.003-05:002011-09-26T04:28:47.379-05:00Life<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5wHbbkDYHka7y4i95qfR3xYGesZ3jXes9mmaT_snBC0Z_6ow5SWAmBZD7airzle6MiBAE9LZpyoIgl-7xJInSzH0Uy6JxiaT9Y-KYtDMEr1OemgyItTLaDT32fvrFb8Ew02cPVQgm-xta/s1600/life11.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5wHbbkDYHka7y4i95qfR3xYGesZ3jXes9mmaT_snBC0Z_6ow5SWAmBZD7airzle6MiBAE9LZpyoIgl-7xJInSzH0Uy6JxiaT9Y-KYtDMEr1OemgyItTLaDT32fvrFb8Ew02cPVQgm-xta/s320/life11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656597575686887906" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We are born dying.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Would we cherish</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">this existence more</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">if we knew this from</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">the beginning?</span><br /><br /></div>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-72181325250931755922011-09-23T15:40:00.005-05:002013-01-08T17:44:49.797-06:00Confronting Hamlet<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr1l2aOcKxS9-RAg3yoJCArqS_vEuA9IY7nPJqjP6v-6C52sdv6rzvBE892ZS1phppmo8ZpdieRS_PdOOEgAn5I89GYzjUX7_Yo2qxzlZO5gQdfEowyrgZeZFbP_VhM05OqlKTZebKANU9/s1600/OpheliaFire6.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655658386254806818" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr1l2aOcKxS9-RAg3yoJCArqS_vEuA9IY7nPJqjP6v-6C52sdv6rzvBE892ZS1phppmo8ZpdieRS_PdOOEgAn5I89GYzjUX7_Yo2qxzlZO5gQdfEowyrgZeZFbP_VhM05OqlKTZebKANU9/s320/OpheliaFire6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: arial; text-align: center;">
The stars dip with a promise of a wish<br />
and brave Ophelia slips into the dark<br />
water, her bright hair spread around her<br />
like vibrating strings, a soft sweet melody<br />
passing away into the night.<br />
<br />
I want to confront him, this Hamlet, who<br />
flicked her away like an annoying fly.<br />
Did you see in her eyes the wit and<br />
humor that you lacked? I want to whisper<br />
slyly in his ear the details of the morning<br />
he will wake sticky with regret.</div>
White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-36241506397127521482011-08-07T00:50:00.005-05:002011-08-07T01:05:06.525-05:00Building a Wall<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAqf_jeYxrJ7H_u5aOAxbfnKJng1pJH9A2e5aHFMtTTmO6lM_GjlCl5ity74wpCBeTDx1A-XCqPNGnmcDGuqLNdGhOEPso0_csTz1fOUs0gCByjGqhSYSnhKxmwauQpFSLBTPrYIQ_xhF/s1600/Building_THE_WALL_by_cheesewafer.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAqf_jeYxrJ7H_u5aOAxbfnKJng1pJH9A2e5aHFMtTTmO6lM_GjlCl5ity74wpCBeTDx1A-XCqPNGnmcDGuqLNdGhOEPso0_csTz1fOUs0gCByjGqhSYSnhKxmwauQpFSLBTPrYIQ_xhF/s320/Building_THE_WALL_by_cheesewafer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637990529117096354" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;">I feel the first beads<br />of perspiration<br />sliding down my back<br /><br />The room swirls<br />and makes a sucking<br />sound as if a balloon<br />is being deflated<br /><br />Quick, fling open<br />a window, this fear<br />is hungry and I can't<br />breathe<br /><br />It lies there crouching<br />waiting, <span style="font-style: italic;">I read once</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">that Churchill built</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">walls to keep it at bay</span><br /><br />I lay the first brick<br />I will not let it<br />overtake me<br /><br />a splat of mortar<br />and another brick<br />I will not let it<br />overtake me</div>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-11594336850934555432011-07-21T00:46:00.006-05:002011-08-06T16:09:19.077-05:00BarFly<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNO0pfXQNaovIdqfmo3CzE0btIjxnhe811hiVTww0AGvFNsABADd12W4h8AKx0WYUi3Bv1Wzr7TqNhU1fWlKBuvkVVMfG9aMRYw9EiYGeY7Hq3SxiL6SykEsx0TYE5cpGCH_FIq19Li4dC/s1600/Bar.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNO0pfXQNaovIdqfmo3CzE0btIjxnhe811hiVTww0AGvFNsABADd12W4h8AKx0WYUi3Bv1Wzr7TqNhU1fWlKBuvkVVMfG9aMRYw9EiYGeY7Hq3SxiL6SykEsx0TYE5cpGCH_FIq19Li4dC/s320/Bar.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631678410839199506" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family:arial;">Buildings stretch<br />upward into the night<br />lit windows like<br />unblinking eyes waiting<br />for a promise to be kept.<br /><br />A smattering of music<br />pulls me to familiar haunts<br />and from the mouths of the<br />desperate spills laughter<br /><br />brittle and forced<br />one last coupling<br />before their bit of<br />blue sky is lost.<br /><br />"The gods favor drunks"<br />hangs above the bar<br />a bright talisman smudged<br />with the finger tips of<br />the superstitious.<br /><br />I run my hands over<br />the dark wood tracing<br />the whittled messages<br />of souls slipped between<br /><br />the cracks and in the<br />hazy glow of my first<br />drink I scratch out<br />a pledge<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Tomorrow will be different</span><br /></div>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-13434043898693714922011-07-06T16:45:00.005-05:002011-07-06T16:59:31.451-05:00Untitled<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaKVBYqDHUQlmUEwHnQapFnUlMAz1CKbABK0f49LNR06o4b00-6jAPEAe-rQ_ehyEA1A9e09rcdjbSs8nsMLkgy8uEuAe73NnRx0Fh7mM9IS-oqGdiosYpK3__ow0dot6XbM0J73GR_IbG/s1600/Earth_by_cipriany.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaKVBYqDHUQlmUEwHnQapFnUlMAz1CKbABK0f49LNR06o4b00-6jAPEAe-rQ_ehyEA1A9e09rcdjbSs8nsMLkgy8uEuAe73NnRx0Fh7mM9IS-oqGdiosYpK3__ow0dot6XbM0J73GR_IbG/s320/Earth_by_cipriany.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626361447953098114" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><h6 class="uiStreamMessage" ft="{"type":1}"><span class="messageBody" ft="{"type":3}" style="font-size:130%;">And the Earth still spins<br />A blue jewel of life<br />Charming the stars with possibilities </span></h6></div>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-13626678699181680402011-06-28T20:51:00.003-05:002011-06-28T20:56:30.030-05:00Sunchaser<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXiAccScwisRWlTHdjArIC0y6QCqtBY1xiWlrpiJUFAw0j7op9OgoFuQnV5MHLgn3KQ0dyq8_n-ygKvziBqzUiuvwLsru54S8Zx-pmJ7nfiTCOoOMpwaQfBAyqIuk3rJmNT_1RYwhPop8Y/s1600/newt.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXiAccScwisRWlTHdjArIC0y6QCqtBY1xiWlrpiJUFAw0j7op9OgoFuQnV5MHLgn3KQ0dyq8_n-ygKvziBqzUiuvwLsru54S8Zx-pmJ7nfiTCOoOMpwaQfBAyqIuk3rJmNT_1RYwhPop8Y/s320/newt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623454004319407570" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Newt the sunchaser<br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />We wait for the moon</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">as the wind stirs blue skies to black<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Newt, wearing paths along the wooden fence -</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />chases the lingering sun from our backyard.</span><br /><br /></div>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-16796400522730425152011-06-11T17:54:00.001-05:002011-06-11T18:05:17.059-05:00Door<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQJqDDadwoESpECeLjrQOQ53IqC1x3G2ijuPg3atwnIoMVGKq5nq-4rk0SFUF8oau5dVVoy5pExHop2AVWpjs83K7nVvJQnI8OwUUUzIJ9qynZiALah8uKdOYkmU_ErHSEgnkTuLbNP_F/s1600/door.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 237px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQJqDDadwoESpECeLjrQOQ53IqC1x3G2ijuPg3atwnIoMVGKq5nq-4rk0SFUF8oau5dVVoy5pExHop2AVWpjs83K7nVvJQnI8OwUUUzIJ9qynZiALah8uKdOYkmU_ErHSEgnkTuLbNP_F/s320/door.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617101981500962050" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I answer a knock at the door.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Have you heard the good news? </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Jesus loves you!</span><br /><br />I bare my teeth into a<br />semblance of a smile.<br /><br />Dogma seeps<br /><br />She hands me a magazine<br />that reminds me of Jimi Hendrix.<br />I hum softly, "All along the<br />watchtower"<br /><br />I try to imagine what it was<br />like, hearing him for the first time.<br />I understand why they called it:<br /><br />The Experience<br /><br />that changed my life<br />is that first pain<br />that nestled and<br />nagged the life from me<br />a little every day.<br /><br />I quietly close the door.<br /></div>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-34598314102453267912011-06-11T16:38:00.004-05:002011-06-11T16:56:16.724-05:00Perception<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIgH480O5pIVswHgtvEetZeTM1oLNylwYIn5a_bwXaOcU-XrxCWrFBqiuxs2hxJO8LoLZ-3cdrPEMbK6kOa8clEltki3IXutmETjru980q-mPOy4MuX70XHm5dNP7rdYiPm94tlSeY9Rew/s1600/Crack_by_kornonthekob.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIgH480O5pIVswHgtvEetZeTM1oLNylwYIn5a_bwXaOcU-XrxCWrFBqiuxs2hxJO8LoLZ-3cdrPEMbK6kOa8clEltki3IXutmETjru980q-mPOy4MuX70XHm5dNP7rdYiPm94tlSeY9Rew/s320/Crack_by_kornonthekob.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617083559199922402" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">photo by deviant art<br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />The fan softly clicks as it makes<br />another arc across the room. There's<br />a nest of fur on the blanket where the<br />cats nap. I want to curl up and sleep.<br /><br />A diagonal crack on the wall<br />reaches from the corner of the couch.<br />It makes me think of a Doctor Who episode.<br />I peer inside, in search of another world,<br />one with more than just fleeting moments<br />of perfection.<br /><br />My fingers are smudged with words. I try<br />to make them clear, but the laptop tells<br />me I'm out of time. A red eye blinking<br />low battery.<br /></span><br /></div>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-58828773071383649412011-06-11T09:44:00.002-05:002011-06-11T09:53:13.134-05:00Muster<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8KEEUlm_3EnqGQFkP5Xw__QC7zrIRzHC4S0KbW3nw6VbxmuYJIcKJymXUnL_y5zmT_EzUTmSCiAcS_5zqnuufpExK9nGJysy4UuIlF_h9ZemckiyyozC4x2Y0FX62Hw1iKp6gf55Yxgy/s1600/texas-soldiers.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8KEEUlm_3EnqGQFkP5Xw__QC7zrIRzHC4S0KbW3nw6VbxmuYJIcKJymXUnL_y5zmT_EzUTmSCiAcS_5zqnuufpExK9nGJysy4UuIlF_h9ZemckiyyozC4x2Y0FX62Hw1iKp6gf55Yxgy/s320/texas-soldiers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616974398314849154" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Hiding their unease<br />This cadre of fresh recruits<br />photograph of smiles<br /></span></span></div>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-5850148689966931542011-06-06T03:04:00.005-05:002011-06-06T03:12:59.176-05:00The First Love Story<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGbwBa_blpkRDuK1VlYkJQiAqXZhvShs9iL6ThvqcauLyOZAEL42IcumHOI137XVsha8ecJLAygTRdWblCgVkgoDbyctrip1MNQ9hQIV22h8mp-IPJxOBIBRL8Kuv9zKPO2OUkNt4_6M-M/s1600/Eve_by_irinush.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGbwBa_blpkRDuK1VlYkJQiAqXZhvShs9iL6ThvqcauLyOZAEL42IcumHOI137XVsha8ecJLAygTRdWblCgVkgoDbyctrip1MNQ9hQIV22h8mp-IPJxOBIBRL8Kuv9zKPO2OUkNt4_6M-M/s320/Eve_by_irinush.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615016219210401778" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:78%;">photo by deviant art<br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">So you want this man to love you?</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Yes, yes I do, said the woman.</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Well, the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Try that apple next to you. He may like it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Thank you, smiled the woman.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Of course, I'm always here if you need me. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We snakes like to feel useful too.</span></div>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-80003638614420436882011-06-04T14:18:00.012-05:002011-06-04T14:35:59.237-05:00Nonsensical Dream<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOor4yEza9YGtD82tytrxpLe0BCDUH40efG2EVRuCCEdSgPK472g0WY1eea6l_TbVJwERiInQqgdilkgqC5tN0_WP-pnwwcHs_nAEGpbZTb-S9_vHR5byWmMOBxUCoglJ2jRawP57uBkO/s1600/dance_among_the_stars_by_cynnalia-d3b9odz.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOor4yEza9YGtD82tytrxpLe0BCDUH40efG2EVRuCCEdSgPK472g0WY1eea6l_TbVJwERiInQqgdilkgqC5tN0_WP-pnwwcHs_nAEGpbZTb-S9_vHR5byWmMOBxUCoglJ2jRawP57uBkO/s320/dance_among_the_stars_by_cynnalia-d3b9odz.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614446303940393490" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family:arial;">photo by deviant art</span></span><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >And the stars came</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >and tipped their hats</span></span></span></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><br />Sprinkling light among the teacups.<br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >And the ladies sipped, glimmering<br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >beneath their colorful gowns.<br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><br />Sparkling with approval, the stars<br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >extended their hand and they danced<br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >within the night pushing away<br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >its dark dark tendrils.</span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span></div><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></span></div>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-83423421011338432642011-05-06T18:44:00.003-05:002011-05-06T18:52:51.749-05:00For MomMy Mom was brown as a berry. She was happier in the summer.<br />The sun, the water, she had movement in the water. I think<br />it gave her freedom from the pain for awhile.<br /><br />I'd like to say I was compassionate and I understood. I wasn't.<br />I resented her, why couldn't she do what the other kids mothers did?<br />As her body betrayed her, she collapsed inside and became more<br />withdrawn. If only I could have understood what she was going<br />through. The frustration she must have felt and no way to vent<br />it.<br /><br />I'm sad knowing, that I was not the daughter that I should have<br />been. I wish I could have made her life a little easier.<br />I understand now Mom and I wish I could tell you in person.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">My Mom had RA when there were not a lot of treatment options and she suffered terribly.</span>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-37999543313213553882011-04-16T01:22:00.006-05:002011-04-16T01:52:57.651-05:00For Our Joxer Boxer<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4DwHLIrvN1JLLfd3uWV3wgQWbQZoD55_rwyuWttZVN3b7vnDdt9TkwD5ppBwZt5qX6aYyG-hfUMZbEf1qzXLINBPTkXozlzqZo5KI3BBPky-I4HUBYQFVi6xahjg4qW5Ih1pZGKICUjb3/s1600/Joxer+Boxer.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 247px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4DwHLIrvN1JLLfd3uWV3wgQWbQZoD55_rwyuWttZVN3b7vnDdt9TkwD5ppBwZt5qX6aYyG-hfUMZbEf1qzXLINBPTkXozlzqZo5KI3BBPky-I4HUBYQFVi6xahjg4qW5Ih1pZGKICUjb3/s320/Joxer+Boxer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596069165687784690" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family:arial;">Gently smiling<br />listening to the soft <span style="font-style: italic;">whuff whuff</span><br />as you trot beside us<br /><br />We're not ready<br />as you look up at us expectantly<br /><br />but that pasture is calling<br />with its moon tangled in the wisteria<br />and its silky shroud of stars<br /><br />We give you one last hug<br />as you dart into the night<br />leaping and bounding to a new sunrise<br /></div>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-85238807916965927092011-03-25T16:20:00.001-05:002011-03-25T16:22:30.354-05:00Hum<div style="text-align: center;">Watch the flickering images collide<br />as we circumvent the hum of humanity<br />taut to the breaking point.<br /><br />And slipping along rusted rails<br />we wave goodbye to the American Dream<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">the world collapsing at our front door.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />With shaky hands I turn off the TV<br />I'm a child in need of reassurance<br />tight-lipped and grieving.</div>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-81862911286290512082011-03-20T17:00:00.001-05:002011-03-20T17:03:24.248-05:00Waking<span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />is seeing man dying<br />a child passed from hand to hand<br /><br />Rooftop heroes<br /><br />Shouts of joy pushed through<br />grim lines of grim faces<br /><br />Searching<br /><br />Windows you rather not look through<br /><br />Among the whimpering of dogs<br />And crying of cats</span>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-32929434361408358152011-02-20T21:20:00.004-06:002011-02-20T21:35:29.221-06:00Suburbia and Random Thoughts...<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I awaken to the neighbor's mower.<br />I'm flattened by the weight of it - the routine.<br />The manicured lawns and shiny SUV's.<br />Endless rows of identical houses.<br />Perfect families with their 2.5 children.<br /><br />They claim to believe in Heaven,<br />mansions and streets of gold.<br />The American dream carried even after death.<br /><br />I dreamed of firelight,<br />of being Irish. A storyteller.<br />My words ghosted to only a few<br />and passed down through generations.<br /><br />Have I told you that I love windy days?<br />Gusts caught in sleeves and hair.<br />It suddenly makes all things seem possible.<br /></span></div>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-66829733813002578822010-09-21T05:22:00.003-05:002010-09-21T05:27:42.666-05:00First Light<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlfTwrADttsif6qUvHm-nbZsW7aPpnx-2hSzhR8LzUlVFS11NIPlVIUH81XGA8j6fc4E30M_0PG5eVCPSb-bgXHn-UFMfn3Q1PtHHzNkctytawzyFVsXP62t-Wwm6_3y7zEVggtJtbG7G/s1600/sun.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlfTwrADttsif6qUvHm-nbZsW7aPpnx-2hSzhR8LzUlVFS11NIPlVIUH81XGA8j6fc4E30M_0PG5eVCPSb-bgXHn-UFMfn3Q1PtHHzNkctytawzyFVsXP62t-Wwm6_3y7zEVggtJtbG7G/s320/sun.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519311407931527026" border="0" /></a><br />You live your life<br />under an umbrella<br />of your worst day<br /><br />Your tears<br />numbed by loneliness<br />dark and glinting<br />like a rich red wine<br /><br />pain sliding over tongues<br />savored<br />swallowed<br />and forgotten<br /><br />We will roll back<br />the suns of lovely days<br />and let them warm you<br />one by one<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-54273268083500806722010-01-29T00:27:00.000-06:002010-01-29T00:28:29.382-06:00ComaThe swish of doors,<br />gurneys sliding along<br />floors polished<br />with blood and pain.<br /><br />Searching room<br />by room down<br />this cold corridor.<br />Nurses draped<br /><br />in bright colors<br />fluttering over the<br />beds of the helpless,<br />their chairs filled<br /><br />with the specters<br />of the bereft.<br />Dad says she's<br />in a coma<br /><br />be prepared.<br />We find her, not<br />in the dignified<br />sleep of the movies.<br /><br />She's gesturing wildly,<br />her eyes hanging on the<br />precipice of speech,<br />crying, I'm here,<br /><br />I'm here, with lips<br />waxed shut with<br />with the dull flame<br />of stupor.<br /><br />Starched white coats<br />tell us this road<br />may only go<br />one way.<br /><br />I don't know how<br />to process this<br />information.<br />In the hospital<br /><br />gift shop,<br />I buy a<br />squeezable<br />heart.<br /><br />copyright sherry obsheatzWhite Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-38651297102360211972010-01-20T23:04:00.002-06:002010-01-20T23:18:30.975-06:00A Man of Humble Beginnings<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhznYt-Jm-Q0LDzbMvpvwXBkXeMU_MbYKHpoIJ_-shgJyc1_-yk4zGfCd6Qm1n6baDJbkmADLEqafHlGOn9jDmayoW27PXnzF9rg-sYfTvpwMStzJxlIgqdCPMqsx4Q5u8j6-Ody8Hb31Eh/s1600-h/doves.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 315px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhznYt-Jm-Q0LDzbMvpvwXBkXeMU_MbYKHpoIJ_-shgJyc1_-yk4zGfCd6Qm1n6baDJbkmADLEqafHlGOn9jDmayoW27PXnzF9rg-sYfTvpwMStzJxlIgqdCPMqsx4Q5u8j6-Ody8Hb31Eh/s320/doves.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429057932127712114" border="0" /></a><br />You frighten them<br />this brightness<br />of your truth<br /><br />you burn like a Saint<br />yet they call you a fanatic<br />you speak<br /><br />and women weep with joy<br />The skies<br />darken with angels<br /><br />Some see you as<br />the Dove of Peace<br />others a sword of flame<br /><br />Which is the truth?<br />or perhaps in discarding<br />that wedge of flesh<br /><br />you have forgotten<br />the crush of hunger<br />centuries of lives<br /><br />calling your name<br />only to fall<br />on deaf ears<br /><br /><br /><br />copyright Sherry ObsheatzWhite Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-45840846075138771052010-01-16T14:34:00.005-06:002010-01-16T15:28:17.693-06:00Just Call Me Alice<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiIF0wMbXwqFzoL8ZtDP8N0NWyFTduhztwW8Jiv5G2AZ1yGLGGM8VnnICrv1KU2qwoiTNLxSl6oIQ-FT7U4-eItZjSMvL4mkeXoGYU2zcrugLtKwYtQ1qcMl2fGfdZ_cG6KWFWiPYqt-AB/s1600-h/AliceCards.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiIF0wMbXwqFzoL8ZtDP8N0NWyFTduhztwW8Jiv5G2AZ1yGLGGM8VnnICrv1KU2qwoiTNLxSl6oIQ-FT7U4-eItZjSMvL4mkeXoGYU2zcrugLtKwYtQ1qcMl2fGfdZ_cG6KWFWiPYqt-AB/s320/AliceCards.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427442759480637618" border="0" /></a><br />I haven't been on here in quite some time. My life has been turned upside down. I was diagnosed with Lupus and Rheumatoid Arthritis. The dreaded Rhupus, the pain has become so debilitating that I have applied for disability, because I can no longer work. So I haven't been writing much. I've decided to get back on here and force myself to start writing again. Maybe it will give me some sense of purpose and give me back some of my sanity.<br /><br />The chronic pain, depression, zoned out feeling from the drugs, people not understanding, it's all there.<br /><br /><br />Porcelain cups,<br />Frilly things placed<br />Under the afternoon sun<br /><br /><i>I wonder if I’m mad as the Hatter</i><br /><br />Sentences blown like soft kisses<br />Never meet their mark<br />Words whisked away<br />On a breeze<br /><br /><i>What were you saying dear?<br />It doesn’t matter<br />Maybe is does matter. Maybe it does…</i><br /><br />Stretching joints<br />Groaning, protesting<br />Like an old rusted machine<br />Whose use has long been forgotten<br /><br /><i>But you look fine, my dear<br />Maybe it’s all in your head</i><br /><br />Head, head, head<br />Crashing blackness<br />Jagged tears that never heal<br /><br /><i>Oh dear, oh dear<br />You’re crying again<br />Here, drink your tea<br />It’s getting cold.</i><br /><br />copyright Sherry ObsheatzWhite Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574791512691448986.post-15470064190664255682009-03-06T07:13:00.004-06:002009-03-06T07:20:38.784-06:00The Cracking<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawg53kWeS1c2YP6uLurafo9nKsxQLPAWj22mO3DcTVecHCpCaflW-ktqQW8JxMM9XW28WYIbH-j3EW9EL2ZC1MQejrDE7tIqLgjV9GPuOKy5c0-gy8IKcvL-I89yia-GwKbGAbJjQn4ET/s1600-h/ice2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 185px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawg53kWeS1c2YP6uLurafo9nKsxQLPAWj22mO3DcTVecHCpCaflW-ktqQW8JxMM9XW28WYIbH-j3EW9EL2ZC1MQejrDE7tIqLgjV9GPuOKy5c0-gy8IKcvL-I89yia-GwKbGAbJjQn4ET/s320/ice2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310062479552955874" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This solitary woman</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">with her two-fisted</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">words smooth as ice</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">plunged among the brittle </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">trunks of prattling trees.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Their silence sent skittering</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">under a twang of gray sky </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">full of thoughts and nerves.<br /><br /><br /><br />Thanks for staying with me everyone. I promise I'll visit soon.<br /></span>White Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482847416614263182noreply@blogger.com14