MOVIES' POEM

I was Coming to America when I saw Madea Goes to Jail. When I got to the airport, I met a girl who told me we could be Friends with Benefits, but when I told her I wasn't interested, she told me to shut up and Think like a Man. Upset and irritated, but determined and poised, I decided I will not Just Go With it. So, I picked up my phone and called The Driver of my Uncle's car; he answered and told me he was enjoying Talladega Nights and was kind of on a Hitch with The Girl Next Door. Despicable Me, I had lost my wallet and was now Stranded in The Town which I knew nothing about. But Lucky Me, I had my friend's Avatar with his name, address and number on my card. Mike was his name. When I called Mike, he told me he was playing The Hunger Games and that The Transporter was coming to pick me. He told me not to worry because The Transporter was coming with the Expendables who just defeated the A-team in a battle over the Edge of Darkness. Confused by Mike's story cause I didn't know what he was talking about, I decided I Can Do Bad All By Myself. After all, The Family that Preys was Mike's next door neighbors. Besides, Mike once told me about being Haunted by Angels and Demons with The Da Vinci Code. I was of the opinion that Mike sees an Exorcist 'cause he seemed sick.
But no one ever listens to me, they said I reminded them of Diary of a Wimpy Kid. So, I picked up The NoteBook and wrote Mike a Message in the Bottle. That was the last time I heard from Mike before he joined the Transformers who were on a mission with the Bourne Notice and a Bourne Ultimatum on Jason Bourne, Mike's old friend.
When I left the airport, I decided to go on a Walk to Remember, as I walked miles to a nearby restaurant which served American Pie. At the restaurant, I met The Lady in Red who told me there was a Rage in Harlem and that Harlem Nights were no longer peaceful. She told me she was The Lucky One who made it alive. Right now, she was Home Alone: Lost in New York, trying to make a buck.
TO BE CONTINUED

THE THRONE TO WATCH

A throne not built with hands,
A throne not built by man,
A throne so unhuman,
Divine and heavenly,
Heavenly and divine,
Such is The Throne to Watch,

Not a throne of fast monies,
Nor a throne of real phonies,
Not a throne of carnality,
Nor a throne of mortality,
But a throne of spirituality,
Such is The Throne to Watch,

Rags of clothes,
Papers of money,
Trash of beauties,
Insipid of fine wine,
Worthless of gold,
All insignificant before this Throne,

Hidden from the eyes of this world,
Unknown to the sons of men,
Masked from the high and mighty,
Concealed from the wealthiest of dust,
Revealed to the humbliest of earth,
Such is the this throne, The Throne to Watch.

DO YOU CARE?

Do you care?
That when we died,
No one was there,
That when we cried,
Everyone left us bare,
That we have become helpless,
That our situation seems hopeless,
And all that we ask is justice,
To live with peace,
Like the other children of the world,
And to breathe a breath of fresh air,
Do you care?

With each break of dawn,
A new phase of pain is born,
As we are continuously abducted,
Our brothers and sisters mutilated,
Our rights have been trampled upon,
We have gradually become,
Children invisible to the world,
That not a word of our words are heard,
But visible we are to our captors,
Visible we remain to our abductors,
Only invisible to those who can help,
Do you care?

Our voices have been stifled by the hands of brutality,
Our cries drowned by the rivers of inhumanity,
Our plights have been ignored by a wave of indifference,
Our pain overlooked by a shrug of complacence,
And as we sit here in hundreds,
Lie here in thousands,
Unsure of what our tomorrow holds,
Unaware if there is even a future for us,
All we ask is do you care?

Deep from the realms of eternity,
Far beyond the borders of mortality,
We can hear the voices of those killed,
The cries of those mutilated
The pains of those battered,
The songs of those shattered,
They are the voices of our brothers,
The cries of our sisters,
The pains of our fathers,
And the songs of our mothers,
Who have been killed,
And whom we have been made to kill,
All they ask is do you care?

Would you fold your arms and watch us cry?
Would you fold your arms and watch us die?
When you can do something to help,
When you can reach out your hands and help,
Our voices can be heard through your voices,
And our future can be secured through your choices,
But do you care enough, to not just read this piece,
But do get up and do something to secure of peace and justice?

Dedicated to the Invisible Children Inc.
Join us on Facebook and let your voice be heard,
You can be a part of something bigger than just you.

THIS MUCH

Sometimes in my quiet moment, in meditation,
I look within myself, amidst my many faults and imperfections,
And I wonder how much my heavenly father really loves me,
And I can feel in my spirit that He loves me this much,
And he loves you this much as well,

This much that He gave His only begotten to save you,
This much that when you feel you cannot make it,
He'll step in and help you through life, victoriously,
This much that He died on Calvary's Cross for your eternal redemption,
This much that amidst your many sins, faults, errors, failures and mistakes,
He'll forgive, cleanse and make you whole in Him,
He loves you this much,

This much to take every brokenness in your life and turn it into wholeness,
This much to heal every sickness and every pain which ails you right now,
This much to turn every pain into eternal gain,
This much to turn your mess into a message,
This much to turn your groaning into glories,
This much to turn every test into a testimony,
And every trial into a triumph,
This much to turn every beast in your life into His divine beauty,
Please stop running away from Him,
Just turn every helpless and hopeless situation into His hands,
And watch Him act out His love for you as He has always done.
For through it all, don't listen to the lies of the devil; for God loves you THIS MUCH!

CHRISTMAS IN A NUTSHELL

A destruction of the plan,
By the fall of man,
The intervention of the divine-a long prophesied process,
A gift of one not conceived by natural process,
A gift given by a loving God for reconciliation,
Thus was the night worthy of celebration,
When that long process was conceived in a special birth,
Signaling the end of eternal death,
A night heralded by angelic voices,
A night celebrated by heavenly choruses,
That all would some day return to the plan,
As we are reconciled eternally with the Father in Paradise-a new plan for man,
That is Christmas in a Nutshell!

So there abounds so much joy and gladness,
Not for the abundance of gifts, clothes and other items,
Not for shopping discounts, parties, drinks and other diadems,
But for the blessed hope initiated by this season,
A hope present in the only reason,
A seasonal joy only perpetuated by the presence of the reason,
In the life of mere mortals, the sole reason for the gift of the season,
Hence, Christmas in a Nutshell remains appreciated only by those who have been saved by the gift of Christmas.

ALL GRATITUDE...NO ATTITUDE (THANKSGIVING DAY POEM)

Just want to take the time to say thank you Lord,
For the days you saw me through,
And the nights you helped me through,
Thank you,
For the battles I won,
And the unseen battles you didn't let me see,
Thank you,
Lord, for the Prayers you answered,
And the ones you didn't answer,
Thank you,
For the accidents you delivered me from,
And the incidences you didn't deliver me from,
Thank you,
For that appointment I made,
And the other disappointment you made,
Thank you,
For my father whose salvation I'm still believing you for,
And for my mother who is getting higher in her faith,
Thank you,
For my brother who just got saved,
And my sister who is growing into a beautiful woman,
Thank you,
So tonight Lord, as we gather by the table,
There is so much to thank you for,
Whether good or bad,
Happy or sad,
Through it all,
Lord, for me,
It's all gratitude, and no attitude.
Happy thanksgiving.

I BLAME IT ON ME

When I ate of the forbidden fruit,
I don't blame it on the serpent,
When I lust after the girl down the street,
I don't blame it on the short skirt she had on,
I blame it on me!
When I sniffed sniffed puff,
I don't blame it on my problems,
When I tasted of that bottle of Vodka,
I don't blame it on my joblessness,
I blame it on me!

For I realize that until I stop blaming my sins on someone or something,
Except I start taking responsibilities for my action,
Except I acknowledge my wrongs, turn to the lord, and stop making excuses,
I will never be forgiven and I will never be free,
For "though we are in the world, we are not of the world,"
The battle is not against the world or the people of the world,
The battle is against the flesh and the spirit that rules the ungodliness of the world,
Hence, "we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities and power..."
So stop blaming your sins on people, the media and the society,
Blame it on you, acknowledge you're a sinner, confess, repent and forsake your sins,
And turn to the lord to kill the flesh which always rises within you,
For the will to sin lies within the flesh, hence, "if we through the spirit do mortify the deeds of the flesh, we shall live."