Posts

Poem: Trumpets

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Trumpets by Marsha Marie
promises unseen blood shed no redeem?
how liesth thou? how sleepest thou?
hear the trumpets not for rejoicing but for judgments
stop now  stop all  your great pretense  will surely fall
His blood i choose i watch you lose claim not i am confused you've known thru time  you'll soon decline 

1-800-what-do-i-do-God?

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1-800-what-do-i-do-God? In life we are bamboozled with problems and decisions. It seems like every day, I have some other life-altering decision that I have act upon. I sit and think and think, but my head starts to hurt—like it’s going to burst or something. Why can’t God have a hotline where we can call him up and ask him these little things along life’s way? You would think he would have a special number like 1-800-what-do-i-do-god… or something catchy like that. Man, if I had his number, I could just imagine how my conversation with the Holy One would go.
I can’t believe I get to talk to God today. When is he going to answer? Pick up the phone. The ringing is stopped by a sharp click. “Hello God? It’s me, Marsha Marie” “Yes, my child.” “Umm, forgive me for asking, but what took you so long to answer the phone? It has been ringing and ringing?” “Yea I know. Sorry about that. I was busy with some folks. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I have to deal with these days. But anywa…

Poem: The Car of Loneliness

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The Car of Loneliness by Marsha Marie 
I am a car  Traveled the roads of misery Longing for change
My wheels turn with every tear My motor hums on dread Yearning to hear laughter
Oh, Deafen my ears! I can take no more Crying, crying, crying
But wait, she comes and not alone a warm hand reaches out  Smiles abound Blessings appear 
A soft delicate whisper I love you I hear

Poem: Homeless, with a Roof Over my Head, by Marsha Marie

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Homeless, with a Roof Over my Head
by Marsha Marie


I came home thinking it was the right thing to do.
But lost and outcast, I try to fit in.
This is not my home anymore.
I am homeless, with a roof over my head.

No love, no friends, no way to save.
The past are but pictures in my head and heart.
Memories of dreams come true, will this illusion end?
Will I ever have my life? Someone who cares?

When I die, will only my children morn?
Like a bird in the heat looking for refuge, a morsel, I walk the streets of my childhood.
Torn between two worlds.
Looking for solace.

Envious of those around me with lavish homes and travels,
I wonder--- are they really happy? or is it just an illusion too?
Satisfied today--hungry again tomorrow. Marching in step with the masses.
Government control--dictating our likes and fears........Aren't we all, just Homeless with roofs over our heads?


A True Story of Bob and James Bowen

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Hi loved ones! 

Tonight was movie night at my house and wow was it amazing!!!! I just had to share with my friends about a movie, A Street Cat Named Bob.


You see, this weekend cat-themed movies only. We ran across this true story about a homeless recovering drug addict that gets adopted by a ginger cat. Living on the streets of England, playing music for money and trying to get clean, this man was totally alone; but then came Bob.


Knowing that I could not possibly do justice to this story, let me just say this: You have got to watch this movie!!!! It is pure heart-warming! The acting was realistic and moving. I love this story, and bravo to James Bowen for getting clean and starting a new life. He and Bob now work for homeless and drug addiction awareness. You can follow him on Instagram and Facebook.

This is a must watch at least one time!!!! Don't miss it guys, you will love it---I am sure of it. I am now a fan for life!




The movie trailer: 



A mini documentary with the real Jame…

Poem: Alone I Stand

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Alone I Stand  by Marsha Marie

Walking daily into an abyss Returning to my cell at night The coldness of the air instills me I long for a touch....any touch My stomach aches but no one cares  A cramp en-veils When will this life be done?  Alone I stand as one. 


Poem: The Forbidden Flame

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The Forbidden Flame by Marsha Marie


a lonely match standing erect the trees beacon feet cemented branches stretched forth heat so near leave me--she begs--it is forbidden tears wash down to cool her flame trails of steam brush his eyes branches sway in confusion the little match bows in sighs