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The ability of players to jump teams when their contracts are up has hurt fan loyalty.

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Let the children be busy, when their parents play! !

When I hear the noise of children,
a few floors down the residence,
people say that their parents,
are busy in their one room abode.

When I hear the screams of children,
in the mornings of every Fridays,
people say that their parents,
are busy in making another one.

When I walk on the dusty roads,
I see the shirtless children,
playing merrily with flower eyes,
no dews, no dews, only sparkles.

Let the children play! !

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A Spicing Done That Delivers Innuendos

People express their opinions.
And most opinions made,
Have been gossip relayed.
It seems to excite those kept entertained,
By a dropping of their two cents...
Upon situations lived by others,
With the adding of additional...
Nonsensed ingredient.

And when their taste to degrade,
Has been proven wrong...
No apologies are made,
As these people just move on...
To someone else that is picked,
For a spicing done that delivers innuendos...
Without proof or validation,
To assassinate another character as seen fit!

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Sweet spot

The place where kids want to go when their parents are being mean
The place that kids run to get the luck of the magic beans
No don't take me away
I wan't to stay here longer
Swimming across the sea
Diving down under
Meeting new friends from all across the ocean
Flipping to the beat of the locomotion
It's the best hang out
to kick back and catch some rays
Don't worry about me getting burnt
I promise I'll be protected
Only time you need to worry is
when my phone gets disconnected
I'll be back between that time
I'm going to take a break

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The Ability to Ignore

I'm sure there is something inherent to dislike,
About someone who achieves in the midst of naysayers.
Perhaps it is some degree of notoriety,
Unexpected by those projecting their negativity...
That occurs.
With cast iron balls undetected!
And nerves of steel unsuspected.

However...
There is a purpose and reason for everything.
And if a nitpicking done gets one out of the house...
Someone eventually benefits from it.
Hopefully the ability to ignore...
And a process of knowing 'when' to do this,
Becomes prioritized and perfected.

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With Only The Ability To Waste

There was a time,
And this was not too long ago...
When those of skills and talents,
Only had a wish to share them.
To assist others in the fulfillment,
Of seeing 'their' dreams and wishes...
Come true.
With a volunteering of their efforts denied.
And...
Without a dime of payment mentioned.

But those making decisions,
Believed the ones who would want to do this...
Only sought the getting of attention.
And refusing them they did,
To ensure they were dismissed.

Today?
How things have changed.

Today there are those who are hired,
To solicit volunteers.
With the paying of expensive media advertisements,
To attract those with talents and skills to give.
And this is done with blatant attention given,
To the ones getting paid.
With only the ability to waste funding,
To achieve nothing getting done.

But say they do there is no one willing to work for free.
And these are the same people...
Publicly declaring there is no communal unity.

'We need you! '
~For what? ~
'To volunteer your skills,
As a community service.'
~And how will my doing this,
Be of benefit to you? ~
'A job that keeps me paid and something to do.'

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It's Sad the Lover's Validity of Stay Together when Expires?

On the beach
They walk hand in hand
When Sun goes down
They were separated!
She left for North
And he went to South.
The following day
Sun rises in the East
And I am sure sets in the West.
Another couple on the beach
And where do they go
Secretly I watch?


(Amy Winehouse: July 23: Found dead in London at the age 27.)

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Most of Us Love the Ability to Make Excuses

Some folks live,
To be in other people's business.
Invited or not.
It is something some do unconsciously.
While others are consciously entertained by it.

And then there are those,
With no business to call their own.
That would instigate a motivation done with initiative!
And some do not live,
To be enlightened by that kind of inspiration.
It would require self examination.
And everyone knows,
Most of us love the ability to make excuses.

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Farewell To The Non-Thinkers

Farewell to the lesser people,
They fist their hands instead,
Ready to punch the heart,
Eager to fight the learned,
Wishing the redness of their blood
Was brighter and sweeter.

Their beautiful and comforting smiles are less,
Since it hides the inner ability to think,
Inside it is awkward and right,
Loving and polite,
Instead the freedom is theirs,
But mine for the moment.

Then I see lesser men do smaller tricks,
Like an animal with fur, and not just skin,
I see further and I want more to awake in the mind,
Just like the elephant in its size,
Like a buzz and a swift flight
Into the midwinter when it is safe from the sun.
Much is littler than me when I think.

My thinking has compelled me to enjoy
But no lesser man is me.

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Eyes Open Have the Ability to See Through Concrete

Too much of it had been ignored.
And now a game played to catch up,
With reality is in full force...
By those seeking rules and regulations.
With something to limit full exposure,
That is easy to document and follow.

But truth and reality are not substitutes,
To be interchanged, exchanged or arranged by delusion.
Lies...yes!
Some perfected.
Deceit...yes!
Sometimes rejected.
But seldom suspected for what it is.

Charades and masquerades...
May be acceptable behind masks.
Truth pursued is strategic free.
And that task uncomfortable...
For the ones assigned to assist those blind!

And anyone who has been introduced to reality,
Becomes immediately aware of its focus.

Nothing about it is hidden behind veils!
Eyes open have the ability to see through concrete.
With penetrating results.

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Rolling Down The Hills

(carly simon)
People who have bad times
Write hard luck songs
But when their days are green
They think about love
Sunshine, flowers in a garden
Did I bump you sir?
Im beggin your pardon
Have you seen such a day?
Lets begin it by startin -
And rollin down the hills with me.
People who have short hair
Write short hair songs
But when their hair gets long
They think about winding it around in daisy chains
Waitin for the showers
Just to wash it in the rain
Have you seen such hair?
Well let the wind play -
As youre rollin down the hills with me
People who have no hills
Write songs about plains
But if thats not what you want to do
Well you can jump aboard a bus
Or boat or wooden canoe
I know just the mountain
Thats been waitin for you
Too write songs about the peaks
And the beautiful views -
As youre rollin down the hills with me.

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George Meredith

To The Comic Spirit

Sword of Common Sense! -
Our surest gift: the sacred chain
Of man to man: firm earth for trust
In structures vowed to permanence:-
Thou guardian issue of the harvest brain!
Implacable perforce of just;
With that good treasure in defence,
Which is our gold crushed out of joy and pain
Since first men planted foot and hand was king:
Bright, nimble of the marrow-nerve
To wield thy double edge, retort
Or hold the deadlier reserve,
And through thy victim's weapon sting:
Thine is the service, thine the sport
This shifty heart of ours to hunt
Across its webs and round the many a ring
Where fox it is, or snake, or mingled seeds
Occasion heats to shape, or the poor smoke
Struck from a puff-ball, or the troughster's grunt; -
Once lion of our desert's trodden weeds;
And but for thy straight finger at the yoke,
Again to be the lordly paw,
Naming his appetites his needs,
Behind a decorative cloak:
Thou, of the highest, the unwritten Law
We read upon that building's architrave
In the mind's firmament, by men upraised
With sweat of blood when they had quitted cave
For fellowship, and rearward looked amazed,
Where the prime motive gapes a lurid jaw,
Thou, soul of wakened heads, art armed to warn,
Restrain, lest we backslide on whence we sprang,
Scarce better than our dwarf beginning shoot,
Of every gathered pearl and blossom shorn;
Through thee, in novel wiles to win disguise,
Seen are the pits of the disruptor, seen
His rebel agitation at our root:
Thou hast him out of hawking eyes;
Nor ever morning of the clang
Young Echo sped on hill from horn
In forest blown when scent was keen
Off earthy dews besprinkling blades
Of covert grass more merrily rang
The yelp of chase down alleys green,
Forth of the headlong-pouring glades,
Over the dappled fallows wild away,
Than thy fine unaccented scorn
At sight of man's old secret brute,
Devout for pasture on his prey,
Advancing, yawning to devour;
With step of deer, with voice of flute,
Haply with visage of the lily flower.

Let the cock crow and ruddy morn
His handmaiden appear! Youth claims his hour.
The generously ludicrous
Espouses it. But see we sons of day,
Off whom Life leans for guidance in our fight,
Accept the throb for lord of us;
For lord, for the main central light
That gives direction, not the eclipse;
Or dost thou look where niggard Age,
Demanding reverence for wrinkles, whips
A tumbled top to grind a wolf's worn tooth; -
Hoar despot on our final stage,
In dotage of a stunted Youth; -
Or it may be some venerable sage,
Not having thee awake in him, compact
Of wisdom else, the breast's old tempter trips;
Or see we ceremonial state,
Robing the gilded beast, exact
Abjection, while the crackskull name of Fate
Is used to stamp and hallow printed fact;
A cruel corner lengthens up thy lips;
These are thy game wherever men engage:
These and, majestic in a borrowed shape,
The major and the minor potentate,
Creative of their various ape; -
The tiptoe mortals triumphing to write
Upon a perishable page
An inch above their fellows' height; -
The criers of foregone wisdom, who impose
Its slough on live conditions, much for the greed
Of our first hungry figure wide agape; -
Call up thy hounds of laughter to their run.
These, that would have men still of men be foes,
Eternal fox to prowl and pike to feed;
Would keep our life the whirly pool
Of turbid stuff dishonouring History;
The herd the drover's herd, the fool the fool,
Ourself our slavish self's infernal sun:
These are the children of the heart untaught
By thy quick founts to beat abroad, by thee
Untamed to tone its passions under thought,
The rich humaneness reading in thy fun.
Of them a world of coltish heels for school
We have; a world with driving wrecks bestrewn.

'Tis written of the Gods of human mould,
Those Nectar Gods, of glorious stature hewn
To quicken hymns, that they did hear, incensed,
Satiric comments overbold,
From one whose part was by decree
The jester's; but they boiled to feel him bite.
Better for them had they with Reason fenced
Or smiled corrected! They in the great Gods' might
Their prober crushed, as fingers flea.
Crumbled Olympus when the sovereign sire
His fatal kick to Momus gave, albeit
Men could behold the sacred Mount aspire,
The Satirist pass by on limping feet.
Those Gods who saw the ejected laugh alight
Below had then their last of airy glee;
They in the cup sought Laughter's drowned sprite,
Fed to dire fatness off uncurbed conceit.
Eyes under saw them waddle on their Mount,
And drew them down; to flattest earth they rolled.
This know we veritable. O Sage of Mirth!
Can it be true, the story men recount
Of the fall'n plight of the great Gods on earth?
How they being deathless, though of human mould,
With human cravings, undecaying frames,
Must labour for subsistence; are a band
Whom a loose-cheeked, wide-lipped gay cripple leads
At haunts of holiday on summer sand:
And lightly he will hint to one that heeds
Names in pained designation of them, names
Ensphered on blue skies and on black, which twirl
Our hearing madly from our seeing dazed,
Add Bacchus unto both; and he entreats
(His baby dimples in maternal chaps
Running wild labyrinths of line and curl)
Compassion for his masterful Trombone,
Whose thunder is the brass of how he blazed
Of old: for him of the mountain-muscle feats,
Who guts a drum to fetch a snappish groan:
For his fierce bugler horning onset, whom
A truncheon-battered helmet caps . . .
The creature is of earnest mien
To plead a sorrow darker than the tomb.
His Harp and Triangle, in tone subdued,
He names; they are a rayless red and white;
The dawn-hued libertine, the gibbous prude.
And, if we recognize his Tambourine,
He asks; exhausted names her: she has become
A globe in cupolas; the blowziest queen
Of overflowing dome on dome;
Redundancy contending with the tight,
Leaping the dam! He fondly calls, his girl,
The buxom tripper with the goblet-smile,
Refreshful. O but now his brows are dun,
Bunched are his lips, as when distilling guile,
To drop his venomous: the Dame of dames,
Flower of the world, that honey one,
She of the earthly rose in the sea-pearl,
To whom the world ran ocean for her kiss;
He names her, as a worshipper he names,
And indicates with a contemptuous thumb.
The lady meanwhile lures the mob, alike
Ogles the bursters of the horn and drum.
Curtain her close! her open arms
Have suckers for beholders: she to this?
For that she could not, save in fury, hear
A sharp corrective utterance flick
Her idle manners, for the laugh to strike
Beauty so breeding beauty, without peer
Above the snows, among the flowers? She reaps
This mouldy garner of the fatal kick?
Gross with the sacrifice of Circe-swarms,
Astarte of vile sweets that slay, malign,
From Greek resplendent to Phoenician foul,
The trader in attractions sinks, all brine
To thoughts of taste; is 't love?--bark, dog! hoot, owl!
And she is blushless: ancient worship weeps.
Suicide Graces dangle down the charms
Sprawling like gourds on outer garden-heaps.
She stands in her unholy oily leer
A statue losing feature, weather-sick
Mid draggled creepers of twined ivy sere.
The curtain cried for magnifies to see! -
We cannot quench our one corrupting glance:
The vision of the rumour will not flee.
Doth the Boy own such Mother?--shoot his dart
To bring her, countless as the crested deeps,
Her subjects of the uncorrected heart?
False is that vision, shrieks the devotee;
Incredible, we echo; and anew
Like a far growling lightning-cloud it leaps.
Low humourist this leader seems; perchance
Pitched from his University career,
Adept at classic fooling. Yet of mould
Human those Gods were: deathless too:
On high they not as meditatives paced:
Prodigiously they did the deeds of flesh:
Descending, they would touch the lowest here:
And she, that lighted form of blue and gold,
Whom the seas gave, all earth, all earth embraced;
Exulting in the great hauls of her mesh;
Desired and hated, desperately dear;
Most human of them was. No more pursue!
Enough that the black story can be told.
It preaches to the eminently placed:
For whom disastrous wreckage is nigh due,
Paints omen. Truly they our throbber had;
The passions plumping, passions playing leech,
Cunning to trick us for the day's good cheer.
Our uncorrected human heart will swell
To notions monstrous, doings mad
As billows on a foam-lashed beach;
Borne on the tides of alternating heats,
Will drug the brain, will doom the soul as well;
Call the closed mouth of that harsh final Power
To speak in judgement: Nemesis, the fell:
Of those bright Gods assembled, offspring sour;
The last surviving on the upper seats;
As with men Reason when their hearts rebel.

Ah, what a fruitless breeder is this heart,
Full of the mingled seeds, each eating each.
Not wiser of our mark than at the start,
It surges like the wrath-faced father Sea
To countering winds; a force blind-eyed,
On endless rounds of aimless reach;
Emotion for the source of pride,
The grounds of faith in fixity
Above our flesh; its cravings urging speech,
Inspiring prayer; by turns a lump
Swung on a time-piece, and by turns
A quivering energy to jump
For seats angelical: it shrinks, it yearns,
Loves, loathes; is flame or cinders; lastly cloud
Capping a sullen crater: and mankind
We see cloud-capped, an army of the dark,
Because of thy straight leadership declined;
At heels of this or that delusive spark:
Now when the multitudinous races press
Elbow to elbow hourly more,
A thickened host; when now we hear aloud
Life for the very life implore
A signal of a visioned mark;
Light of the mind, the mind's discourse,
The rational in graciousness,
Thee by acknowledgement enthroned,
To tame and lead that blind-eyed force
In harmony of harness with the crowd,
For payment of their dues; as yet disowned,
Save where some dutiful lone creature, vowed
To holy work, deems it the heart's intent;
Or where a silken circle views it cowled,
The seeming figure of concordance, bent
On satiating tyrant lust
Or barren fits of sentiment.

Thou wilt not have our paths befouled
By simulation; are we vile to view,
The heavens shall see us clean of our own dust,
Beneath thy breezy flitting wing:
They make their mirror upon faces true;
And where they win reflection, lucid heave
The under tides of this hot heart seen through.
Beneficently wilt thou clip
All oversteppings of the plumed,
The puffed, and bid the masker strip,
And into the crowned windbag thrust,
Tearing the mortal from the vital thing,
A lightning o'er the half-illumed,
Who to base brute-dominion cleave,
Yet mark effects, and shun the flash,
Till their drowsed wits a beam conceive,
To spy a wound without a gash,
The magic in a turn of wrist,
And how are wedded heart and head regaled
When Wit o'er Folly blows the mort,
And their high note of union spreads
Wide from the timely word with conquest charged;
Victorious laughter, of no loud report,
If heard; derision as divinely veiled
As terrible Immortals in rose-mist,
Given to the vision of arrested men:
Whereat they feel within them weave
Community its closer threads,
And are to our fraternal state enlarged;
Like warm fresh blood is their enlivened ken:
They learn that thou art not of alien sort,
Speaking the tongue by vipers hissed,
Or of the frosty heights unsealed,
Or of the vain who simple speech distort,
Or of the vapours pointing on to nought
Along cold skies; though sharp and high thy pitch;
As when sole homeward the belated treads,
And hears aloft a clamour wailed,
That once had seemed the broomstick witch
Horridly violating cloud for drought:
He, from the rub of minds dispersing fears,
Hears migrants marshalling their midnight train;
Homeliest order in black sky appears,
Not less than in the lighted village steads.
So do those half-illumed wax clear to share
A cry that is our common voice; the note
Of fellowship upon a loftier plane,
Above embattled castle-wall and moat;
And toning drops as from pure heaven it sheds.
So thou for washing a phantasmal air,
For thy sweet singing keynote of the wise,
Laughter--the joy of Reason seeing fade
Obstruction into Earth's renewing beds,
Beneath the stroke of her good servant's blade -
Thenceforth art as their earth-star hailed;
Gain of the years, conjunction's prize.
The greater heart in thy appeal to heads
They see, thou Captain of our civil Fort!
By more elusive savages assailed
On each ascending stage; untired
Both inner foe and outer to cut short,
And blow to chaff pretenders void of grist:
Showing old tiger's claws, old crocodile's
Yard-grin of eager grinders, slim to sight,
Like forms in running water, oft when smiles,
When pearly tears, when fluent lips delight:
But never with the slayer's malice fired:
As little as informs an infant's fist
Clenched at the sneeze! Thou wouldst but have us be
Good sons of mother soil, whereby to grow
Branching on fairer skies, one stately tree;
Broad of the tilth for flowering at the Court:
Which is the tree bound fast to wave its tress;
Of strength controlled sheer beauty to bestow.
Ambrosial heights of possible acquist,
Where souls of men with soul of man consort,
And all look higher to new loveliness
Begotten of the look: thy mark is there;
While on our temporal ground alive,
Rightly though fearfully thou wieldest sword
Of finer temper now a numbered learn
That they resisting thee themselves resist;
And not thy bigger joy to smite and drive,
Prompt the dense herd to butt, and set the snare
Witching them into pitfalls for hoarse shouts.
More now, and hourly more, and of the Lord
Thou lead'st to, doth this rebel heart discern,
When pinched ascetic and red sensualist
Alternately recurrent freeze or burn,
And of its old religions it has doubts.
It fears thee less when thou hast shown it bare;
Less hates, part understands, nor much resents,
When the prized objects it has raised for prayer,
For fitful prayer;--repentance dreading fire,
Impelled by aches; the blindness which repents
Like the poor trampled worm that writhes in mire; -
Are sounded by thee, and thou darest probe
Old institutions and establishments,
Once fortresses against the floods of sin,
For what their worth; and questioningly prod
For why they stand upon a racing globe,
Impeding blocks, less useful than the clod;
Their angel out of them, a demon in.

This half-enlightened heart, still doomed to fret,
To hurl at vanities, to drift in shame
Of gain or loss, bewailing the sure rod,
Shall of predestination wed thee yet.
Something it gathers of what things should drop
At entrance on new times; of how thrice broad
The world of minds communicative; how
A straggling Nature classed in school, and scored
With stripes admonishing, may yield to plough
Fruitfullest furrows, nor for waxing tame
Be feeble on an Earth whose gentler crop
Is its most living, in the mind that steers,
By Reason led, her way of tree and flame,
Beyond the genuflexions and the tears;
Upon an Earth that cannot stop,
Where upward is the visible aim,
And ever we espy the greater God,
For simple pointing at a good adored:
Proof of the closer neighbourhood. Head on,
Sword of the many, light of the few! untwist
Or cut our tangles till fair space is won
Beyond a briared wood of austere brow,
Believed of discord by thy timely word
At intervals refreshing life: for thou
Art verify Keeper of the Muse's Key;
Thyself no vacant melodist;
On lower land elective even as she;
Holding, as she, all dissonance abhorred;
Advising to her measured steps in flow;
And teaching how for being subjected free
Past thought of freedom we may come to know
The music of the meaning of Accord.

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Nonchalance is the ability to remain down to earth when everything else is up in the air.

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Concentration is the ability to think about absolutely nothing when it is absolutely necessary.

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Change will never happen when people lack the ability and courage to see themselves for who they are.

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The 50 greatest players don't matter when you're in the Hall of Fame. We all know that I was not one of the 50 greatest, I was one of the 25 greatest - in my mind.

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April 10,2003

I bind the spirit of slowfulness and
fear, doubt, April 10,2003

I Loose the spirit of obedience April 10,2003
when God speaks are gives instructions

JUMP to IT April 10.2003

I heard that everyday we are writing our obituaries
what story do you are I have to leave about our lives?

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The broken nest

The parents built it nicely
And I saw the gooey clay
They've plastered well inside
for their comfort.
But the nestlings
flew away in the serene sky
without leaving a trace
When their wings were strong enough.
O the old parent birds were looking into the sky
for their goodwill return,
But their sad chirping
Do they hear?

[Love is a friendship set to music.]-E.Joseph Cossman

nimal dunuhinga

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The Courage To Sing Love Again!

MMM.....
It takes courage to speak love again,
When you been burned, beat, and hurt over and over again.
It takes pain, strength and a heart again, to pack up all your things and get away.
Somewhere in all that pain and sorrow,
Someone has to have the courage to say to a person when their down its gonna be okay...
He who has cause me pain give me courage to fight once more.
It takes courage to sing love again.....

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When Mere Moments Are Holy

When mere moments are holy,
when in prayer I go to You
I am surrounded by Your presence
then I see in every flower, in each small thing
even in the stars, sun and moon
that there is of You a kind of witness,

thunderbolts falling blue-white,
the wild untamed stormy wind,
trees that flower in spring,
tells me that You care about my destiny
and that You choose me out as a child
of the almighty Lord of the universe.

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When all others are gone

They that abstain from hurting
when others lash out
with words and deeds that sting
that do not bring about

pain, when tempted to do so,
who refrain, unmoved when circumstance
demands action and is slow
in judgement and remembrance;

they are true in their brotherhood
as stewards and disciples of the Lord
and their graces are sometimes misunderstood
but sincerity is etched into every deed and word:

and these people stand alone,
true to their core, when all others are gone.

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