:)
Poem:A Box of Crayons

While walking in a toy store

the day before today,

I overheard a crayon box

with many things to say.



"I don't like red!" said yellow

And green said "nor do I!"

"And no one here likes orange

but no one quite knows why."



" We are a box of crayons

that really don't get along."

said blue to all the others

"something here is wrong!"



Well I bought that box of crayons

and took it home with me

and laid out all the crayons

so the crayons could all see.



They watched me as I colored

with red and blue and green

and black and white and orange

and every color in between.



They watched as green became the grass

and blue became the sky,

The yellow sun was shining brightly

on white clouds drifting by.



Colors changing as they touched

becoming something new.

They watched me as I colored

They watched till I was through.



And when I'd finally finished

I began to walk away.

And as I did the crayon box

had something more to say.



" I do like red!" said yellow

and green said "So do I!"

"And blue you are terrific

so high up in the sky."



"We are a box of crayons

each of us unique,

but when we get together

the picture is complete."



Now if we could just learn from this box of crayons.
This world would be a better place.

Steve DeRolf

Great poem you have, you try to fix som ryhme on some stanza, i like the idea of this one. Its mean difference is okay, and its cant be denied. Difference will make the world full of color and we need to accept the difference in order to see the beauty of the color. Keep it up m8 u r rockz, btw if you can next time put title on your poetry likes
poem: A Box of Crayons
Nice job m8

Hi,
this is not a poem, maybe doesnt fit the title...
but...
i love it, and i'd like to share it.
hope u like it too, but seems there r very few fans of literature
here in this forum.

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Story: Butterflies

There was a time in my life when beauty meant something special to me. I guess that would have been when I was about six or seven years old, just several weeks or maybe a month before the orphanage turned me into an old man.
I would get up early every morning at the orphanage, make my bed just like the little soldier that I had become and then I would get into one of the two straight lines and march to breakfast with the other twenty or thirty boys who also lived in my dormitory.
After breakfast one Saturday morning I returned to the dormitory and saw the house parent chasing the beautiful monarch butterflies who lived by the hundreds in the azalea bushes strewn around the orphanage.
I carefully watched as he caught these beautiful creatures, one after the other, and then took them from the net and then stuck straight pins through their head and wings, pinning them onto a heavy cardboard sheet.
How cruel it was to kill something of such beauty. I had walked many times out into the bushes, all by myself, just so the butterflies could land on my head, face and hands so I could look at them up close.
When the telephone rang the house parent laid the large cardboard paper down on the back cement step and went inside to answer the phone. I walked up to the cardboard and looked at the one butterfly who he had just pinned to the large paper. It was still moving about so I reached down and touched it on the wing causing one of the pins to fall out. It started flying around and around trying to get away but it was still pinned by the one wing with the other straight pin. Finally it's wing broke off and the butterfly fell to the ground and just quivered.
I picked up the torn wing and the butterfly and I spat on it's wing and tried to get it to stick back on so it could fly away and be free before the house parent came back. But it would not stay on him.
The next thing I knew the house parent came walking back out of the back door by the garbage room and started yelling at me. I told him that I did not do anything but he did not believe me. He picked up the cardboard paper and started hitting me on the top of the head. There were all kinds of butterfly pieces going everywhere. He threw the cardboard down on the ground and told me to pick it up and put it in the garbage can inside the back room of the dormitory and then he left.
I sat there in the dirt, by that big old tree, for the longest time trying to fit all the butterfly pieces back together so I could bury them whole, but it was too hard to do. So I prayed for them and then I put them in an old torn up shoe box and I buried them in the bottom of the fort that I had built in the ground, out by the large bamboos, near the blackberry bushes.
Every year when the butterflies would return to the orphanage and try to land on me I would try and shoo them away because they did not know that the orphanage was a bad place to live and a very bad place to die.

Poem:A Box of Crayons

"I don't like red!" said yellow

And green said "nor do I!"
"And no one here likes orange
but no one quite knows why."


" We are a box of crayons
that really don't get along."
said blue to all the others
"something here is wrong!"

:heart: Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,,,,how beautiful and touch my heart:heart:

Hi Ice Blue, welcome back here, long time not see ^^. I think short story is ok to be posted.
Ok here is my comment:
@Story: Butterflies
Hihi nice story, somehow you also talented on story making. This one is nice, somehow i wonder if this is your true experience? This part sounds like that the character still a kid

"I picked up the torn wing and the butterfly and I spat on it's wing and tried to get it to stick back on so it could fly away and be free before the house parent came back. But it would not stay on him."

Btw this is a nice piece of work, keep it up m8, btw if you have some short story feel free to post it, i wonder if there is a romantic one ^^

Hi!
yeah, long time no c!
thanx.
no it's not written by me. i found it surfing the net, and the auther is: Roger Dan Kiser.
Sure i'll post some if i face something nice.
btw A Box of Crayons wasnt done by me either.
:)

Short Story: No ChargeNO CHARGE

Our little boy came up to his mother in the kitchen one evening while she was fixing supper, and he handed her a piece of paper that he had been writing on. After his mom dried her hands on an apron, she read it, and this is what it said:

For cutting the grass $5.00
For cleaning up my room this week $1.00
For going to the store for you $0.50
Baby-sitting my kid brother while
you went shopping $0.25
Taking out the garbage $1.00
For getting a good report card $5.00
For cleaning up and raking the yard $2.00
Total owed: $14.75


Well, I'll tell you, his mother looked at him standing there expectantly, and boy, could I see the memories flashing through her mind. So she picked up the pen, turned over the paper he'd written on, and this is what she wrote:

For the nine months I carried you while you were growing inside me, No Charge.
For all the nights that I've sat up with you, doctored and prayed for you, No Charge.
For all the trying times, and all the tears that you have caused through the years, there's No Charge.
When you add it all up, the cost of my love is No Charge.
For all the nights that were filled with dread, and for the worries I knew were ahead, No Charge.
For the toys, food, clothes, and even wiping your nose, there's No Charge, son.
And when you add it all up, the full cost of real love is No Charge.


Well, friends, when our son finished reading what his mother had written, there were great big old tears in his eyes, and he looked straight up at his mother and said, "Mom, I sure do love you." And then he took the pen and in great big letters he wrote: "PAID IN FULL."


M.Adams

Ice BlueShort Story: No ChargeNO CHARGE







:heart: Hhhhhh, Ice Blue, you are the right person in the right name ...and the right place here in i-phone. I Love You Ice Blue, I want to ask...please don't mind: Are You a Gal/woman?.....Ice Blue, Reputed added Dude/dudette:) , and Thanks to
:M.Adams, Wherever you are, my friend Ice Blue has introduce all good Snacks Soul to me:!: :heart:

ooh...
thank u my friend Camilla.
well let me tell u that i am a 20 year old girl.
thanx 4 ur kindness.

Hehehe i must really sorry you ice blue, i vae mistaken u as a men by calling you m8 and bro. Ok here is my comments:
Hehehe Chicken soup for the soul, nice story you have.Its really touching, somehow, maybe we had done something for our beloved parent and asked for return, without realize that they actually had done something bigger for us

:D
hehe
no problem m8!!!

ooh...
thank u my friend Camilla.
well let me tell u that i am a 20 year old girl.
thanx 4 ur kindness.
:heart: :win: I am a woman, 33 years Olddddddd, hehehe, can not said I am a gal hahaha...I have a son, and hhhhhh really touch my heart reading that Short Story: No Charge:win:, Thanks dudette:heart: Thanks Ice Blue:heart: :lol:

:)
thanx Camilla.
hope u're son is a good one.

Short Story: God's Jobs:rolleyes:
God's Jobs
Danny Sutton, eight years old, wrote this for his third-grade Sunday school teacher, who asked her students to explain God:

One of God's main jobs is making people. He makes these to put in the place of the ones who die so there will be enough people to take care of things here on earth. He doesn’t make grownups, he just make babies. I think because they are smaller and easier to make. That way he doesn't have to take up his valuable time teaching them to walk and talk. He can just leave that up to the mothers and fathers. I think it works out pretty good.

God's second most important job is listening to prayers. An awful lot of this goes on, 'cause some people, like preachers and things, pray other times besides bedtimes, and Grandpa and Grandma pray every time they eat, except for snacks. God doesn’t have time to listen to the radio or watch TV on account of this. 'Cause God hears everything, there must be a terrible lot of noise in his ears unless he has thought of a way to turn it down.

God sees and hears everything and is everywhere, which keeps him pretty busy. So you shouldn't go wasting his time asking for things that aren't important, or go over parents' heads and ask for something they said you couldn't have. It doesn't work anyway.


Dan Sutton

@Ice Blue great post ^^, you know thats make sense, even for an adult. How wonderful a kid's thinking is. A small thing goes into his mind but he explain it all. Hope you post more like this keep it up