Hi! My name is Ms Harvey and welcome to my website. I am a native of Huntsville, Alabama and I currently reside in Montgomery, Alabama. I believe in the power of positive thinking, prayer, and treating others as I would like to be treated. I have created this site to share poetry, thoughts, and links to other sites or articles that I would like to share. I appreciate your visit and hope you share anything you like here with others. Peace.
You may contact me at [email protected] but please put the words emotional rescue in the subject line so that I will not accidentally delete your message.
You may contact me at [email protected] but please put the words emotional rescue in the subject line so that I will not accidentally delete your message.
Forgiving a wrong should leave us with a feeling of satisfaction, like a full stomach after a meal when you have been hungry for so long. Or perhaps a great feeling of release, like an orgasm after hours of foreplay. Forgiveness should not leave us feeling empty, or hurt or angry. We have just made a decision to forgive a hurt.
Darkness Fades
Sorrow deceives us with softness
thinking we will not fight
but sink deeper into the gloom
untill all is darkness and light is
nowhere to be found.
Hope is born from a spark
and kindles the flame of love,
whose light is strong and bright.
Darkness fades, becoming only a memory.
Sorrow deceives us with softness
thinking we will not fight
but sink deeper into the gloom
untill all is darkness and light is
nowhere to be found.
Hope is born from a spark
and kindles the flame of love,
whose light is strong and bright.
Darkness fades, becoming only a memory.
I Own The Streets
When I awoke, my legs trembled
like earth moving. My bench, no longer covered
with newspapers, groaned as I stood, and
my last blanket blew away. Yesterday's
funnies and my horoscope promising better days.
It said nothing about my nights, filled with looters
and street washing machines flinging mud and filth.
The streets were cleaner than I,
but I could walk and they were still.
I was their master. I owned the streets, and
they gave up their treasures to me.
Coins, ribbons,
little cardboard boxes smelling
of noodles and soy. Hundreds of them
stacked and nestled in my shopping cart,
waiting for the right purpose,
waiting for an answer. Playing
the waiting game.
My eyes are wide open, squinting
into the bright sunlight, making tears
that feather my cheeks, but no one
that passes by can see me. They have
no pupils, not that I can tell. Of course
I could well be invisible, yet I cast shadow
so how could that be?
I am torn and tattered against brick, against marble,
against glass that mirrors someone else.
Pennies in my pocket jingle
their copper tones like the wind chimes
above the doors of the Chinese bistro.
I have money. I have power. I own the streets.
When I awoke, my legs trembled
like earth moving. My bench, no longer covered
with newspapers, groaned as I stood, and
my last blanket blew away. Yesterday's
funnies and my horoscope promising better days.
It said nothing about my nights, filled with looters
and street washing machines flinging mud and filth.
The streets were cleaner than I,
but I could walk and they were still.
I was their master. I owned the streets, and
they gave up their treasures to me.
Coins, ribbons,
little cardboard boxes smelling
of noodles and soy. Hundreds of them
stacked and nestled in my shopping cart,
waiting for the right purpose,
waiting for an answer. Playing
the waiting game.
My eyes are wide open, squinting
into the bright sunlight, making tears
that feather my cheeks, but no one
that passes by can see me. They have
no pupils, not that I can tell. Of course
I could well be invisible, yet I cast shadow
so how could that be?
I am torn and tattered against brick, against marble,
against glass that mirrors someone else.
Pennies in my pocket jingle
their copper tones like the wind chimes
above the doors of the Chinese bistro.
I have money. I have power. I own the streets.
Picking Up Sunlight
I tried to pick up sunlight today,
but it slipped through my fingers
like water, except not wet,
but warm for a moment.
And when I rubbed my fingers
together I felt nothing.
No heat, no wetness....nothing.
No shape to remember,
or lingering sensation,
just emptiness....like darkness.
I tried to pick up sunlight today,
but it slipped through my fingers
like water, except not wet,
but warm for a moment.
And when I rubbed my fingers
together I felt nothing.
No heat, no wetness....nothing.
No shape to remember,
or lingering sensation,
just emptiness....like darkness.
At My Table
At my table
are empty plates
hungry for a feast.
Goblets thirst
to be filled
from dark bottles,
pardoned from tomb,
uncorked, and longing
to release inhibition.
Conversation simmers,
heated with opinions
and sometimes fact.
Aroma wafts from fire
and flames flicker
atop waxen sticks.
Linen tucked in lap,
dinner is served.
Past Lovers
Past lovers are like ghosts;
coming to us when we are
half asleep. Dim and blurred,
like distant trees on a foggy morn.
They are rooted in our past,
swaying in the winds
of change, reminding us of
mistakes, of regret and loss,
of finding truths and denying
the obvious.
How do we thank these lovers,
who looked into our eyes
and whispered love at midnight?
Who warmed our flesh with theirs?
Too late to make amends, the morning
breaks and the fog slips away.
Past lovers are like ghosts;
coming to us when we are
half asleep. Dim and blurred,
like distant trees on a foggy morn.
They are rooted in our past,
swaying in the winds
of change, reminding us of
mistakes, of regret and loss,
of finding truths and denying
the obvious.
How do we thank these lovers,
who looked into our eyes
and whispered love at midnight?
Who warmed our flesh with theirs?
Too late to make amends, the morning
breaks and the fog slips away.
Images and photos are from FreeDigitalPhotos.net....thanks for permission to publish.