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  #141  
Old 08-25-2004, 04:39 PM
steve
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Confused This is Good

This is important, so listen well,
this is what, Iím about to tell.

Iím aware of this, oh yes,
this is evident, not a guess.

Now listen to this, itís good,
this is a piece of wood.

This is a car, and this is not,
this is all we really got.

This is nice weather, this rain sucks,
this is a book, itís about this truck.

This is mine; this is yours,
this is the way, through the doors.

This question I have, is about this,
till this is explained, this youíll miss.

This is my life, this that you see,
this is a trip, but this is me.

This poem, this poem of mine,
it's about this, so this is fine.

If this wasnít this guys hat,
this would fit, if this were like that.

But this doesnít matter; this hat is ok,
this is the one, Iíll wear it this day.

I remember this, and I remember that,
but Iíll bet this, Iíll forget this hat.

Well this wasnít so hard; I needed this friend,
this is done, so I guess this is the end.

This was written by: steve cliche.... this day of our lord...8/23/04

This is not all, there is more. see it at www.clichefantasyart.com
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  #142  
Old 08-25-2004, 04:44 PM
steve
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Biggrin Not A Warrior

I know a lady, thinks she is a warrior,
hate to tell her, sheís more like tom sawyer.

Says she has PTSD, from a one day deal,
I guess you can get it, from a bad meal.

I believe its something, which happens over time,
prolonged terror, I'll drop the dime.

You donít get PTSD, in a single afternoon,
if thatís the case, Iíll have more soon.

She says sheís a warrior, I think its not true,
talks about fighting, more than me or you.

All this talk, and thatís all it is,
donít mean nothin, pop, bang, and fizz.

I said this, then I said that,
then we fought, thatís where sheís at.

Itís no big deal, just grinds on my nerves,
if someone gets offended, its what she deserves.

There are still warriors, in this land of mine,
if she wants to pretend, I think that is fine.

But donít tell a vet, about your battle scar,
you're not a race driver, because you have a car.

Like I said, itís not really a big deal,
but when she starts, itís all I can feel.

Sheís been shot at, and sheís shot back,
all I hear is, yak, yak, yak.

It was one time, didnít go on over a year,
but she talks about it, glad she isnít here.

It grinds on my nerves, like a real sharp file,
but I just look at her; all she sees is my smile.

Iím trying to be nice, keeping it to myself,
but her one story, needs to be on a shelf.

"I am a warrior", that's all she ever has to say,
I hope she donít catch me, on a really bad day.

Thatís when Iíll tell her, how silly it all sounds,
her in her jungles, dodging her rounds.

Iím very sorry, she had that one bad day,
but come on, it wasnít war I say.

I've heard this crap, for so many years,
she always calls, on her day of fears.

I've got PTSD! Iím a real tough chick,
all I can say is, Iím getting sick.

Donít want to say shut up, not too nice,
donít want bad for her, well maybe head lice.

It just goes all over me, every single time,
do you know what I mean, in this rhyme?

Kill, kill, kill, thatís easy to say,
you're not a warrior, just from one day.

Grinding, and grinding, I can hear the crunch,
she thinks its cool, I've got a hunch.

Girls should be girls, not pretend to be more,
they are awesome, without all the war.

Just be a lady, without all the lies,
thatís what they are, please hear my cries.

Donít say that, please say no more,
please stop saying, youíve been to war.

You had a bad day, and it was years ago,
you're not a warrior from it, this I do know.

If you see her, ask her to please quit,
well now you know, guess this is it.
written by: steve cliche 8/25/04

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  #143  
Old 08-26-2004, 06:42 PM
steve
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Biggrin Cheater

Thereís just as many clubs, as there are spades,
when I play poker, I always wear my shades.

You shuffle the cards, see how they fall,
bet on a straight, but donít bet it all.

If youíre the dealer, your chances increase,
but donít get caught, if you want peace.

If you get a good hand, donít let it show,
donít bet a lot, or they will all know.

Thereís as many hearts, as there were spades,
luck is flimsy, it almost always fades.

Then thereís the diamonds, my favorite suit,
if they are all diamonds, that is a hoot.

When youíre playin, and you win a hand,
keep your face, very very bland.

Itís called a poker face, I have mine,
but if I lose, that is fine.

Donít get in the game, if you canít stand to lose,
thereís only 52 cards, for you to use.

If you lose on one hand, donít drop out,
you can win on the next, thatís what itís about.

The luck of the draw, you have a clean slate,
Itís also a great CD, by Bonnie Raitte.

Just hold your cards, and keep a straight face,
and hope thereís no guns, layin around the place.

Some people have a tendency, to get mad if they lose,
this is one thing in poker, which I will use.

Iíll watch your face, and if I see red,
Iíll raise my bet, man you are dead.

Youíll get mad, go off like a rocket,
Iíll walk out, with your cash in my pocket.

Well the game is over; Iím out of here,
I probably won, cause I drank no beer.

Youíre all drunk, and Iím really not,
All your money, is what I got.

Iím in my car; Iím almost ready to leave,
oh wow, thereís something up my sleeve.

How did these aces, get way up here?
I say with a laugh, and almost a tear.

No wonder I won, oh what the heck,
up my sleeve, was another deck.

I should feel bad, but I donít,
Iím a winner, so I just wonít.

If they were not drunk, they would have seen,
my extra aces, thatís what I mean.

This extra money, will help alright,
and thereís another game, next Friday night.

But donít worry, I'll play fair,
maybe a king, hidden in my hair.

If youíre a drinker, and my shirt has a sleeve,
either stop drinkin, or donít play with Steve.

written by: steve cliche...8/26/04

See Steve's drawings at www.clichefantasyart.com
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  #144  
Old 08-26-2004, 06:50 PM
steve
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Bored Tall Grass

Guns were on the agenda, bullets would fly,
we were pissed, we all knew why.

They had attacked, in the dead of night,
they do that a lot, avoid the light.

Mortars, and rockets, tested our men,
and we lost, although we did win.

Lost our chaplain, a very wise man,
there to encourage, best he can.

Now heís gone, just like so many,
now they will pay, and we include any.

They tested our nerve, now well test them,
why of us all, did it have to be him.

It isnít the religion; it was his heart,
always there, he did his part,
.
He will be missed, to no end,
he was our chaplain, and our friend.

While I was guarding, our ammo dump,
like a low class version, of Forrest Gump.

I let my brothers, steal cases of red flares,
the chapal was on high ground, so we had built stairs.

We climbed one night, way up to the top,
a hundred red flares, pop, pop, pop, ................pop....ha

Laying in the tall grass, so were not seen,
up walks this major, the chaplain I mean.

He looked up at the sky, and all the red flares,
all he got back were, five guilty stares.

The chaplain said, hey guys, thatís right on,
we never spoke, trying to get gone.

But I'll never forget, this man with true pity,
the way he looked up, said boys thatís real pretty.

Never said a word, to us about that night,
I think the man, just liked the light.

So we're going out, bullets will fly,
and now you all know, exactly why.

in memory of the chaplain...written by: steve cliche
8/26/04


If you like Steve's poetry you are gonna love his artwork.
Check it out at www.clichefantasyart.com
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  #145  
Old 09-08-2004, 11:50 AM
steve
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Dog House of Blue Leaves

Oh what wonder, she gently weaves,
in her house, of blue leaves.

Rays of light, with colors clear,
she's softy singing, in your ear.

Passing your eyes, you can't explain,
there seems to be, a light red rain.

Are those just lights, they seem to fly,
this is different, I wonder why.

I'm in a house, one that I can touch,
made of blue leaves, I know that much.

Went in the kitchen, its up that ridge,
more blue leaves, are in the fridge.

But look at the colors, reflections in glass,
I see myself, everytime i pass.

I'm in the glass, and im trying to look out,
oh look a band, marching all about.

Some in green, then more in yellow,
there's even that one, purple fellow.

The flashing lights, the waving hands,
flashes of fire, huge rubber bands.

The guy in purple, dont play, he weaves,
made the uniforms, and all the blue leaves.

He's in the band, he marches too,
if you look close, hes weaving for you.

You'er in the band, you are brand new,
and you need a uniform, in leaves of blue.

Oh, you didn't see the sign, just pointin at you,
the one that said, leaves of blue>>>>>

Oh you came in, just to use our phone,
and now the lights, wont leave you alone.

You should have knocked, or gave a shout,
we would have told: there's no way out.

I've been here, thirty two years,
it's ok here, watch your ears.

They came right off, then jumped back on,
I saw that happen, to a man named ron.

Then one day, ron just in tears,
sittin there crying, without any ears.

This house were in, it's not that bad,
that's not food, there's a good ladd.

Hey stick with me, I'll show you around,
over there, thats the pound.

There aint no dogs, but they do have a cat,
late last year, they gave it a rat.

The rat was green, mean and kickin ,
that old cat, gave it a lickin.

Then they played checkers, like they should,
the cat was awesome, the rat was good.

In this room, you found the kitchen,
the blue leaves, will leave you itchin.

Oh you will scratch, scratch up and down,
I only come out, when no leaves are around.

Don't talk to him, he ate out of the bowl,
if you do that, youll turn into a troll.

There's my room, it has an up stairs,
my mattress is filled, with fluffy nose hairs.

I picked them out, all through these years,
and as years went by, some from my ears.

That's your room, you have a window,
on stormy days, it's where we all go.

We wait and wait, for the day,
she's struck by lightning, on her way.

But oh what wonder, she gently weaves,
in this ~ her house, made of blue leaves.

written by: steve cliche...8/30/04
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  #146  
Old 09-08-2004, 12:31 PM
steve
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Banghead My Bike

Iím writing this about my bike, it really deserves a good poem,
it's like one solid piece now, and that piece is all chrome.

I got my Harley in 84; she was a sweet young lass,
fully dressed lots of chrome, she just needed gas.

I think its part of the reason, that my wife flew the coup,
she was jealous of my bike, thatís the real straight scoop.

Iím kinda crackin up here, laughing at what I have just thought,
she started going out on me, soon after she was bought.

This is getting confusing, for you and for me,
I'll have to use their names, this I can see.

You can call her D.; she wouldnít like me using her name,
if I slip and call her Darla, to me itís all the same.

D. didnít like poor Raylee; yes I named my bike,
and then there was me, another thing she didnít like.

Raylee got her name, cause hippie had a baby,
wont use her name, might say Amanda maybe.

Raylee was so cute, and hippieís pretty fine too,
so I named my bike Raylee, what else could I do?

Thirteen hundred and forty, eighty cubic inch,
Rayleeís so beautiful; she made me lose my wench.

D. was always jealous, Iím talking totally whacked,
then she leaves me, and marries a dude named jack.

Thatís not his real name, Iíve been down that track,
Iíll tell you what it is though, it really is jack.

Anyway she left me, Iím still talking about D.
all of a sudden I realized, Raylee was still with me.

So I went with my emotions, I just let it flow,
and I became me again, became someone I know.

I rode with everyone, I even started a club,
my ole lady left me, Iím no longer the hub.

She got an attorney, saved 14 grand I had it still.
thatís what I said to the lawyer, heíd be lucky to get his bill.

So we listed our assets, law dude said I didnít mention my bike,
I told him he was right, so you do what you like.

I'd already said, she could pick either home,
and there was Raylee, smilin lots of chrome.

Gave D. the choice of cars, and you all know what she did,
and I raised my boys, each and every kid.

The kids loved Raylee, sheís how we got around,
sheís a beautiful lady, real low to the ground.

At times for whatever reason, Iíd have to go to their school,
and when Raylee shook their windows, they thought that was cool.

All the other kids, said man your dad is kool,
but I was a real dad, and this dad was no fool.

Everything they did, here would be me and Raylee,
we would go find them, they respected me.

I love my bike, but Iíd burn her for them boys,
Raylee's been a blast, Christian, and Aaron were my joys.

So now you know more, about my bike than you did,
and you know that I loved, each and every kid.

Oh yea, about hippie, the one with Raylee,
Rachelís her sister, like a sister to me.

Raylee is a beautiful bike, we live in the sticks,
but Amanda, and her sister, are a couple of hot chicks.


written by: steve cliche...8/27/04
D. was a good wife for many years.
Hippie's got a Harley.....beans.... cool beans
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  #147  
Old 09-08-2004, 12:38 PM
steve
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Bounce Utter

What is more, and what is less,
this line is more, thatís my guess.

So if I write another, that is more,
a one-line poem, whatís it for?

Well thereís two more; Iím doing it,
but this might be, all you get.

I can do more, but itís a mess,
if I didnít, that would be less.

So here I sit, thinking of lines,
what rhymes with lines, oh umm fines.

I kinda cheated, on that last verse,
I could have stopped, but less is worse.

Iím still going, Iím writing a poem,
just like, umm where the buffalo roam.

Yea thatís it, another line down,
now Iím glad, I stuck around.

I can do this; there is no fence,
cause it donít have to even make sense.

I've been set free, Iíll say whatever,
like how do whales, stay together.

Or I could say, hey dude whatís up,
can I use, your coffee cup?

That line rhymed, so it counts,
these lines here, in vast amounts.

Hi little baby, sheís six years old,
belongs to a friend, so I've been told.

She might have got her, at a garage sale,
I guess sheís a girl, cause sheís not a male.

They giggle the same; there is that,
their eyes look the same, when they see a rat.

Bricks stacked up to the sky,
none put there, by you or I.

And the baby says, "I love you mommy,
you know at recess, I was kissed by Tommy..."

Momma chokes, and she turns red,
thereís no air, gettin in her head.

Not knowing what to say, besides, oh ah,
"Öand mommy, I was also kissed by Noah."

Look itís the fair, on a very special day,
the skyís so blue, with clouds by the way.

White and blue, all for you,
Iím of a different color, you are too.

So do the dishes, you funny long eared, land grabbin, dag nab carpet baggin scallllly wags, why Iíll.......

Sorry about that, I went astray,
it's not like, I've got anything to say.

I never speak of rabbits; I have no reason,
speaking of wabbits, its alwees wabbit season.

Donít change that dale, I meant it to say alwees,
thatís what Elmer says, paid his wabbit fees.

Think about Elmer, always on the hunt,
was the ugly duckling, also the runt.

If I looked at puppies, I'd pick up the smallest,
poor widdle puppy, never the tallest.

Cause the waves crash, on their own accord,
they are never at rest, they splash aboard.

take down that sail, and some other nautical words that i cant think of, like for instance, sea shells, islands , reefs, ropes, mast , aye ladds, coming aboard, batten down the main hatch mr. christian, and put us on a course south , south west, heave ho ladds, treasure, wenches, and rum , aye the rum ladds, and wenches, AYE, and the islands. Coconuts as big as .......

Sorry, I lost my train of thought,
this is all, this poets got.

Iím done, nothing to say,
it's over, end of the day.

No more rhymin, no more of that,
the very last line, thatís where Iím at.

Yep that was it, the very last line.
if I do say so, I think it went fine.

Why it were a line, make a momma proud.
and you just remember, I said it out loud.

Not really out loud, Iím typing it out,
but that other lineís, what this one's about.

Iím tryin to stop; this needs to end,
ever notice, women loveeeeeeeee to spend.

Thus the sayin, Ďshop till you dropí,
was it a man, who named the lollipop?

Or was the lollipop, made at the zoo,
something Iíd love to see, hippos do.

A whole bunch of hippos, holdin little sticks,
so me and you, can get our licks.

Poor poor little hippos, Iím so upset,
and what is up with the trail snails leave?

That didnít rhyme, and I just let it slide,
I mean, like what are they going to do to me? send me to Nam? Oooooh Iím sooooo scared.

But I digress, in this poem of nonsense,
love the view, letís build a fence.

Beautiful bubbles, that we like to pop,
octagon signs, where we have to stop.

Imagine Davy Crockett, and Daniel Boone,
Davy thereís the sign; we have ta stop preety soon.

Iím sick of it, Iím tired and confused,
Iím sick of it all, why Iím bein used!

Oh now I see, I see the whole thing,
you want, a diamond ring.

Is that a song, and is this real butter,
and this is the last word, I will utter.

written by : steve cliche ....9/4/04

If you like Steve's poetry you will love his drawings.
check them out at www.clichefantasyart.com
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  #148  
Old 09-08-2004, 01:15 PM
steve
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Blue Us

Iím aware of you; I know how you feel,
your not alone, your dreams are real.

It means a lot, I listen to your speech,
it's beautiful to me, out of my reach.

But to just look, to see it your way,
youíve shown me things, made my day.

I know Iím aware, of your love,
we would fit, just like a glove.

I see through your eyes, itís all so clear,
come over to me, please come near.

I need your warmth; your heat is mine,
come a little closer, it will be fine.

Ill be good; ill be your friend,
but I'll love you, till the end.

I've been waiting, just for you,
seems to me, youíve waited too.

Is this love, this desperate need?
when its you, I feel a greed.

Want you more, deep in my heart,
I've loved you, from the start.

Every day, when I wake,
thereís a felling, I canít shake.

A very deep longing, for what you are,
I've been watching, from afar.

I know you love me, on this id bet,
youíd love me more, if we had met.

If you had looked, in my eyes,
if you had heard, all my sighs.

You would know, my love is true,
com'ere baby, I really want you.

We'd be perfect, an excellent pair,
you over here, and me right there.

I'll care for you, all your desires,
I will quench, your burning fires.

Romance for us, its here in our laps,
we wonít lose it, to all the traps.

Weíll stick together, and ride out the storms,
married in our hearts, without the forms.

And when you wake, and those eyes open,
ill be waiting , my heart hoping .

Every single day, when you get up,
well sit together, drink a cup.

Start our day, just you and me,
Itís going great, wait and see.

A team of lovers, with hearts aglow,
and just us two , will really know.

Others will see, oh it will show,
but only us will really know.

You and me, and what we feel,
see baby , your dreams were real.

written by: steve cliche....9/5/04

Steve has made some drawings that are just as beautiful.
See them at www.clichefantasyart.com

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  #149  
Old 09-09-2004, 10:52 AM
steve
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13 M, A and K

I won't say her name, then again I just may,
but in her name, are an m , a, and k.

She's, oh about this big, just right for her age,
and at certain times, her mom wants her in a cage.

The bus pulls up here, but the trolls don't care,
they cross the street, and act wild over there.

The one I won't mention, I'll just call "THE BABY",
she doesn't like that, well a little maybe.

Anyway, the baby, looks up at mommy,
"Across the street, is where I want to be".

Mom says "no baby, you just stay here,
lets do things right, it's the trolls I fear".

"Do you want to be seen, as a troll too?"
Thats what moms, are supposed to say to you.

But as the baby stands there, being so sweet,
the trolls look kinda silly, on the wrong side of the street.

It's like people who say, hey I'm all wet,
if you stand in the rain, that's what you get.

Thinking to herself, the baby starts to realize,
that in a lot of ways, she sees through moms eyes.

The baby's growing up, shes using her brain,
she's not all wet, came in out of the rain.

And there stand the trolls, with mud up to here,
look that one, even has some in her ear!

And the baby gets on the bus, and gets to school,
and all day long, she just looks cool.

Everyone laughed so hard, it was funny to hear,
when in the middle of class, mud fell out of her left ear.

The baby was laughing, it was real funny to see,
but she was also, thinking of Mommy.

And as for the trolls, and them breakin every rule,
they stood in rain, cleanin mud off shoes at school.

There's one more thing, the baby bowls about 90,
not bad for a baby, one that's so teeny tiny.

I'm here to tell you, you can always figure,
you'll find the baby, bouncin like Tigger.

Bounce, bounce, bounce, look mom look,
then later she's quiet, and they read a book.

This poem's about the baby, not me or you,
but I did want to mention, I like to read too.

That's how I first met Bilbo, and all the dwarfs too,
the books were better, than the movie seen by you.

The baby reads, sometimes to her mom,
and by then, they both feel calm.

It's been a long day, with the bouncin and all,
and sleep is where, the baby will fall.

written by Steve Cliche....8/29/2004

Some of Steve's drawings can be seen at www.clichefantasyart.com .
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  #150  
Old 09-09-2004, 10:56 AM
steve
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Bored Squish Squish

I'm gettin so mad, this is my wish,
be nice to the baby, all you goldfish.

Flap flap flappin, all on the floor,
don't mess with the baby, anymore.

You could get stepped on, that's no crap,
then you won't be able to flap.

Leave her alone, or ur all dead meat,
can't be mean, just cause she's sweet.

Actually you can, so you go ahead,
but don't blame me, when you're dead.

One mass killin, all in a row,
better be nice, don't ya know.

If I had a grenade, I would lob it,
being hateful, to a poor little hobbit.

She has plenty, on her plate already,
leave her alone, my aim is steady.

She has trolls, they live very near,
poor little hobbit, and her so dear.

Go ahead, you all are just fish,
someday you'll be dinner, on a dish.

I wont say it again, it needs to stop,
you'll be on the floor, trying to flop.

She is sweet, like momma taught her,
has a real sword, that I bought her.

So if you choose, to be mean instead,
she will just, chop off your head.

Better be nice, she knows her stuff,
you stupid fish, have been mean enough.

Poor little hobbit, lost in the gloom,
oh i see, it's the living room.

I heard a squish, was that one of you,
I told you all, what I would do.

Just this once, you need to heed,
a little water, is what you need.

Then you can swim, and baby will be fine,
or you can be mean, and on you we will dine.

Oh I'm sorry, I stepped on you,
oops, I stepped on you too.

Be nice to the baby, be more prayerful,
and when I walk, I'll be more careful.

written by: steve cliche...9/2/04

See some of Steve's artwork at www.clichefantasyart.com .
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  #151  
Old 09-09-2004, 11:15 AM
steve
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Angeldevil The Storm

The wind did blow, and it was so wet,
should the wind stop, oh no not yet.

It holds you down, keeps you in place,
like gentle kisses, on your face.

The storm inside, is about to break,
what it gives, Iím here to take.

Wanting more, to give in return,
a lover of wind, itís easy to learn.

The wind has power, combined with rain,
it will wash over, and remove the pain.

Pull up the covers, staying so warm,
like two lovers, in a raging storm.

Seeking shelter, out from the wet,
in this storm, loves what you get.

Let it rain, I want it some more,
what does this rain, have in store.

Like two moons, moving the tides,
this storm, is so full of rides.

Up then down, always the breeze,
a passive wind, like on its knees.

A kiss of wind, clouds like blonde hair,
when it passes, I'll want it there.

To feel its caress, on its way through,
makes me think, of times with you.

When it returns, and itís at full force,
I'll want more rain, want it all of course.

I love it on me, or to hear the sound,
hear the wind moan, all around.

Like a branch, on a windowpane,
easy to fall in love, with the rain.

As it builds, lightning lit roads,
that is when, the storm explodes.

Its been building, the entire night,
now my wind, the time is right.

Youíve been moving me, made me sway,
now I want storms, every single day.

Thunder like moans, lightning like lips,
lights the hills, like curving hips.

Its slowing now, itís letting up,
it has filled, my loving cup.

Lightning flashing, now far away,
I canít hear, what it has to say.

Its like the storm, has fallen asleep,
ahhh but the memories, these I'll keep.

What a night, what a scary feeling,
your whole world, rocking and reeling.

I love the rain, the fresh warm smell,
she has a name, I cannot tell.

written by: steve cliche...9/7/04

You can see the same captured emotion in some of
Steve's artwork at www.clichefantasyart.com .
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  #152  
Old 09-09-2004, 12:28 PM
steve
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Fyi I Might Have Three

A nine mm pistol, one under each arm,
makes a man feel, safe from any harm.

One for the bad guys, one for the crooks,
one just for people, who give dirty looks.

When Iím down town, in a very bad part,
donít try to mug me, that wouldnít be smart.

Better go pick, a more gentle minded guy,
or youíll end up, my finger in your eye.

Just one finger, in the right place,
now look at the tough guy, look at your face.

You came to hurt, and possibly harm,
didnít even consider, what was under my arm.

Oh I see, now youíre all scared,
before my gun, you never cared.

But now youíre beggin, please please mister,
now Mr. tough guy, sounds like a sister.

When I get dressed, I grab a fresh shirt,
and then I think; a gun or two shouldnít hurt.

So in they go, they fit me like new,
thereís one for me, and this one's for you.

If your out, to hurt a small kid,
I'll be there, one out, one hid.

I donít reload, if you want to shoot back,
I've got another, just for you jack.

Went to a gun store, I saw them there,
told the dude, ill take the pair.

Iím not a bully, Iím here to have peace,
but your stupidity, at times doesnít cease.

And if youíre a redneck, you and your pal,
feel like kickin butt, I will call foul.

I'll wave at you, and youíll under stand,
hey bubba, is that a gun in his hand?

Guns are bad, we donít need to be armed,
but then again, we donít need to be harmed.

Get up early, eat your lucky charms,
but you need to consider, whatís under my arms.

Like that big dude, who got in my car,
out came a gun, we didnít go far.

If he needed a ride, he should have said that,
way before, he got in and sat.

Stuck it in his face, right about there,
I've got these bullets; Iím willing to share.

Get out of my car, and Iím talkin now,
hurry man, before the pow.

Was I supposed to be scared, from your talk?
now you donít have a ride, you have to walk.

He was huge, a very large man.
but he got out, faster than I can.

Now you take that guy, and what might have been,
I was just fine, put my gun back again.

Iím not sayin, you need to carry a gun,
cause I carry two, I'll loan you one.

Because of the laws, you go without a gun,
so only the bad guys, are going to have one.

If they walk in, and say give me your money,
If Iím there, this could be kinda funny.

I'll tap his shoulder, say into his face,
you should have picked, another place.

These are my friends, not friends for you,
yes I see your gun, but I have two.

One for you, and the other for me,
if Iím feelin good, I might have three.

Think about this, all you bad men,
and if you see my car, donít get in.

written by: steve cliche...9/8/04

... and this guy draws pictures of little fairy's and gnomes and stuff...... really... see for yourself at www.clichefantasyart.com
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  #153  
Old 09-09-2004, 01:26 PM
steve
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Cross Glow Lg Clr 2 A Walk With God

I walked away from God, he just watched me go,
I would be back, this my God did know.

I didnít walk far, before I heard a quiet voice,
Steve my son, is this really a wise choice?

It took a few days, and some very restless nights,
now I've come back, its all been set to rights.

Like a loving father, he gently called my name,
when Iíd hear his whisper, I just felt shame.

I owe him so much, more than they could give,
and this is really, the way I love to live.

I am He Who Walks In Sand, but I like two sets of prints,
so I turned around, after about 500 hints.

I didnít get far, it just felt far away,
and now Iím at the beginning, of a brand new day!

Itís me and the lord, walking in the sand,
Jesus is smiling, because I took a stand.

The last few days, I've thought of lots of stuff,
then when I came back, he said, it took you long enough.

Now my son, lets take a very long walk,
you will listen, while I am going to talk.

you heard me speaking, you did not heed my hints,
if you turn around and look, thereís a single set of prints.

Thatís where you walked away, but I kept on going,
you were feeling weak, it was already showing.

You just needed time, in your mind to deal,
I knew youíd be back, cause I know how you feel.

You love your walk with me; I love you being here,
I like to see our footprints, walking so very near.

At times they overlap, thatís when I reach for you,
I hug my son, then they go back to two.

Itís a long walk, I know this my son,
many many choices, you just made one.

It was hard for you, this choice you have made,
but I knew youíd be here, your love will not fade.

We are a team, you Steve, and I,
I give you strength, choices are why.

Now look at our prints, you who walks in sand,
love the lord thy God, in this I demand.

When you are tempted son, more than you can bare,
just know in your heart, I am still right there.

Just like this morning, as I went out to walk,
I heard my sons voice, father can we talk.

Now itís all behind us, he who walks in sand,
I like your new name, its sin I canít stand.

Listen now my son, this I want to say,
they are all lonely; love is hard this day.

You try to impress, the people you are near,
but itís only there own voice, that's what they hear.

People are sinners, every one Iíve met,
and I know them all, on this you may bet.

So donít waste your time, youíre fine who you are,
just be my Steve, and we will walk so far.

You are my son, you have nothing to prove,
love the lord your God, move when I say move.

This is a rough spot, here take my hand,
I love you, He Who Walks In Sand.

written by: Steve cliche....9/9/04

If you like his poetry, you will be amazed at his drawings.
visit www.clichefantasyart.com .
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  #154  
Old 09-09-2004, 01:41 PM
dallee
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Re: A Walk With God

What a wonderful glimpse of God's loving chastisement. We all stray from time to time and hear that little voice, feel that shame. Thank you, Steve for showing us that God does not turn from us then, He just keeps walking, like a loving Father, watching and waiting for us to catch up.

It is good to have you back where you belong.
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  #155  
Old 09-09-2004, 01:45 PM
dallee
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Re: Us

Welcome to pmimchat beachbaby, thank you for your post. We want you to feel welcome here and look forward to seeing more from you.
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  #156  
Old 09-09-2004, 05:26 PM
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ajusmc ajusmc is offline
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Join Date: May 2010
Location: South Carolina
Posts: 4,672
ajusmc is on a distinguished road
Re: Us

Welcome to Beach Baby, may you enjoy your stay and your visits
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  #157  
Old 09-09-2004, 08:11 PM
JOAN
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Re: Us

JEST WANTED TO SAY:
Welcome to Beach Baby,
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  #158  
Old 09-09-2004, 08:15 PM
Trooper
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Re: Us

Welcome Beach Baby

Come on in the waters fine.
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  #159  
Old 09-10-2004, 09:57 AM
dallee
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Re: M, A and K

Thanks so much for that Steve,


for anyone who wonders he is referring to my daughter and we just love to attention he showers on us. It is so nice to know someone thinks of you throughout the day.
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  #160  
Old 09-10-2004, 10:01 AM
dallee
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Re: Squish Squish



Again Thank you for helping me over those little mommy humps. We all need to see that someone else is paying attention when you tell them about what is happening in your life.
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