Desert Dreams's blog: "Some jewels"

A WOMAN'S POEM: Before I lay me down to sleep I pray for a man, who's not a creep One who's handsome, smart and strong One who loves to listen long One who thinks before he speaks One who'll call, not wait for weeks I pray he's gainfully employed When I spend his cash, won't be annoyed Pulls out my chair and opens my door Massages my back and begs to do more. Oh! Send me a man who'll make love to my mind Knows what to answer to 'how big is my behind?' I pray that this man will love me to no end And always be my very best friend A MAN'S POEM: I pray for a deaf-mute gymnast nymphomaniac with huge boobs who owns a bar on a golf course, and loves to send me fishing and drinking. This doesn't rhyme and I don't give a shit.

Once again, The Washington Post has published the winning submissions to its yearly Neologism Contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words, The winners are: 1, Coffee (n,), the person upon whom one coughs 2, Flabbergasted (adj,), appalled over how much weight you have gained, 3, Abdicate (v,), to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach, 4, Esplanade (v,), to attempt an explanation while drunk, 5, Willy-nilly (adj,), impotent, 6, Negligent (adj,), describes a condition in which you absentmindedly answer the door in your nightgown, 7, Lymph (v,), to walk with a lisp, 8, Gargoyle (n,), olive-flavored mouthwash, 9, Flatulence (n,) emergency vehicle that picks you up after you are run over by a steam roller, 10, Balderdash (n,), a rapidly receding hairline, 11, Testicle (n,), a humorous question on an exam, 12, Rectitude (n,), the formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists, 13, Pokemon (n), a Rastafarian proctologist, 14, Oyster (n,), a person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms, 15, Frisbeetarianism (n,), The belief that, when you die, your soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there, 16, Circumvent (n,), an opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men, 17, Arachnoleptic fit (n,): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web,

Eric Jason Whitaker (October 15, 1985 - December 27, 2006) Category: Writing and Poetry Share tyme.. A first look back... Born to an only child when she was 21, he was a miracle baby. From the age of 15 she'd been told that children were not in her cards, yet here he came -- entering the world against all odds. Full of a baby's innocence, he began to shine his love and laughter upon the family he'd been born into. Doted upon and spoiled indeed, his cries were only to fulfill his needs. Fits of temper were mostly screamed when he was forced to sleep. His first word, "nana" (for banana), was adapted to "Nannie" (for grandma). first steps, first trips, first falls, first utter joys, followed by his first exclamation of awe.. "Look Mama!! Flower!". From day one he never wanted to (nor needed to) do anything or go anywhere alone. A chubby lil hand would reach for another as a mischievious smile took over his face.. "Come on!", he'd say, and off we'd go looking for an adventure. Soccer, T-ball, cub scouts, football... We did them all! Nannie, Grampa n Mama building bridges... And teachin him to cross. Along the way a hole developed that none filled. He faced the world refusing to admit the hole existed. As with any child, the years they flew. Teen years came and with them, the need to fill the invisible hole. His love & laughter shone so brightly. Temptations became conquests and conquests were his challenge. To get inside a thing and see how it worked became his focus, ripping things apart to see their purpose. Toys, radios, clocks and more, all conquered and left hopelessly gaping open.The only thing he couldn't and wouldn't get inside of to view was that invisible hole inside himself he refused to see. He rushed ahead to 21 (twenty fun) and an awesome, loving young man he became. Racing thru life with a laugh and a grin; love in his heart for those who loved him unconditionally. With his hand outstretched and look on his face that promised, "Come on! It'll be fun!", he charged through life with very little fear. On a cold day, just after Christmas, he rode his last ride, his heart heavy with a need to help others. True fear he finally faced, and with great pain he left this world, never having faced the invisible hole. He rides recklessly now thru streets of gold and fields of awesome color, wearing A huge grin, saying, "Come on! It'll be fun!". I know that God himself enjoys that smile. Though i miss him so deeply that I've created my own invisible hole, i know that his has been filled. So live your lives, cross your bridges & fill your holes.. Live your lives & share your Joys, fears, and tears, for tomorrow the chance may be gone. Rest in Peace my son... Mama loved you to the very end and one day I'll reach out my hand..And whisper "Come on! Let's have some fun!" ~T^R~

Brian's Essay: The Room... In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog s ystem for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed at." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirme d this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature. When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched", I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast wasted time I knew that file represented. When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it.. The title was "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read everyone? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me. Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written. "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."-Phil. 4:13 "For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life."