Looking for an answer in this world today ... Hate, hurt, and wars, It's a wonder we are sane at all. All around us thieving and drugs ... Mistrust and grieving Seems like it's a must. Can't walk the streets at night Or trust the safety of parks for children to play, We always have to be aware. What a terrible world it has become, For us to bear these things and just go on. But for the young this will be their past. To walk by a starving man in the streets .. as if he's not even a human being. It's sad to see the world we are leaving for the young. They will have to be very strong. The world is too big to change, What is the answer to this hell game?
Excerpt from Fantastic Illusions of
Life, Love, the Bird, and the Bees:
Ride the Fire
I want to extinguish myself from this world. Go out like a raging fire; where
only coals remain. Break free from confines, tie lines, and chains.
want to float away on winds across the earth. Burst through the clouds; dare to
fly. Soar in the heavens, the Milky Way, into the forbidden sky.
to ride on starlight chariots. Race through constellations; scatter the speed of
light. Dance on Saturn's rings, comet tails, into the black and white.
want to extinguish myself from this world. Go out like a raging fire, where only
coals remain. Break free from confines, tie line, and chains...away from foolish
The collection is titled Fantastic Illusions of Life, Love, the Birds, and
the Bees. It contains 38 poems centered on love, life, dreams, and romantic
illusions. The collection is available through Amazon.com as a paperback and
also on Kindle. I have included below one of the poems from the
Jenna Cornell has a MA in English and Creative Writing. She holds a BA in English: Creative Writing and Theatre. An active writer since a very young age, she has since seen her work published in The Northern Lights Arts Journal, The Manifest, Sheepshead Review, The Fourth Estate, Mauthe Center Magazine, Examiner.com, Virtual Music Cafe and had plays read at Theatre on the Bay. In 2014, she her short screenplay "Hunk of Burning Love" and made it into the Top 50 Quarterfinals in the Canadian Short Screenplay Competition. Fantastic Illusions of Life, Love, the Birds, and the Bees made its debut in 2015. She is currently working on a variety of writing and music projects.
Lovely are the thoughts and deeds of friends so
grand and true, Dearest are their worth and most loved in all they
do, Welcome smiles,when traveled miles return you once again, My heart is
right there with them,though far away I am,
Such a treat to sit and greet,and share the latest
news with My dear friends, Have a tea,a laugh and be ourselves without any
need to pretend, My family so dear and sweet,I love to spend some
time, The heart does fonder grow you know when apart too long we find,
I am so fortunate to have the
friends and family I've got, Just to name a few of them ,,There is Fred And
there Is Scott, My dear Mother and Her sisters,Such a wonderful crew, My
cousins ,nieces ,and My own children, My husband Raymond too,
They make My life ,would not be
nice to not have all of them, My nephews and My Grandchildren ,so many women
and dear Men, My Uncles were of many,they now are of few, My Grandparents
may God bless them,and all that they did do,
Like a great and flourished
tree, Branches from the strongest foundation we, Our Brothers and
Sisters,one and all, May our way be blessed and our blessed Savior call,
One by one we leave and
wait, One by one our final day, One by one ,may we again then each other
find, One by one ,dear family of mine,,,
PETER THE SWELL. There's a noble fleet of whalers, somewhere in Newfielands. They're sailed by Peter Myers and his crew of Merry Hams. They sing right in the shower. They sing far out at sea. They sing way up at Eddie Blacks, and 'round the Christmas tree (Yo!) Peter is a swell guy, who sailed the Newfie seas. He steamed across to Port au Basques in a great and merry breeze. He didn't have his dinner, and he didn't have his tea. But he had his darling Newfie wife, and to Twillingate went he Now Jurgen is a bugger, who will sail to Port au Basques. He'll swim across the Cabot Strait, when his sailboat breaks its mast. He'll never have his dinner, and he'll never have his tea. He doesn't even have a wife! So he's gone to find one, see? When the years have gone and passed us, and we've retired from the sea, we'll sit around at Port au Basques, and drink our Newfie tea. We'll have our darling wifiedoos, and eat our dinners too. Hopefully we'll live that long, sooooooo, Happy New Year, to You!
a note from the poet, Jurgen Braunohler: One more thing: Black's was a photo lab, and I was belting out sea songs in the darkroom to Peter's amusement. I mention this so you will know what all the Blacks and singing business is about.
No more candy or toys neath the tree.
No more magic from Santa to me.
As a child his arrival was pure thrill.
Now an adult all I receive, the bills.
It's still a treat when loved ones gather.
Each CHRISTmas day a room of chatter.
To watch the surprise as all gifts are shown.
Some wondering how their desires were known.
Eating more food than you should handle.
The tensile and the advent candles.
The hugs and kisses neath the mistletoe.
The relief, the sorrow as people go.
Not good, empty chairs, more than a few.
Of all the loved ones your life once knew.
Memories brought back of Christmases past.
Thoughts of the passing of time, oh so fast.
But this holiday is so much more,
Than presents, trees and wreaths on your door.
More than fam'ly, presents and food galore.
It's about Mary and the babe she bore.
It's all about that night, over twenty centuries ago.
When a baby in a feeding trough was lit by a stars glow.
A God come to earth to give the ultimate gift.
To later die on a cross so we could yet live.
So now, think once again of empty chairs.
Not those in front of you, but those up there.
All the vacant seats behind Heaven's door.
Your Christmas in Heaven for evermore.