I have only just a minute,
Only sixty seconds in it.
Forced upon me, can’t refuse it.
Didn’t seek it, didn’t choose it.
But it’s up to me
to use it.
I must suffer if I lose it.
Give account if I abuse it.
Just a tiny little minute,
but eternity is in it.
~ Anonymous
In the book “Dr. Benjamin E. Mays Speaks: Representative Speeches of a Great American Orator,” there is a eulogy delivered by Dr. Mays in which he states that this poem is anonymous.
My Resignation…
Author Unknown
I am hereby officially tendering my resignation as an adult. I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of an 8 year-old.
I want to go to McDonald’s and think that it’s a four star restaurant.
I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make a sidewalk with rocks.
I want to think M&Ms are better than money because you can eat them.
I want to lie under a big oak tree and run a lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summer’s day.
I want to return to a time when life was simple; When all you knew were colors, multiplication tables, and nursery rhymes, but that didn’t bother you, because you didn’t know what you didn’t know and you didn’t care.
All you knew was to be happy because you were blissfully unaware of all the things that should make you worried or upset.
I want to think the world is fair. That everyone is honest and good.
I want to believe that anything is possible. I want to be oblivious to the complexities of life and be overly excited by the little things again.
I want to live simple again. I don’t want my day to consist of computer crashes, mountains of paperwork, depressing news, how to survive more days in the month than there is money in the bank, doctor bills, gossip, illness, and loss of loved ones.
I want to believe in the power of smiles, hugs, a kind word, truth, justice, peace, dreams, the imagination, mankind, and making angels in the snow.
So…here’s my checkbook and my car-keys, my credit card bills and my 401K statements. I am officially resigning from adulthood.
And if you want to discuss this further, you’ll have to catch me first, cause……..”Tag! You’re it.”
Meet Me by Tender Butterfly
Meet me in the shadows of your heart,
The place only you and I know exists.
Take me with you and hold me in your arms.
Meet me in the stars above,
The place the highest goals live.
See the light of love shining in my eyes.
Meet me at the ocean’s edge,
The place where the water cleanses.
Take me to a place of absolute purity.
Meet me at the forest’s clearing,
The place where the trees part.
Where we are sheltered and safe.
Meet me in the billowy clouds,
The place where heaven and earth touch.
Dance with me in the sky and share our joy.
Meet me on the mountain’s peak.
The place where you can breathe deeply.
Inhale my essence and make it yours.
Meet me, my love….
Anywhere, anytime, anyplace.
Share my soul and be one with me.
Meet Me by Tender Butterfly (source)
This is a reader submission that I received tonight. There was no date on it, but the poet told me that they had written it a long time ago, and that they don’t feel this way anymore, but that they hoped it might help someone who felt this way now. Thank you, anonymous!
I have given it 28 years in this life, and all I feel is pain.
After all this heartache, how could anyone ever be sane?
I don’t know why I was put here, or even why I stay
if my life is the price of freedom, then that debt I am ready to pay
I am not looking for sympathy, or any type of sorrow
I just want someone to hear me; that not everyone is wanting a tomorrow
I am told that life is a gift, but I’m not sure that I agree
Not having to experience another day would be the best present anyone could give me
I have forgotten how to smile, thanks to all the damage that’s been done
it only makes an appearance when I am lucky enough to see my son
I feel like my life was arranged for me, like I didn’t have a choice
Now no one hears my cries for help, like I don’t have a voice
The woman I love has moved on, and we no longer speak
When I cycle through the memories, I can feel the tears start to roll down my cheeks
I am still confused, and don’t think I will ever really understand
Why life is full of pain and hurt, yet we call it God’s great plan
To my Sons Mother, the woman who will forever hold the key to my heart
Even though we are not together, I want you to know I have never felt apart.
To my son Carter, the only one I will truly miss
I hope to see you on the other side my baby, if Heaven really does exist.
An excerpt from an article titled Ancient Egyptian Love Poems Reveal a Lust for Life
by Cameron Walker for National Geographic News, pub. April 20, 2004 (source)
Written during Egypt’s New Kingdom (1539-1075 B.C.) but likely composed much earlier, these songs are surprisingly direct about love and romance in ancient Egypt, using metaphors, repetition, and other poetic techniques familiar to poetry readers today.
The Flower Song (Excerpt)
To hear your voice is pomegranate wine to me:
I draw life from hearing it.
Could I see you with every glance,
It would be better for me
Than to eat or to drink.
(Translated by M.V. Fox)
The Crossing (Excerpt)
I’ll go down to the water with you,
and come out to you carrying a red fish,
which is just right in my fingers.
(Translated by M. Fox)
The Harper’s Song for Inherkhawy (Excerpt)
So seize the day! hold holiday!
Be unwearied, unceasing, alive
you and your own true love;
Let not the heart be troubled during your
sojourn on Earth,
but seize the day as it passes!
(Translated by J.L. Foster)
Straddled across his lap
I looked into eyes
Of blue seas and gray sky
The smile he always offered
Could no longer be seen
We were on the precipice of a kiss
Heat seeking heat
I discovered myself
On the tip of his tongue
As he uttered words of penetration
Between pauses of savoring
Innocence for use
Pink meeting pink
His head lost in me
As he rocked me to and fro
Filling me with poignant memory
Of not too long ago
Not too long ago
He would wave as he walked by
Little conversations sprouting here and there
That I continued well into fantasy
Then came the day
When my feelings were in flux
He said I knew how he wanted to touch
With every touch I surrendered
To the need that bloomed
From when he reached in and
Caressed his secret
Looking into eyes of fertile earth
He loosed his seed
All the while holding me close
Rocking to and fro
Rocking to and fro
~ Night Rider
His hips press hard into the underside of my thighs
My ankles crossed behind his head
Hands gripping the bedsheets
Waves of heat crash through me
His body plowing into mine
Carnal and lustful, you’d think us animals.
Then his hand comes to my face
Shaking with pleasure and emotion
He caresses my cheek, turning my head so i look into his eyes
Seeing the Love that burns there
I remember all the clean, chaste moments we’ve shared
They all slumber in our souls
Even as he loves me with his eyes, he never breaks rhythm
Continuing to love me with his body, his skin
Fire engulfs me, pulling me in past escape
Getting hotter and hotter, faster and faster
I remember all the sweaty, breathless moments we’ve shared
They all slumber in our bodies.
Awoken by kisses, stoked by touches
They threaten to overtake us
He groans, chest rumbling with pleasure
He grips my thighs roughly, forcing himself in deep
I arch my back, my body greedily taking in every inch of him
Heat crests and we tumble together into the inferno of our love
Fire rages through me, pulls screams from my lungs
Both of us splattered with evidence of the others love
We collapse on the bed, like a burned out fire
Ashes, we feel like now, hardly fires, spent and satisfied
Yet coals are stowed away, to be kindled again
Fresh fire is strong and hot, yes
But old fire, seasoned fire, brought back, time after time, is what holds us together. That is what love really is.
I am glad that Dr. Benjamin E. Mays is now saying that the poem is anonymous. There was a time when he said on the internet, that he wrote it, and I knew that, not to be true. I read that poem in the Cleveland Catholic Universe Bulletin 50 or more years ago. I have a faded copy of a picture of it’s author, somewhere in my file cabinet. My energy level is too low to take on a search for it.
Dr. Mays died in 1984. His words are his writings and work that span fifty-nine years. Those are the only ways that Mays is now speaking. I don’t recall any of May’s writings in where he claimed literary authorship of the poem, “God’s Minute.” I do concede that in error, some preachers and/or students may have attributed this poem to Dr. Mays. I am doubtful that Mays himself would have traversed the nobility of his profession.
Hi there, did you ever get around to finding that author’s name? Thanks so much.
Well-spoken, Marcus Leathers!
I also wish to state, that there is some good material on “The Weaver”. I may have found that last verse, and the TRUE author (1950 and before), on your website.
Thanks so much and Todah Rabah!
Duane