Poems and Stories to warm the heart!
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Puppies for Sale
A store owner was tacking a sign above his door that read “Puppies For Sale.”
Signs like that have a way of attracting small children, and sure enough, a
little boy appeared under the store owner’s sign. “How much are you
going to sell the puppies for?” he asked. The store owner replied, “Anywhere
from to .” The little boy reached in his pocket and pulled out some
change. “I have .37,” he said. “Can I please look at them?" The store owner
smiled and whistled and out of the kennel came Lady, who ran down the aisle
of his store followed by five teeny tiny balls of fur. One puppy was lagging
considerable behind. Immediately the little boy singled out the lagging
limping puppy and said, “What’s wrong with that little dog?” The store owner
explained that the veterinarian had examined the little puppy and had
discovered it didn’t have a hip socket. It would always limp. It would always
be lame. The little boy became excited. “That’s the little puppy that I want
to buy.” The store owner said, “No, you don’t want to buy that little dog. If
you really want him, I’ll just give him to you.” The little boy got quite
upset. He looked straight into the store owner’s eyes, pointing his finger
and said, “I don’t want you to give him to me. That little dog is worth every
bit as much as all the other dogs and I’ll pay full price. In fact I’ll give you
.37 now, and 50 cents a month until I have him paid for. The store owner
countered, “You really don’t want to buy this little dog. He is never
going to be able to jump and play with you like the other puppies.” To this, the
little boy reached down and rolled up his pant leg to reveal a badly twisted,
crippled left leg supported by a big metal brace. He looked up at the store
owner and softly replied, “Well, I don’t run so well myself, and the little puppy
will need someone who understands!”


By Dan Clark
from Chicken Soul for the Soul


Our Lady Peace
by Mark Van Doren

How far is it to peace, the piper sighed,
The solitary, sweating as he paused.
Asphalt the noon; the ravens, terrified,
Fled carrion thunder that percussion caused.
.
The envelope of Earth was powder loud;
The taut wings shivered, driven at the sun.
The piper put his pipe away and bowed.
Not here, he said. I hunt the love-cool one,
.
The dancer with the clipped hair. Where is she?
We shook our heads, parting for him to pass.
Our lady was of no such trim degree,
And none of us had seen her face alas.
.
She was the very ridges that we must scale,
Securing the rough top. And how she smiled
Was how our strength would issue. Not to fail
Was having her, gigantis, undefiled,
.
For homely goddess, big as the world that burned,
Grandmother and taskmistress, frild and town.
We let the stranger go; but when we turned
Our lady lived, fierce in each other's frown.
The Poems by Our Lady Peace
Bloom
by Raine Maida.

Excited by the distance
Purple dreams terrorize open space
extremely ambitious
Gasping and sucking in air
a different air
We feel the struggle as it cools
Dawn reveals...
Their rooted charm makes for a
beautiful battle
We revel in their existence
We are patient and we listen
Or maybe we're simply the devil
with fabulous insistence
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
==========================
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sleeping In
by Raine Maida


Souls, although where we meet. This
Hose a lazy morphine.
But I, I'm stretching to see over
Your shoulders and over your priest
And paper cups and paper shoes
Give backs to me, but I see right through
And I know why you over slept
So gray, gray, slow rain.
.
I'm happier than you.
.
And I'm too high to follow through
.
Home, like the bed pan he needs.
And the hose that's not supposed to be
But I, I'm stretching to see over your
Flowers and Time magazines
Now I believe in what you do
The pain will cease
Well I know why you overslept
To be home, to be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
=========================
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Been Thinking Lately
by Mike Turner

Been thinking lately, a lot about death
and how the one that matters the least is your own,
Not that it's inconsequential, just not that relevant.
The death of circumstance is the one that counts.
Death will change everything
From your pet bird to the person that gave you life.
At some point it will take them from you,
where once was a letter
will be blank
Not that this comes as any surprise,
you remember when you figured out that this whole mortality
thing
meant you as well.
Then, childlike, even death became about you.
You became singular, alone in this confrontation.
Truth is, it's not death that confounded you but life.
Your life isn't about you, it's about the things you go through, including death.
But not yours.
Your life will flow and ebb, with death the tide.
And some branches will not survive,
but the tree lives on.
People will come into your life and
change you.
And your life.
People will leave your life and
change you.
in your life.
And when you leave this life,
that will not
change you.