Experimental​ Haiku 1

Early Cold Morning.
One Rose Bloom,
Makes Love To Printed Pages.

Bloom Cant Wait
For Proud Star Twinkling
Off And On In Dark Sky.

Flower Impatient,
Quickly Fades.
Dont Like Skirt That Shield Star

Sun Rises.
Rose Bloom Lifts Her Head.
Star Cant Be Seen.

Rose's Dried Petals Fall.
Wind Carries Them,
Around The Star They Dance.

Enduring Petals,
In Rose's Heart,
Illuminated Not Lost.

©Vp00mal/Hk1​

Short message but full meaning


Little girl and her father were crossing a bridge.
The father was kind of scared so he asked his little daughter,
"Sweeth​eart, please hold my hand so that you don't fall into the river."​  The little girl said, "No, Dad. You hold my hand."
"What's​ the difference?"​ Asked the puzzled father.
"There'​s a big difference,"​ replied the little girl.
"If I hold your hand and something happens to me, chances are that I may let your hand go.
But if you hold my hand, I know for sure that no matter what happens, you will never let my hand go."
In any relationship​, the essence of trust is not in its bind, but in its bond. So hold the hand of the person who loves you rather than expecting them to hold yours...

One day, when I was a freshman in high school,
I saw a kid from my class was walking home from school.
His name was Kyle.
It looked like he was carrying all of his books.

I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday?  He must really be a nerd."

I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on.

As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him.

They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him.


He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes
My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him as he crawled around looking for his glasses, and I saw a tear in his eye.

As I handed him his glasses, I said, "Those guys are jerks."​

They really should get lives.

"He looked at me and said, "Hey thanks!"​

There was a big smile on his face.
It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude.

I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived.
As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen him before.He said he had gone to private school before now.
I would have never hung out with a private school kid before.

We talked all the way home, and I carried some of his books.
He turned out to be a pretty cool kid.
I asked him if he wanted to play a little football with my friends
He said yes.We hung out all weekend and the more I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him, and my friends thought the same of him.

Monday morning came, and there was Kyle with the huge stack of books again.

I stopped him and said, "Boy, you are gonna really build some serious muscles with this pile of books everyday!"​

He just laughed and handed me half the books.

Over the next four years, Kyle and I became best friends.

When we were seniors we began to

I guarantee you will remember the tale of the Wooden Bowl tomorrow, a week from now, a month from now, a year from now.

A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-​­law, and four-year old grandson. The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered. The family ate together at the table.

But the elderly grandfather'​­s shaky hands and failing sight made eating difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth.

The son and daughter-in-​­law became irritated with the mess. "We must do something about father,"​­ said the son. "I've had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor."​­

So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There, Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner. Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl!

When the family glanced in Grandfather'​­s direction, sometime he had a tear in his eye as he sat alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food.

The four-year-ol​­d watched it all in silence.
One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, "What are you making?"​­

Just as sweetly, the boy responded, "Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and Mama to eat your food in when I grow up." The four-year-ol​­d smiled and went back to work .

The words so struck the parents so that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done.

That evening the husband took Grandfather'​­s hand and gently led him back to the family table. For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.

                     'MAYA ANGELOU'S' BEST POEM  EVER

  
                          A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

                enough money within her control to move out
  and rent a place of  her own, even if she never wants to or needs to...

                          A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

something perfect to wear if the employer, or date of her  dreams wants to see her in an hour...

                          A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..

                a  youth she's content to leave behind....


                          A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

            a  past juicy enough that she's looking forward to
                     retelling it in her old  age....


                        A WOMAN SHOULD  HAVE .....

    a set of screwdrivers​, a cordl ess drill, and a  black lace bra...


                          A WOMAN  SHOULD HAVE .

   one friend who always makes her laugh... and  one who lets her cry...

                         A  WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....

   a good piece of furniture not  previously owned by anyone else in her family...

                          A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

eight  matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a recipe for a meal, that will  make her guests feel honored...


                          A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

                  a  feeling of control over her destiny.


                        EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

               how  to fall in love without losing herself.



                        EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

how  to quit a job, break up with a lover, and confro nt a f riend without; ruining the friendship..​.


                        EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

              when  to try harder... and WHEN TO WALK AWAY...



                        EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

             that  she can't change the length of her calves,
          the width of her hips, or the  nature of her parents..



               

This story was written by a doctor who worked in South Africa ..

One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in
spite of all we could do, she died leaving us with a tiny premature
baby and a crying two-year-old​ daughter. We would have difficulty
keeping the baby alive, as we had no incubator (we had no electricity
to run an incubator).

We also had no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the
equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student
midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool
that the baby would be wrapped in.

Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She
came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle,
it had burst (rubber perishes easily in tropical climates). 'And it is
our last hot water bottle!' she exclaimed. As in the West, it is no
good crying over spilled milk so in Central Africa it might be
considered no
good crying over burst water bottles.  They do not grow on trees, and
there are no drugstores down forest pathways.

'All right,' I said, 'put the baby as near the fire as you safely can,
and sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts.
Your job is to keep the baby warm.'

The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with
any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the
youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them
about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby
warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle, and that the baby could
so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old​
sister, crying because her mother had died.

During prayer time, one ten-year old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual
blunt conciseness of our African children. 'Please, God' she prayed,
'send us a water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby
will be dead, so please send it this after

Tribute To All Daughters

Every home should have a daughter,
For there's nothing like a girl,
To keep the world around her,
In one continuous whirl..

From the moment she arrives on earth,
And on through womanhood,
A daughter is a female who,
Is seldom understood..​

One minute she is laughing,
The next she starts to cry,
Man just can't understand her,
And there's just no use to try...

She is soft and sweet and cuddly,
But she's also wise and smart,
She's a wondrous combination,​
Of a mind and brain and heart...

And even in her baby days,
She's just a born coquette,
And anything she really wants,
She manages to get...

For even at a tender age,
She uses all her wiles,
And she can melt the hardest heart,
With the sunshine of her smiles...

She starts out as a rosebud,
With her beauty unrevealed,
Then through a happy childhood,
Her petals are unsealed...

She's soon a sweet girl graduate,
And then a blushing bride,
And then a lovely woman,
As the rosebud opens wide...

And someday in the future,
If it be God's gracious will,
She, too, will be a Mother,
And know that reverent thrill...

That comes to every Mother,
Whose heart is filled with love,
When she beholds the "angel"​,
That God sent her from above...

And there would be no life at all,
In this world or the other,
Without the darling daughter who,
In turn, becomes a Mother.