Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness around the world.

July 25, 2007

Publishers Favourite Sites:

Rosanne Catalano

http://www.rosannecatalano.net/

Michael Smith

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Barbara Weymouth

penwormprayerwarriors-subscribe@yahoogroups.com

Helen Dowd

www.occupytillicome.com

Today’s Announcements

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Today’s Stories

~**~**~

 Hot Meal

Marilyn Nicholson

The line grew longer and we worked faster, trying to provide a hot meal to as many as we could. The soup kitchen was mobbed as it usually was and people were either pathetically grateful or afraid to look you in the eyes.

It wasn't long ago that we'd come so close to not being able to feed ourselves, nor put a roof over our heads. We'd been frequent visitors to that same soup kitchen and we'd eat with the people there tonight too, after we'd finished serving.

There is no shame in being poor, but you can't help but feel it on the street when people look at you as if you're somehow less than they are. Lower than low. We were still pretty poor, but volunteering now, in the same place we used to eat any meal they'd give us. With a roof over our heads, we aren't better than anyone and have never thought we were.

Besides, volunteering is one heck of a lot easier than being on the other side, in that line - hungry and waiting for a hot meal.

Marilyn Nicholson

nicholson.m@earthlink.net

~**~**~

Three Men
Bill Walker
missourisage@yahoo.com

Many years ago there was a chance meeting of two of these men. These two men at one time were in different armies at war.   One man was out walking and happened to meet the other. By the looks of the one, you could tell he was in need of a meal, and maybe a dollar or two. To make a long story short, he was noticed by the other man, whose hand went into his pocket, and came out with a few dollars which he pressed into the hand of the one he met.  They talked a few minutes.

After the one needing a meal, went his way, the third man walked up and in doing so took note of the man leaving, not saying anything to him. The newcomer stopped to talk to the man that gave the money, said something about the man who had just left. He was told that was an old soldier down on his luck. The man thought it would have been one of the men in the war on their side. The answer was no he was on the other side.

Later in the day, the one that received the money again by chance met the third man.   The third man heard these words. He had fought against this man, had hated him and his cause because of the war, but now, he had nothing but good to say about him, as he was, and is a fine Christian man.

General Robert E.Lee is the man that reached into his pocket.
Tinker and Poo; The Boys Write
http://www.iuniverse.com/bookstore/book_detail.asp?&isbn=0-595-35741-5

~**~**~

Poetry Corner

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 Sun- wash

Abram Friedland

The heat is everywhere

The people are coming from over there

Where the winds and the frost reigned

And the sadness and tears rained

But now the streets are warm

The city is alive with festivals and hustling

The kids and young men are on outings

Of play in the fields and arcades

And the women are in their masquerades

Here in the common fields after the winter storm

I am a common man in the city

And I can see the common man’s sunshine

Filled by people with smiles and charm

Having rest from hard work, dreaming of freedom from harm

Watching hopscotch, pot smoke, and kids at play

On the sun –washed streets

I wish the summer would never end

But everyone’s best days end after the heat

Mine too, but I hope that’s not yet around the bend

So in the sunshine, my lover I will meet

As the summer kisses me

While its flowers are still so sweet

By Abram Friedland

abramfriedland@videotron.ca

~**~**~

  Walls Have Secrets

Cheryl Williams

The door creaks open.

Sunlight beams onto the faded tile,

yellowed with age, and

silence greets me.

The smell of nicotine

is still  in the air,

and I can almost see him

sitting at the worn kitchen table,

sipping his coffee,  smoking

cigarette after cigarette, silently

greeting the day.

I would see him sitting there

and wonder what he was thinking,

what he was planning.

I would see him sitting there

and wonder if this is where he

thought up his nightly visits,

and I would kiss his cheek

and leave for school, hearing

the screen door slam shut behind me.

I head up the stairs,

worn with time.

My room was at the top of the stairs,

and as I approach, I feel a

sick, scared feeling.

I open the door, and the room

seems so small now.

Back then it seemed huge.

I see the bed,  still there.

And suddenly I can see

myself lying there...helpless and small.

I'm crying and he's leaning over me,

and I can't make him stop.

I try to scream, but no words come out.

I see the flowered quilt

and remember the tiny purple flowers.

I remember counting each one

over and over and over again

until it was over.

I feel a tear rolling down my cheek,

and I turn and walk out the door,

slamming it behind me.

The walls reverberate, and

the sound echos

throughout the house,

now empty.

But the walls hold many secrets.

The walls saw when everyone else

closed their eyes.

The walls heard when everyone else

closed their ears.

The walls felt my pain when everyone else

was laughing

And now the walls can feel the door slam

one last time

as I close the door on it all.

Cheryl Williams

Politicalgirl04@aol.com

 ~**~**~

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