Steve's poems

[ajusmc]

hard to respond after that Steve, excellant

[steve]

beans guys, beans. kool beans. im glad you liked it.....i do welcome those guys home, but i would not like to be there age , and have to live this whole thing again....it has been a bit to much at times.....god bless you all......

[JOAN]

beans guys, beans. kool beans. im glad you liked it.....i do welcome those guys home, but i would not like to be there age , and have to live this whole thing again....it has been a bit to much at times.....god bless you all......
[JAMES] YA GOT MY VOTE,,,

[steve]

This poem don’t count, so pay it no mind,
anyway you guys, you like the other kind.

The British lined up, all wearing red,
then they wondered, why so many dead.

Then there’s the Scots, the way they are built,
ruint their shoes, cause they pooped their kilt.

I’m just kidding; I made up that part,
guess wearing a kilt’s, sort of an art.

One thing I know, dallee's a wave,
she won’t have to be, if shed only behave.

Running amok, she’s all over the place,
now she’s a wave, just watch her face.

And the bikes lined up, lots of leather,
actually we wear it, for the weather.

So much attitude, so little to prove,
in my mind, I've made every move.

Know what will happen, before it starts,
each move planned, they call it the arts.

Each step of life, and there are so many,
have less to prove, till there isn’t any.

So I looked around, and I looked at me,
this is not, where I need to be.

Fine for them, that is still learning to walk,
I’m more about, Jesus’ words, His talk.

These days, as I speak words like these,
I want what I say, to help you to your knees.

Not all the time, not in every way,
but the wise man, is silent today.

What else can I say, I've wrote quite a bit,
but oh no, I will not quit.

I'll write these poems, well a whole bunch,
I'll only stop, at dinner or lunch.

Might type with one hand, eat with the other,
but I ain’t a quitter, not me my brother.

There is one thing; I just have to say,
in titanic, why did she throw the necklace away?

Huge blue stone, so painstakingly cut,
I think the lady, had to be a nut.

Dallee would have kept it, that’s what she’d do,
like she kept all the money, sent by all of you.

Then again, she’d probably share,
that’s one lady, who really does care.

The babies cool too, but what I like best,
mom makes her safe; she made a safe nest.

They went to town, did the whole fair,
and the baby knew, everyone there.

Oh did you hear, the baby got a jeep?
From what I hear, they don’t come cheap.

And the bird is fine, he’s in his cage,
Ocho da bird, rest's over a page.

I don’t know, if he’s learned to read,
but the paper does, serve its need.

Then there’s the fish, three big piranha,
stick your hand in, if ya wanna.

Actually I’ll give you, the true ticket,
these mean piranha, are scared of a cricket.

Ridin home last night, I was getting real cold,
but it felt good, I didn’t feel old.

Ridin hard, with death I do flirt,
then I stopped, put on another shirt.

Yeah, I’m bad, bad biker to the bone,
I’m the kinda guy, people just leave alone.

But when I’m riding, no one to please,
even though bad, I’m not gonna freeze.

But its fall, a great time of year,
air crisp, the sky so clear.

Good ridin weather, the bike just a thumpin,
like the sound of a huey, when you’re a humpin.

Like rockets comin in, out of the night,
no real target, anything hit is just right.

I got to where, I hated that crap,
tired of watchin, for a trap.

Day after day, and then more days,
then life became, a very foggy haze.

Something happened, to the lonely child,
I kinda snapped, acted pretty wild.

Lifers didn’t like me, or they hid it well,
ummm, I really got lost in my shell.

You mark the days, while you watch friends leave,
I’m going home, I hope you make it Steve.

They give you the stuff, that they can’t take back,
you can tell, they are having a hard time keepin track.

Going home, where a young kid used to play,
and here I am, on the 49th day.

Mark the day, you know we all did that,
so we could tell, where we were at.

I remember 330, and I’d been gone a while,
I did not mark, and I had a different smile.

I was never going home, I wasn’t going there,
I’m never gonna make it, and I no longer care.

Then the baby, drives up in her jeep,
"Hey solider, I’ll drive you home cheap."

So I pay the baby, and I jump in,
at 5 mph, we need to begin.

Although the price, was no where near cheap,
I waved goodbye, from a little pink jeep.

written by: steve cliche...9/30/04


If you like Steve's poetry you are gonna love his drawings
Check them out at www.clichefantasyart.com (http://www.clichefantasyart.com/)

[O'BOOT]

James Once Had A Lil'pink V.w.
Jest A Good PoEM Thank ...
10TH. ANNERVERSURY

[steve]

"Cooled in grief"

Whispering, ever so quietly, you enter. You know you are making a possibly huge mistake. Yet, you continue on.

It’s darker than you thought it would be. You don’t mind the damp chill. It’s more like home than most environments you’ve found yourself in lately. You move on. You look for anything different, anything changed. Signs of life.

How did it ever come to this? Your life was so full of promise, now, in the dark, you remember the better days. Before it all was destroyed. It’s taken you years, and your constant movement. Always tracking, one step at a time. A print here, a smudge where it should not be. Closer. You have been so near at times that the smell of your quarry has filled your senses. Then as its happened so many times, they are gone. Another miss. But it has never upset your plans in the slightest. As long as they are out there, you have no choice. Your life is the hunt. Till your prey lays bleeding at your feet, this is life.

Like you have so many times since entering this underground world, you check your blade, making sure it will clear the scabbard unhindered. This is the blade you will use. No other would do. This blade was made by my own hands. It was made during my first days of grief. It was cooled by my tears. Then plunged back into the fire. It was made out of grief, and grief it will bring. As I think on these things, it never leaves my mind for one moment that at any time, around any bend, my quarry could be waiting. It knows by now it cannot catch me unawares. Too long we have been at this chase. We all know that it will never stop till one of us is dead. I know that my interest will never fade.

There is light ahead. Almost unseen, yet there. It’s another opening to this vast underworld. Now I’m outside. Its still night. Again they have evaded me. No matter , I will continue. They know this.

[steve]

It’s deer season, not my favorite time of year,
first the killing, then there’s the fear.

Gun shots in the woods, sounds of defeat,
but I have to admit, I like the meat.

Wish they wouldn’t, hunt my back yard,
Makes relaxing, just a little hard.

They follow the deer, stay on it’s track,
then they leave, before I shoot back.

I went out before, I caught two guys,
walked up on them, to their surprise.

They both had deer, on the ground,
didn’t even know, I was around.

It was very easy, to approach unseen,
then I was there, next to them I mean.

They looked up, as I picked up their gun,
I was sick, or it would of been fun.

As I jacked out the rounds, every last one,
you killed my deer, I’m taking your gun.

Then I asked, where did you park,
they pointed up hill, toward the mark.

That’s to bad, cause the deer are mine,
you bring them to my house, we’ll be fine.

But as I talked, I looked at the deer,
it was dead, I was so near.

I stopped talking; my heart started to melt,
can’t explain, the way I really felt.

I crouched down, and petted its side,
poor innocent deer, it couldn’t hide.

Beautiful eyes, getting that glaze,
I had drifted, back to other days.

I’m sure these guys, had not a clue,
but my heart was broke, what could I do.

All the anger, just went away,
told them guys, come back another day.

Take your deer, here’s your gun,
leave now, you have just won.

And as I walked, back down to my dwelling,
I remembered those eyes, it’s you I’m telling.

And I recalled, why I do not kill,
I get nothing; I have had that thrill.

Isn’t that what its called, thrill of the hunt?
Well let me say, let me be blunt.

I get nothing; I get no thrill,
I don’t hunt, I don’t kill.

I used to, long, long ago,
another place, that you know.

I can’t blame them; to them it’s a thrill,
but to me, it’s just another kill.

The guy’s name was Justin, he was ok,
I told him, come back another day.

He never has, I guess that’s good,
he was scared, of the vet in the wood.

written by: steve cliche....true story...10/4/04

Steve draws some of the most fascinating things
see some of them at www.clichefantasyart.com (http://www.clichefantasyart.com/)

[steve]

Never need; never feel,
It’s ok; it’s not real.

Let it go, let it be,
you be you, I’ll be me.

I'll be here, you are not,
this is all, I ever got.

So no feelings, an empty shell,
you be you, I won’t tell.

I’ll just wait; you’ll come back,
if you don’t, I won’t crack.

I'll never need, I will not feel,
I can just, learn to deal.

I’ll show you, you will see,
you’ll be you; I’ll be me.

Being you, turned out bad,
Your whole life, seems so sad.

You were a mom; I’m still a dad,
just one reason, you seem sad.

Out of my hands, no control,
you have been, on quite a roll.

You didn’t need me, or your child,
you were cool, you were wild.

You forgot, what you had,
now you remember, that’s so sad.

I’d like to help, any amount,
but to you, we don’t count.

We are only, here to use,
when life gives you, a slight bruise.

But when we died, when we mourned,
your own family, you openly scorned.

Now the tables, have all turned,
and all your bridges, you have burned.

Your child and I, are still so close,
Through it all, I loved you most.

Now it’s late, too late for you,
there is nothing, I can do.

I hold my grandchild, you haven’t met,
when you’re selfish, it’s all you get.

You get you, your favorite thing,
we have each other, the family thing.

If it ever, enters your mind,
call your son, try to be kind.

He misses you, I did before,
I don’t feel, anymore.

But I don’t need, I do not feel,
now I know, it wasn’t real.

written by: steve cliche....10/4/04

If you like Steve's poetry you will love his drawings.
Visit www.clichefantasyart.com (http://www.clichefantasyart.com/) to see them.

[steve]

I’m tempered steel, I’m like a rock,
I’m hard as nails, but it’s all talk.

I’m unbending, I’m cold as ice,
I’m the one, who’s never nice.

This cold steel, has felt the fire,
I’m ok, I never will tire.

I am hard, but I’m really not stone,
Or it wouldn’t bother me, to be alone.

If it was true, and I was steel,
I wouldn’t hurt; I would not feel.

But you know what? It’s all ok,
I’m just having, a hard lonely day.

But in the morning, if I wake,
A different day, maybe a break.

You know, you have them too,
Those ordinary days, that make you blue.

We all have pain; we all have loss,
We have all, come to the cross.

It was for us, that’s so true,
There’s the cross, for me and you.

So when we’re down, but on our feet,
Lets walk to the cross, there we’ll meet.

I’m so ready, to be right there,
I’ll just rest, I will not care.

I’ll lean back, I’ll stop the strain,
But I’ll never, forget His pain.

At the cross, I’ll look above,
Right there, He showed His love.

I’m made of steel; I’m hard like a knife,
I’m giving God, my whole life.

Take some more, more everyday,
Take all of me Father, take me away.

Take me tonight, while I lean on the cross,
No more tears, no feelings of loss.

Just you father; I want to see,
Take the time, to comfort me.

Comfort us all, Lord we need it,
This sad world, a man made pit.

It’s not the way, you planned it Jesus,
You had it all, set up to please us.

Forgive me Lord, for all of my sins,
In the morning, my new day begins.

Thank you father, for creating me,
I’m not who, you want me to be.

But I’m better, I’m more like you,
I love them all, I really do.

I see their sins, plain like mine,
Think what we do, is just fine.

Then we’re touched, by your spirit,
And we change, when we hear it.

Then there’s those, who are not saved,
Never repented, for how they behaved.

And the people, who have never known,
Never heard the gospel, never been shown.

Yea I’m hard Lord, I’m made of steel,
You know I’m clay, you know how I feel.

written by: steve cliche...10/4/04

If you like Steve's poetry you will love his artwork
take a look at www.clichefantasyart.com (http://www.clichefantasyart.com/)

[steve]

Actually, I like colts, although rugers are cool,
They are to use, just another fine tool.

It’s not my habit, to walk in blasting,
Although the effect, would be lasting.

Not my style, I like more fineness,
But the look on their faces, priceless.

I’m just kidding, can’t a guy joke?
I eat my eggs, with a runny yoke.

Like eggs a lot, but what I like most,
Is a good fried egg, on a piece of toast.

And I love the zoo, yes I said zoo,
You give it a chance, you’ll like it to.

Go at night, and climb in the cage,
Hangin with monkeys, half your age.

This one monkey, can’t remember his name,
He’s pretty funny, for a monkey who’s tame.

You can let them out, if they will go back in,
Then the fun will really begin.

Birds flying, filling the air,
Look a hippo, right over there.

And I like other things, like a big old dog,
To lay on the porch, like a hollow log.

Jelly doughnuts are great, by the lake,
When I go, it’s what I always take.

Then when I’m fishing, and they won’t bite,
You take your own, that seems right.

Like a castle, that’s made of stone,
It stands there, all alone.

And I stand here, like a tree in the woods,
Trying to sell you, this bill of goods....... :opps:

written by: steve cliche...10/4/04

[steve]

Don’t want to live, in a world without you,
Can’t think of a thing, I’d want to do.

I’d be sad, from morning till night,
A world without you, just wouldn’t be right.

Oh I would still get up, just like before,
But as for happy, I wouldn’t be anymore.

Don’t want you gone, need your face,
You’re my real home, in this place.

I’ve known you, seems like all of my life,
If I remember right, you were my wife.

But besides all that, I want you here,
In my world, just kinda near.

I’ve prayed for you, while you’ve been away,
And thought of you, all through my day.

When time’s gone by, without a word,
I’ll look you up, that’s assured.

Don’t need love, no need for your kiss,
But it’s always, you that I miss.

When growing up, with absolutely zero love,
God was sending, you from above.

You were my love, and I miss you so,
You’re my favorite person, that I know.

We’ve been divorced, for over ten years,
Your photos on my wall, through all the tears.

You and I, and our two boys,
You three, were this guy’s joys.

I loved you then, I do right now,
Live without you, I don’t know how.

I’m just glad, you’re doing ok,
Maybe God will, provide a way.

Maybe the Lord, will erase my mind,
But in my heart, you’re one of a kind.

Please be careful, don’t get hurt,
With my joy, you now flirt.

I need you here, in my life,
You will always, be my wife.

written by: steve cliche...10/5/04
See some of Steve's artwork at www.clichefantasyart.com (http://www.clichefantasyart.com/)

[dallee]

Hey Steve,

you got my intrest peeked here. Is there more to this story?

[steve]

Deeper than ever
that's where I slept,
with the memories
that I have kept.

Not good sleep
you know the sort,
wake up wore out
like sleeping's a sport.

Need to sleep
to rest from my sleep,
you wouldn’t believe
the hours I keep.

Up till dawn
then I give in,
take a pill
so sleep will begin.

Or go three days
till I'm just burnt out,
it's my rest
I'm talking about.

"I'm ok"
it's my favorite line,
getting no rest
is just fine.

Who really cares?
There's no one here,
I'm alone
when I wake to the fear.

Sleep came easier
when in the war,
at least I remember
getting more.

I slept in a hammock
right outside,
from the skeeters
I would hide.

Pull the blanket
way over my head,
now I'm all ready
I'm in my bed.

Do people know
how big things were?
Cockroaches were huge
that's for sure.

When I say huge
you think not small,
but what I mean is
like a golf ball.

Big enough
to interrupt your sleep,
fall on you
you wake from the deep.

Snakes had more poison
in their fangs,
over there
there were bigger bangs.

All these things
to keep you awake,
more than most
could even take.

And through it all
we'd get some sleep,
but not now
I want to weep.

What a struggle
life has been,
just to sleep
is a battle to win.

So today
I feel kinda groggy,
took my meds last night
I was so foggy.

But no one's here
to see me fall,
I looked last night
no one at all.

But to me
it was not sting,
it's my life
home on the range.

I'm not writing this
so you'll be sad,
it might be
but it’s all I've had.

So I can't tell
it's all I know,
as I get older
the problems grow.

If I lived
without my God,
with His love
and yes His rod.

I couldn't imagine
me without Him,
my chances here
would be very slim.

But when I wake
if I sleep,
there is God
mine to keep.

All through the night
when I'd wake,
His loving comfort
I gladly take.

Thank you Lord
for a little peace,
someday soon
this all will cease.

Then my days
will all be good,
save me a hammock Lord
if you would.

written by: steve cliche....10/6/04

Steve also draws some amazing pictures
take a look at www.clichefantasyart.com (http://www.clichefantasyart.com/)

[steve]

Here in Arkansas, we have this sayin,
We use it, but not when were prayin.

It goes like this, "Don’t tell me what to do",
And the rest is, "and I won’t tell you."

A simple sayin, for some simple folks,
There ain’t no rules, rules are jokes.

Tellin people, what to do,
How would you like, me tellin you?

Obey the laws, of the land,
As for rules, you can take a stand.

If it says, do not enter,
Do they mean, even in winter?

Or is this just, a summertime rule?
Question things, I think its cool.

If the sign says stop, do they mean right now,
Do you slam on the brakes, anyhow?

Are they serious, I’m supposed to just stop,
Even if, I don’t see a cop?

Ok ok that’s a law, but some are just silly rules,
Like all the ones, they had in the schools.

Like no guns, ok that’s a good rule,
You don’t need guns, in a school.


No trespassing, at any time,
If I don’t have a watch, is it still a crime?

I’m not sayin, to be an ass,
If the line is double, and there’s room to pass…

Don’t infringe, on others rights,
That will only, start some fights.

I at times, I get this feeling,
to eat a banana, with the peelin.

Oh I know, it’s not how it’s done,
If that’s a rule, it ain’t no fun.


Maximum speed, 55 miles per hour,
But it don’t count, in the shower.

They really need, to be more clear,
55 in a shower, this I fear.


No smoking, do they mean my cigarette?
They mean my hair, on this I'll bet.


Do not litter, 500 dollar fine,
But what about, after I dine?

Go to McDonalds, eat your happy meal,
Throw the bag out, what’s the big deal?

Aren’t there critters, who eat it all,
Eatin paper bags, in the fall.

Lots of rules, of this I know,
I break them all, wherever I go.

Not the big ones, you know what I mean,
Just the stupid rules, like go on green.

What if I was sick, and almost dead,
Just sit there, and wait on the red?

Now its green, I can get help,
As my heart leaps, and I yelp.

And my hair, and its very long,
Know how many times, been told it's wrong?

If there’s not enough rules, you make more,
Like please use, the other door.


What’s with that, I’m standing right here?
and as I see it, this doors so near.


No swimming, right after you eat,
I eat in the water, think it's neat.

When I’m done, and I've ate in this place,
I just bend over, and wash my face.

Rules rules, these are for you,
Don’t tell me, what to do..

So think this over, only if you choose,
No drinkin, while, I’m n v drininn myf booszee...huh...ug...oh...

written by: steve cliche...10/5/04


If you like his poetry you are gonna love his art
see it at www.clichefantasyart.com (http://www.clichefantasyart.com/).

[dallee]

Here is one from Christmas 1968, Republic of South Vietnam:
Enjoy, Ralph


The Vietnamese Moon and the Third Platoon

Xmas 1968 in Phu Bai, Vietnam







There's strange things done 'neath the Vietnamese sun,
But the time that locked my jaws,
Was the night 'neath the moon when the third platoon
Gunned down Santa Claus.


It started off right, just another night,
You had to spend in the dirt.
Security was out, 360 about
With 50 percent alert.


We had 81's and Naval guns,
Our tanks were track to track.
An Ontos or so, An Arty FO
With barrages back to back.


I froze where I stood 'cause out of the wood
Eight horses came charging along.
(This may sound corny but those mustangs were horny.)
My God, I thought, mounted Viet Cong!


He was coming our way in what looked like a sleigh,
You'll never know what they'll use.
Our flares they were tripped, our SID's had flipped,
Our TIPSY's blew a fuze.


We let him get close then we yelled, "Who goes!"
Like they do in the movie show.
The answer we got, believe it or not,
Was a hearty, "HO-HO-HO!"


Now these troops of mine had seen some time,
They've done some things bass-ackward,
They may have been thick but I'll tell you a trick,
They knew that wasn't the password.


The nineties roared, the SI's soared,
The Naval guns raised hell.
A bright red flare flew through the air,
We fired our FPL.


I'll give him guts, but the man was nuts,
Or I'm a no-good liar.
He dropped like a stone in our killing zone,
I passed the word, "Cease fire!"


I went out and took a real good look,
My memory started to race.
My mind plays games when it comes to names,
But I never forget a face.


He was dressed all in red and he looked well fed,
Older than most I'd seen.
He looked right weird with that long white beard
And stumps where his legs had been.


He hadn't quite died when I reached his side
But the end was clearly in sight.
I knelt down low and he said real slow,
"Merry Christmas, and to all a good night."


Now we should have known our cools were blown
When that light in the east we'd seen.
I thought it was flares and it had to be their's
Or the damned thing would have been green.


I picked up the hook with a voice that shook,
"Gimme the six and quick!"
"Colonel," I said, "Hang onto your head,
We just greased Old St. Nick."


Now the Old Man's cool, he's nobody's fool,
Right off he knew the word.
If this fact got out, there'd be no doubt,
He wouldn't be making his full bird.


"Just get him up here and we'll play it by ear,
Make sure he's got a tag.
Dismantle the sleigh, drive those reindeer away,
And bury that damned old bag!"


Now by and by the kids may cry,
'Cause nothing's under the tree.
But word came back from FMFPAC
That Santa had gone VC.


Yes, there's strange things done 'neath the Vietnamese sun,
But the time that still locks my jaws
Was that night 'neath the moon, when the third platoon
Gunned down Santa Claus.

by Anonymous




(I just had to share this one. Don't know who wrote it but it must be a classic)

[steve]

Once long ago, in the land of make believe,
There was this dude, we’ll call him Steve.

He would draw, and at times he’d write,
Combed his hair, and was still a sight.

He would wait, till the proper time,
Then make fun, of dallee's rhyme.

The nerve of that girl, the gall I say,
Postin other poems, while I was away.

I thought of trust, then there was none,
There’s no excuse, for what dallee's done.

There’s a poet’s code, that dallee has broke,
And to a lot of poets, it ain’t no joke.

They might get together, find where you live,
One poet knows, information he’ll give.

Posting poems, that are not mine,
There has to be, some sort of fine.

Like fifty bucks, or two eighty five,
Postin other poems, lucky to be alive.

Steve’s taking a break, wrote a lot and I know it,
So I’ll just go find me, a brand new poet.

That takes the cake, that’s not cool,
I might be a poet, but I’m not a fool.

She says we’re all fools, did you poets hear it,
I think it’s a threat, I’m starting to fear it.

She’s out of hand, AJ make her stop,
If you don’t, I’m calling a cyber cop.

They will lock her up, which is a cool deal,
Then we'll see, how little miss I’ll post every poem I can, will feel.

I'll write one poem, make her post it all day,
Post post post, oh yea post away.

It's all about dallee; I have to keep writing,
She’ll find another poet, then well be fighting.

So if you see more poems, than you did before,
She put me in a spot, I have to write more.

I'll write stuff, day and night,
I won’t even care if it comes even close to even sounding anywhere near
right.

I'll write just words, tell her it has meaning,
Writing nonsense, is where I’m leaning.

I'll make her think, posting other stuff,
I won’t stop, there will never be enough.

Post this one dallee, hurry I say,
There’s more comin, they are on the way.

I’m glad I took, this time to vent,
I've got to get, this poem sent...before SHE starts posting every ding dang,
corn fed, hog mired, slip shawed, northern, carpet bagging , no account , land
grabbin , scallllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllly wag’s poems.

written by a very rushed, steve cliche....10/9/04



Steve draws stuff too
you can see it at
www.clichefantasyart.com (http://www.clichefantasyart.com/)

[steve]

Today is a bummer, superman died,
But that is not, why I cried.

Today Big Daddy, has passed away,
In our family, a brother I say.

Never in my life, have I met another,
He was so cool, and he was my brother.

When the guys in the club, when we say brother,
People look strange; they don’t have the same mother.

But that’s unimportant, it don’t mean a thing,
We are all bros., it’s what we all bring.

Big daddybrought a wisdom, he found along his way,
And ill say this; the man had plenty to say.

Always the truth, brother spoke straight out,
A man you could trust, what I’m talking about.

He’d give you advice, at times it seemed just niceness,
But when you thought later, it was simple but priceless.

He talked in his way; I listened in mine,
He knew the Lord, so we know he’s fine.

When I get to heaven, he will be right there,
With that long, long beard, and all that hair.

He’ll be at the gate, telling ole peter,
I could fix that gate, it would be a lot neater.

I’ll run some cable, I’ll add a little spark,
It will run a generator, add light to the dark.

He was full of ideas, on how things could be,
Hard for some, to understand or see.

But when he was done, and it worked out right,
There would be big daddy, under the light.

I got so many memories, but I really can’t risk it,
I will say this; he cooked one lousy brisket.

But being the bikers, that we all are,
We ate every bite, kinda tasted like tar.

He’d take his mustache, and do that thing,
Just big smiles, is all it would bring.

I've met many people, but not one like him,
But he don’t cook brisket, better than Jim.

When I got arthritis, if I did what the docs said,
I’d be a cripple; I listened to big daddy instead.

His simple advice, was what worked for me,
Large father, huge parental figure, that’s who he be.

He was big daddy, loved by so many,
There’s no one he didn’t touch, no not any.

All those years, he hung around the scene,
He never joined a club, except ours I mean.

If the club was a wheel, big daddy was the hub,
That fine man, will be missed by our club.

We went to Puhuska, for a week we ate chicken,
Don’t know where he got it, but it was finger lickin.

Actually I’m not sure, if it was cooked all the way,
But I ate big daddy’s chicken, during our stay.

Then the time we went to Daytona, bike week and a tan,
When asked how we’re going, we all yelled, BIG DADDY’ S VAN...!!!!

He slept most of the way, almost till our arriving,
Only thing was, big daddy was driving.

He never was grumpy; he was the same everyday,
And I remember, we did Mardi Gras on the way.

Big daddygot lost, walked down Bourbon St. to far,
Later he said, down that street is where all the faggots are.

Somewhere on the trip, we stopped at an all you can eat,
Ten hungry people, this will be a real treat.

We ate and we ate, till we could eat no more,
Then we all paid, and headed for the door.

Out in the parking lot, about a half-hour later,
Large fatherwas still in there, eating a steak and tater.

Then sea food, and some of that ham,
He was chowing down, he could really slam.

After some time, big daddy said with a shout,
It said all you can eat, and they threw me out.

Which reminds me, this you’ll all understand,
Just like everyone, I loved that man.

Honest and kind, with a gentle spirit,
He loved God, and I got to hear it.

Prayed with big daddy, at our last meeting,
And now he’s in heaven, getting a loving greeting.

Watched him draw close, all through the last year,
Heard him pray, while he shed a tear.

Jesus knows big daddy, like we all do,
Jesus died for big daddy, like for me and for you.

Right now this second, I know where he’s at,
And God’s sayin "so they call you large father, what’s up with that?"

This poem could go on, like big daddy tended to do,
But I’ll end it like this, big daddy, we will always miss you.

written by :steve cliche....10/11/04
Lynn Able died ...10/11/04...title...big daddy

[ajusmc]

God is the strength of his people. In him, we his chosen live in safety. Save us, Lord, who share in your life, and give us your blessing; be our shepherd for ever. (Ps 27)

God our Father, you give us the model of what a shepherd is all about in how to tend to the flock. It is difficult to be the shepherd in keeping track of the flock, yet you gave witness to going after the lost sheep. Give us the strength and courage to seek out those who are lost and bring them back to the fold with gentleness and forgiveness. We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

[steve]

I thought about life today, it’s a lot like a movie,
Parts of the film, are really kinda groovy.

But as it goes on, the music starts to change,
The music sets the tone, and that’s sorta strange.

As I grow older, I hear music in my head,
Wonder if it’s there, just before your dead?

Will there be a sound track, movies have one,
During the scary part, will we hear dun dun dun?

Will it be sweet, all during our love scenes?
Even a blind man, knows what that music means.

I’m way past intermission, I’m getting near the end,
I hear the music changing; I've gone round the bend.

In my opinion, it was an interesting flick,
That one scene, where I was so slick.

But a lot of the movie, was too sad for me,
I give it two stars, at times maybe three.

Like my children, that made me really grin,
But a lot of this flick, I don’t want to see again.

Like this scene I’m living, as I write this down,
It’s still just me, with no one around.

Good guys wear white hats, bad wear black,
But when in a movie, it’s so hard to keep track.

All the time I’ve spent, on this set,
And now toward the end, this is what I get.

God produced this film; He let me direct,
Some of the scenes, I turned into a wreck.

But there were laughs, all through my movie,
That’s why I say, it was all kinda groovy.

It’s just a movie, it’s not really real,
But it’s my life, that’s the deal.

I hear the music, the suspense is growing,
How it will end, no one is knowing.

Just a movie, with a very weird cast,
Starring me; and stardom doesn’t last.

If you see me, and you think to yourself,
I’ve got this movie, at home on a shelf.

Well you don’t, you just thought you did,
Cause it ain’t over, but we are past the mid.

Some of the crew, I have grown to really love,
But not OJ, and that stupid, stupid glove.

It’s all in the movie, like at sea during a calm,
In my movie, theres a few scenes of Nam.

I’ll have to rate it R, it’s got some violent scenes,
And a few chicks, wearing very tight jeans.

But all of our lives, would get an R rating,
Some would get an X, it depends who your dating.

Don’t mean to offend, it’s just a stupid flick,
Fast forward to the end, that’s the trick.

Don’t waste your time, watching a movie about me,
There are a lot more movies, more fun to see.

I was myself, I never followed a trend,
I guess I’ll just have to, wait till the end.

How will it end, I don’t have a clue,
But there’s another movie, and it’s about you.

Mine has been ok, that’s what I always say,
My movie or yours, could end any day.

So play your part, don’t let it go to your head,
It was just another movie, and now we're dead.

Like I said, it wasn’t a great flick,
And it seems to have ended, awfully quick.

Glad I know God, now there is a star,
And God loves the actors, no matter how lousy we are.

written by: steve cliche....10/14/04

[steve]

Who does she, think she be?
Actin that way, to good ole me.

After all, that I have done,
She took away, all my fun.

Not too happy, now I’m sad,
But it’s better, than bein mad.

Would love to have, me a deaf mute,
Wouldn’t hurt, if she was cute.

I’d come home, she’d just wave,
Couldn’t complain, if I misbehave.

Not that I would, I really try,
Couldn’t hear her, if she would cry.

But if I saw, a tear in her eye,
I would hold her, ask her why.

When she yelled, like women do,
She’d write it down, I’d read it too.

If in that note, she was really pissed,
I’d just say, your note I missed.

She’d get madder, but I wouldn’t know,
My happy way, is where I’d go.

As I walked, out of my door,
I wouldn’t hear, what I've heard before.

When I got back, no how was your day,
There’s really nothing, that she’d say.

And that's just fine, I love the quiet,
I used to live, in a crazy riot.

If she said, which she wouldn’t,
Only because, she really couldn’t.

Man oh man, this would be great,
I could come home, she would wait.

A loud woman, is a real nightmare,
But a deaf mute, wouldn’t care.

Quietly cooking, and looking cute,
That’s my baby, the deaf mute.

Always on my side, that’s my guess,
I’ll take it, that her answer was yes.

Never a headache, I was never told,
So of course, I’d be very bold.

She would love me, I’d be sweet,
But the quiet, would be so neat.

We would live, in total bliss,
All the crap, is all I’d miss.

So if you know, a cute deaf mute,
Send her to me, it would be a hoot.

written by: steve cliche...10/16/04



If you like his poetry you will love his art
check it out at www.clichefantasyart.com (http://www.clichefantasyart.com/)

[steve]

You have choy oui, and of course dinky dau,
Learned their language, I don’t know how.

I came home, but in my mind,
Another language, another kind.

To this day, in my screwed up head,
I know the word, that says they are dead.

Or how to say, what I want to eat,
Or the words, for hands and feet.

Hurry up, there’s a chilling phrase,
In that language; in those days.

That hat they wore, it had a name,
It wasn’t hat, but kinda the same.

A woven hat, to keep out the sun,
Everybody, had at least one.

Light as a feather, and easy to make,
A workers hat, it’s on when they wake.

Today was a day, like many others,
In and out, of my mind went my brothers.

What they looked like, when still alive,
How they looked, after we arrive.

The burning sun, going with no shirt,
Turning brown, it never did hurt.

To this day, my upper torso,
Tans quickly, waist up more so.

Never been, as brown as then,
At least I can’t remember when.

Then the season, filled with rain,
The monsoon, it left its stain.

Dry one moment, soaked in a flash,
Then it never stopped, not like on mash.

It wasn’t TV; it was the real thing,
Let the sun go down, reality it would bring.

Some who smiled, during the day,
Are trying to kill you, in any way.

Come on your post, counting their pace,
Then at night, blow up the place.

We let them in, to work all day,
Then at night, send them on their way.

What kind of war lets the enemy in?
How does that work, how could we win?

We were there, just to damn long,
It was all screwed up, it had all gone wrong.

Vietnam, just the sound of that word,
It’s like no other, I've ever heard.

It rings in me; it calls my name,
I’m not on the wall, but I died just the same.

Oh I came home; yes I’m still here,
But now I’m friends, with a person named fear.

He’s become me, and I am he,
At times at night, he’s all I see.

He’s in my car, on my way to the city,
He has no love, he feels no pity.

Lots of folks see him, for a moment in life,
But can they kill, with only a knife?

I to this day, can remember that feeling,
As you move your arm, a life you are stealing.

I can throw, a knife like a rock,
Take apart a rifle, down to the stock.

Win a fight, in whatever way,
Do what’s needed, live another day.

Fought for my country, I did not,
I was there, that’s all they got.

All the rest, whenever I look,
I didn’t give, these they took.

So when you think, you’ve seen it all,
Remember me, you helped me fall.

You America, you share the blame,
For making us, live this shame.

Where was your voice, what did you say,
Ten years people died, oh by the way.

Did you think it was fine, cause you were ok,
We live with the results, to this very day.

Go on; just blow it off,
It’s just a war, as you all scoff.

But to be there, to lose what you have,
To trade your family, for the air cav.

You people, you have no clue,
To ever know, it has to be you.

Little yellow ribbons, we support the troops,
Oh what BS, you jump thru their hoops.

Politic this, and politic that,
58,000 lives, there’s a stat.

I’m mad at you America, you stupid ass folks,
Lettin men die, while politicians tell jokes.

You’re stupid, and your hearts are shut tight,
We're now in Iraq, and you know it ain’t right.

But just ignore it, when your done build a wall,
Let fox news, tell you when they fall.

Come on you guys, you know you don’t care,
If you did, they wouldn’t be there.

As for this vet, I've risen above it,
And take your wall, and just shove it.

I am no longer, this country’s fool,
I’m no longer, your willing tool.

Go away; stay out of my life,
Ever kill a man, with just a knife?

written by: steve cliche....10/26/04

[zeke]

Steve you have written much. With many a good thought. Then you just stop. You OK man?

[steve]

Don't muddy the waters, don't make a mess,
don't leave us hangin', don't make us guess.

Don't run away, don't keep it secret,
don't be like that, don't you regret.

Don't be alone, when love is right there,
dont turn away, those who care.

It's Christmas time, go get a tree,
hang up a light, be filled with glee.

Listen late at night, for Santa's in town,
claymore in the chimney, for when he comes down.

Well that's what he gets, for sneakin arround,
I'll blow him away, you'll hear the sound.

Blam blam blam, and ho ho ho,
no more santa, that's all I know.

Don't be mad, it's not my fault,
did you notice, I did yell halt?

Then he stared, with that twinkle in his eye,
holding his chest, I think he said ....why?

I'm not sayin', that he was a bad guy,
he broke in my house, there is his why.

So hey all you vets, and you that just visit,
not saying it's your fault, but then again......is it....

You could of stopped him, before he got here,
guess for christmas dinner, I'm having riendeer.

I'll sneak up on rudolf, with his nose of red,
look thru my scope, then he will be dead.

I'll have dinner, and you're all invited,
as for santa, a wrong has been righted.

So look up, get back your cheer,
we can still party, without santa here.

We'll light the fire, pour the egg nog,
we can say aye lad, and maybe have grog.

The band will play, all our favorite songs,
while I dig a hole, put santa where he belongs

Then I'll come in, and you'll all give a shout,
we're proud of you steve, you took him out.

I'll say thank you, you're all way too kind,
yes I took him out, but I didn't mind.

Gather together, everyone draw near,
let's bless the food, give thanks for the deer.

After dinner, we will need a volunteer,
but go ahead, just eat your riendeer.

When you're done, and you relax with the boys,
we will need the volunteer, to deliver these toys.

Now that I think, and take time to pause,
maybe I shouldn't, have shot old clause.

He did do his job, and he said ho ho,
when I was 7, he brought me a train you know.

I think I miss him, why I'm startin' to cry,
poor old guy, and him askin why.

written by :steve cliche....12/5/04

merry cristmas everyone....peace thru christ

[ajusmc]

Merry Christmas Steve, may the light shine and lead your way to inner peace. God Bless

[steve]

I'm sitting in my recliner, but my gut is what I see,
need to look over it, just to see the TV.

I'm fifty-two now, that seems so strange to me,
and in about six months, I'll be fifty-three.

Back in Nineteen-Seventy, on June twenty-fifth,
I turned eighteen, can't remember who I was with.

I was already married, with my child on the way,
I remember it all, it all seems like yesterday.

My loving wife, who had been my girl for two years,
she waved goodbye, with her eyes full of tears.

Her new husband, and soon to be dad,
well ~ he's going to nam, and we were both sad.

I remember that day, and my gut wrenching tears,
I had not even thought, of the horror and fears.

But on August ninth, in the middle of a blistering day,
this teenager got off a plane, he was in Cam Rahn Bay.

It seemed so safe, this ain't what i'd been thinking,
it's awful damn hot, and this thick air is stinking.

I can't remember nothin, all training's left my head,
I just want to go home, and I hope it's not dead.

So I went to sleep, later that first night,
crap I was bummed, this crap ain't right.

So we get motars, and later get more,
as for all the days left ~ I now have 364.

Don't know Cam Rahn Bay, just remember this heat,
it was a little over whelming, I stayed on my feet.

Then on day two, or maybe day three,
I was off to the highlands, that's where I'd be.

When we approached, out of my huey I peered,
oh crap man, this is way worse than I'd feared.

It was red dirt, just a round clearing,
surrounded by wire, and towers of fearing.

This ain't Cam Rahn Bay, and not near as hot,
but I dont feel safe, that night 363's what I got.

Then I made a friend, and then a few more,
After a couple weeks, started learning the score.

Good old Pleiku, what a strange place to be,
born in San Fransisco, crap now look at me.

We all remember, you have your places,
your friends you made, all thier young faces.

So for the guys like me, you still alive,
love you brothers, here give me five.

After all them days, all those scary nights,
all the ambushes, and the quick firefights.

We are still here, kinda hard to believe,
I'm still alive, or my name ain't Steve.

and it is.......ha ha
written by: STEVE cliche.....12/7/04

dedicated to all you guys who are still alive, God bless you all.


If you enjoy Steve's poetry you will be captivated by his artwork,
take a look at it www.clichefantasyart.com (http://www.clichefantasyart.com/)

[Trooper]

Steve

May the blessings of Christ be on you and yours this Christmas.

[steve]

Santa's dead! ~ I shot him in the ass,
He’s mounted on my wall, just like a bass.

When I push the button, he sing's a stupid song,
Soon as I load my gun, Rudolf won't be here long.

I don’t want his presents, don’t want him in my life,
Next thing you know he’ll bring back my wife.

I’ll buy what I need, dont need his pity,
Don’t even want, him in my city.

Wearing all red, trimmed in white fur,
Here in town, he’d be a pimp for sure.

Thinks he’s so cool, him and his sleigh,
He’s just so weird, and his name’s really ray.

I’m sick of this guy, sick of his cheer,
That big old gut, is just all beer.

I’d just like to say, that I for one am sick.
Of this fat fool, calls himself Saint Nick.

Plus he’s rude, and this we all know,
Goes around town, yellin ho ho ho.

That ain’t cool, it’s just plain rude,
He ain’t no saint, just a big fat dude.

Where’s he get the stuff, the gifts he brings
All them toys, stereos and things?

Is he a thief, when he breaks in
Steal from some, then gives with a grin?

I don’t trust him, and I have some proof,
If there’s no chimney, why's he on my roof?

Without a chimney, are the presents still there?
Did they appear, out of thin air?

No they didn't, the jerk broke in,
Ate some cookies, then left with that grin.

You think it’s ok, well that’s just fine,
Maybe I’ll break in, take what I thinks mine.

On Christmas morning, all the hugs and kissing,
Do you ever check, to see what all’s missing?

No you don’t, its all part of his plan,
Leaves a few trinkets; he’s a devious man.

Then later, in a month or two,
Things are missing, more than a few.

I figured it out, but you can believe if you will,
If he’s in my house, old Santa I’ll kill.

I’ll blow his butt, right out the door,
Then go out there, and shoot him some more.

I don’t like thieves, even those in red,
And that’s why, I’ll shoot him dead.

And oh by the way, about the reindeer,
Dinner’s being served, about 5 or 6 here.

So come on by, your all invited,
It will be great; I’m so excited.

There’s Donder and Blitzen, and grumpy and sneezy,
No those are dwarves, man this ain’t easy.

Just thought I’d warn you, give you the scoop,
So I wrote this poem, for the whole group.

Now if you choose, to ignore this writing,
Then have a Merry Christmas, hope its exciting.

But as for me, I’m staying up all night,
If he’s got a gun, there will be a firefight.

We will shoot it out, and believe me I’ll win,
‘cause I’ll start shootin, while the fools comin in.

written by: steve, klay, pony, klaypony....12/8/04

[cj]

Twas the night before Christmas - And all through the tent,
Was the odor of fuel oil, the stovepipe was bent.
The shoepaks were hung by the oil stove with care, In hopes that they'd issue each man a new pair. The weary GIs were sacked out in their beds, while visions of home danced around in their heads.
When up on the ridge line there arose such a clatter - A chinese machine gun had started to chatter!
I rushed to my rifle and threw back the bolt, The rest of my tentmates awoke with a jolt!
Outside we could hear our Platoon Sergeant Kelly...A hard little man with a little pot belly. "Come Yancey, come Clancey, come Goldberg and Watson! Up Willie, up Sulley, up Bohn and Dodson."
We tumbled outside in a swirl of confusion, So cold that each man could have used a transfusion.
"Get up to the hilltop and silence that red, And don't you come back till you're sure he is dead."
Then laying his thumb alongside his nose, Kelly took leave of us shivering Joes.
But we heard him say in a voice soft and light:

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL; MAY YOU LIVE THROUGH THE NIGHT!

FROM A NEWSPAPER CLIPPING (LONG ISLAND DAILY PRESS, FEB. 17, 1951).
George Staab found this in his father's belongings.

[dallee]

Well now this is enlightening Steve. I never looked at Santa in this light before. You certainly have a way of making us think about things don't you? Thank you for taking the time to share this with all of us

[steve]

I’m waking from a dream, one I never had,
Not a warm fuzzy dream, this one was bad.

I was running, running from the grey,
It was everything, oh by the way.

I had that dream, many times before,
Had some others, but that one more.

As I flee, in total terror,
Look over my shoulder, everything’s there.

There is no horizon, no kind of sky,
It’s just everything, I wonder why.

Everything’s after me, and it’s all so grey,
I keep running, I’ll die if I stay.

They say in a dream, you wake before dying,
But I keep running, they could be lying.

Just a trick, to make me want to rest,
Slow my pace, and I’ll fail this test.

This dream I have, is it one I made,
Like that snail, sliding along a razor blade.

Does the snail bleed, is he even cut?
If he’s been hurt, does he know by what?

In his slow world, is he the king?
In his dream, is it everything?

It is in mine, it’s how I describe it,
I wake in a sweat, my cigarette lit.

I leave the room, just to get farther away,
Then I sit, and in my mind I replay.

I try to make sense, out of the bizarre,
I never get done; I’ve never gotten far.

Why is everything, out to hurt me?
Why is it grey, does it all have to be?

I can run, but in this dream,
I’m in a panic; I’m ready to scream.

Then I’m waking; my eyes open to it all,
I stand up, I walk down the hall.

The smokes in my hand, the dreams on my mind,
It was just last night, had the same kind.

What a screwed up dream, it really is bad,
It’s by far the worst, of all I’ve never had.

written by: Steve Cliche.....12/19/04

If you like Steve's poetry check out his website www.clichefantasyart.com (http://www.clichefantasyart.com/) .

[zeke]

dreams we have, like the truth
do we keeping running from them both?

[ajusmc]

Gone thru and moved all of Steves poems into one thread. Make it a little easier to follow his writtings and the changes that he went thru ~~AJ~~

[steve]

My son has gone, he’s now in a war,
Not here with us, not any more.

He’s now in danger, he’s on the line,
Everyone keeps saying, he'll be fine.

But they don’t know, not felt the chill,
It’s so different, when its you they kill.

To be in a land, when you are not wanted,
Just the stares, will leave you haunted.

Don’t kill my son, this is my plea,
Let him come home, and be with me.

I’m just a dad; it’s all I really know,
My boy is cool, he’s not your foe.

He’s a daddy, to his own boys,
Cooper and Tanner, his two joys.

Now daddy’s gone, and they are alone,
And the sounds of war, have the same tone.

My dad fought, in world war two,
And then I fought, protecting you.

Now again, our country’s riled,
So they took, my only child.

If he dies, if he pays the cost,
A number on the news, my boy I lost.

They report the deaths, in 2s and 3s,
Viet nam again, just missing the trees.

I told my son, to be real careful,
Get close to god, please be prayerful.

My only son, my only little boy,
Please don’t kill him, don’t take my joy.

If he dies, in this important little war,
Then ill die too, won’t live no more.

30 years later, and its all the same,
Not his war, just a government game.

Then as years, go slowly by,
We will find, it was all a lie.

The war you fought, was not what they said,
Then you’ll think back, to all the dead.

Don’t like your war, I don’t at all,
Don’t want my boy’s name, on a wall.

I want to hear, I sure love you dad,
Don’t take my boy, I'll be too sad.

I want the best for Iraq; I want them free,
But not so much, you can take my boy from me.

Aaron’s smart, and as tough as he needs,
I’ve seen him do, some very brave deeds.

When I came home, from the Vietnam game,
Everyone thought, I was still the same.

On the outside, I was just great,
But as for my heart, it was too late.

In the fight, in the smoke you’re chokin,
Somewhere there, my heart was broken.

That’s my fear, for this son of mine,
Let him come home, and still be fine.

Let him sleep, when he lays down his head,
With no thoughts, of the dead.

Come home Aaron, I want you back,
So please come home, from Iraq.

written by ...steve cliche ...1/28/05

[ajusmc]

Steve, as I sit here trying to find the right words from what you have written. I can't feel the measure of your dispair. You know that my son died while on active duty, but not to combat and thier is still a void within me. I can only reflect of home when Dana was sent to Nam and the emptiness that was around the house, carefully wording what we said around our Mom, so she would not get upset about Dana in combat, she still went thier often in spirit and prayer.

My nephew is now on his way home, and prayers have been said for him and all the other troops that are in harms way, so with this I will offer my prayers for Aaron and his safe and speedy return home to you and his own sons.

[steve]

"Last man standing "

At the end of the day, the battles been won,
There’s just one thing, needs to be done.


Count your blessings, count every stripe,
Kick on back, and you light up your pipe.


Blowing smoke rings, from the pipe you wield,
Calmly surveying, the bloody battlefield,


What shall we name it, this place of death?
Where so many men, breathed their last breath.


Are you alone, the last man standing,
That’s not thunder, there’s bombs still landing.


But way in the distance, not here on your field,
This place of honor, where you would not yield.


You take a hit, and the fire begins to glow,
Your battles over, it’s all you know.


Looking back, you reflect on their faces,
These young men, who have taken their places.


Thinking of the smiles, when you’d all start to gripe,
Thinking of their faces, while you smoke your pipe.


What’s been taken, what all have you bought?
Was the cost too much, it seems an awful lot.


Bodies and pieces, as far as you can see,
This is your glory, say this belongs to me.


Mine to keep, for as long as I live,
Just kick back, you have no more to give.


I wonder to myself, how I came through whole,
As I take a hit, from my freshly lit bowl.


I’m feeling better, not as tense as before,
But I’m not there yet, I’ll smoke some more.


Dull the edges, on which I recline,
Smoking a pipe, seems to work fine.


When ever I’m tense, or feeling uptight,
I grab my pipe, and I grab a light.


Take a hit, just a great huge toke,
Then I laugh; this war was a joke.


Times when the memories, seem to have control,
That’s right my friend, its time for a bowl.


Now I’m fine, and I look out at my boys,
Strewn about, like so many toys.


It does not hurt; it’s no big thing,
I can take it, the trouble you bring.


This is my field, and I am demanding,
Show me respect, I’m the last man standing.



written by ...steve cliche...1/31/05

[mille]

wow u got romance in that heart dont you--not so hard and tuff as u seem--very nice klay

[ajusmc]

Mille, by reading what you have written so far. Many times we can be surrounded by all the people in the world, and be more alone than we can imagine. I have removed your 2nd post, like you yourself have said it is a Christian based site.

[steve]

I’m swimming in a sea of sadness, so this might all sound wet,
There’s no land in sight, but I mostly tend to forget.

It’s all in the past, with every step you take,
So enjoy the water, the sea not the lake.

But don’t drink the water, at least boil it first,
Or your tummy will swell, and it could even burst.

We wouldn’t want that, oh no not for you,
But there’s a few others, at least one or two.

Don’t know why I’m sad, it came with the storm,
It doesn’t bother me; to me it’s the norm.

The water shows my feelings, a nice shade of blue,
And there’s this other thing, I’m sad about that too.

Life is a funny thing; it takes up all your time,
Its full of sad tidings, and these I cannot rhyme.

Words like this one; the word is regression,
I’ve had that happen, it deepened my depression.

I want to move forward, but I’ve just slowed my pace,
There’s only so much, that one man can face.

I’m on a very nice deck, on a really great ship,
I’m a cool guy, guess I’m tragically hip.

Seas of sadness, to sail across,
Passing on by, islands of loss.

Dolphins leaping, in the waves from my tears,
Playing with madness, and a rush of fears.

I’ll just keep going, let the sails fill,
It’s when I stop; it’s the same old drill.

I have no destination, I did long ago,
But now I just keep running, no where to go.

There was a day, a family, a time,
But it wasn’t for me, and it’s not for this rhyme.

written by ...steve cliche....2/3/05

[dallee]

Hang in there bro, I know you see no purpose now, but when you get to heaven God is going to let you in on what all you have been used for... and you have been used ... by God.

He says that if we will concern ourselves with Him, then He will concern Himself with us, and give us the desires of our heart.

[suzanne]

Hello Steve, first and foremost, thank you for inviting me to this site. I had gone through all the 15 pages, spending a couple of hours here reading all its contents.. and i have to admit tht not only has most of your poems touched me, they have also given me a better understanding of who you and what a gifted person you are.

In regards to your latest poem, ' SEA OF SADNESS', i have this to say, LIFE has all its ups and downs, as most of us know.. and.. I am sure tht irregardless of where you come from, or who you are, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel for everyone. And there will be for you as well... May be not today, may be not tomorrow.. but, your time shall come and thus be happy again.

I am very privileged to have known friends like you.. and i thank you for simply being that wonderful person you are.

[suzanne]

Many say LOVE is all they need in life,
And YES... I totally agree,
But LOVE alone would never be enough,
FOr life these days is simply too tough.


I believe LOVE come and go in one's life,
Just as the waves that brushes along the beach,
I have had my fair share of this special gift,
But maybe it was never meant for me to keep.


Thus, time heals, as they say...
But the memories shall never fade away.
Sacrifices I had made,
Were merely all betrayed.


Still, here I am, in search of this thing call LOVE,
Will it ever be enough, to simply be loved?
Nevertheless, life without it shall never be the same,
For, this feeling of love can sometimes makes us insane.


Even so, my dear Steven,
I shall always hope and pray,
That you will be showered with special moments,
Like the once I had, that had gone astray. ( lol)


Though, there were sadness and tears,
But looking back, I have never feared,
For I know, the day shall come...
When I will have that tingling feeling all over again.


Dear Steven, I am not a poet..(lol) as you can see, but this is written from the heart specially for you... suz.

[Richard G. Shuster]

Steve,

Welcome Home Brother and thanks for sharing your expressions here on Point Man Ministries. I appreciate your perspectives and candor.

Rick Shuster
RandomlyRamblingRick
rgsjesshuster@att.net