Lock Blog
Pleas do not lock the doors

ocassionally I write thoughts down,
or I’ll lock them in my head,
or they’re lead to my heart,
my satisfaction being fed.

a few thoughts are lost,
a few often replaced,
only my strong thoughts,
get truly faced.

What did you think?
(No mean comments please.)(Constructive critisism welcomed)

By: mcjonas

In my heart I have four rooms

They told me to stay alive
I need four rooms.

Once I tried to have a look
But the key of my heart’s lock
Is gone and lost

I looked
For the key, in my bag
But there is no key but
A pen, and a book.

In a faraway restaurant I met him
I once met him!
For the first time I saw his face
On his eyes, to look and gaze.

He asked me what to drink
“Coffee” and the sugar is none

Gently gave me a book
It is the book he has done.
I had a look
My hand passed quickly the papers
And the words
Were all swords!!

Then I closed the book
That smooth cover
At the end of the book
Was blue as the sea
And his picture was smiling to me
I said:
“Nice design!”
“The jasmine shadow at the bottom
Gives the paper a beautiful smell
And the waves of the sea. . .”

He interrupted me and said: “Ah I see!!”
As if my note was silly and of a kid
And he moved quickly his head

He asked me: “what do you think about the topic?”
“Ah” I said. . . The topic?
“A Hundred Ways to Be Fit.”
The title I read
“. . . Yes, it is great
Many people need to be fit!!
And they find no ways!!!
To be healthy and fit”

He looked to me . . .
And as if million days
Were lost
I again said, I tried to correct the days:
“it’s great, they may become fit
After they read your book
They may be fit”

I had to reopen the book
to say something about “cook”

My eyes at the first page looked!
At its top
In a black ink he wrote:

“I dedicate this copy of my book to you”
I wondered!
In his car there are ten copies
Do they…
Hold the same words and dedication
To his manager, secretary, friends and me?
Who am I between all of those?

His voice,
Waked me up and I
Smiled to him and said:
“Thank you
For inviting me,
For the no-sugar coffee
For the, book!”

My coffee in haste
I drank
And felt the better taste
And left
My perfume smell!

Although his books was not of poetry
Although it was about how to be fit!
I read all of it!!

That night
I looked between the lines
About my name
But all the lines were the same!
No trace to me
Or even to him

One of the lines says
“It is healthy to be fit!!!”
But I am fit
Why did he me give the book!
To look
At his picture smiling!
To whom is it smiling?

Why I his book took?

In one of the pages he said:
“To stay alive, you need to be fit”

Other page
Says:
“God created four rooms in our hearts!”
I could complete to the end,
“to stay alive,
You need to be fit”

“Coffee is bad for your heart..”
He invited me to a cup of coffee,
Sure he meant a cup of juice!
It is me who asked for coffee
A no-sugar-cup of coffee!

I remembered he had coffee too
Even he knows coffee is bad
For his heart it is bad.

I met him
Even I know it is bad,
Meeting him is bad
For my heart it is bad

Since I drank coffee
Since his cigarettes’ smoke I smelled
And him I saw

Which are all bad
To my heart,
Seeing him,
As coffee to him
Is so bad!

I found the key now
I can have a look
I can check. .

The four rooms in my heart
Yes they are all there.
i appreciate it really thatnks guys

By: misspoem

http://www.baseball-reference.com/k/kentje01.shtml

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeff_Kent
I’ll ask as many questions as my heart desires regarding HOF. These are the only interesting baseball related questions in my opinion.

By: Sportsguy_1973

The following morning, Johnny described EVERYTHING to his mother.

“Sis and her boyfriend sat and talked for a while, then he started hugging and kissing her I figured ‘Sis must be getting sick because her face started looking funny. He must have thought so too because he put his hand inside her blouse to feel her heart, just the way the doctor would. Except he’s not as smart as the doctor because he seemed to have trouble finding her heart. I guess he was getting sick too, because pretty soon both of them started panting and getting all out of breath. His other hand must have been cold because he put it under her skirt. About this time ‘Sis got worse and began to moan and sigh and squirm around and slide down toward the end of the couch. this is when her fever started.

I knew it was a fever, because ‘Sis told him she felt really hot. Finally, I found out what was making them so sick — a big eel had gotten inside his pants somehow. It just jumped out of his pants and stood there, about 10 inches long, honest, anyway, he grabbed it in one hand to keep it from getting away. When Sis saw it she got really scared — her eyes got big, and her mouth fell open, and she started calling out to God and stuff like that. She said it was the biggest one she’d ever seen; I should tell her about the ones down by the lake by our house! Anyway, Sis was brave and tried to kill the eel by biting its head off. All of a sudden she grabbed it with both hands and held it tight while he took a muzzle out of his pocket and slipped it over the eel’s head to keep it from biting again.

Sis lay back and spread her legs so she could get a scissor-lock on it and he helped by lying on top of the eel. The eel put up a hell of a fight. Sis started groaning and squealing and her boyfriend almost upset the couch. I guess they wanted to kill the eel by squashing it between them. Her boyfriend got up, and sure enough, they killed the eel. I knew because it just hung there, limp, and some of its insides were hanging out.

Sis and her boyfriend were a little tired from the battle, but they went back to courting anyway. He started hugging and kissing her again. By golly, the eel wasn’t dead! It jumped straight up and started to fight again. I guess eels are like cats — they have nine lives or something. This time, Sis jumped up and tried to kill it by sitting on it. After about a 35 minute struggle, they finally killed the eel. I knew it was dead, because I saw Sis’s boyfriend peel its skin off and flush it down the toilet.

By: ♠Hoody♠™

I need help! Please help me!!

By: Liz

You my new obsession
All I want to do
You my new obsession, girl
I feel on top of the world wit you baby
I want to dance and party tonight
I feel on top of the world wit my lady
I’m gonna rock your body all night
She makes me wanna sing

La, la la la (8x)

Oh, I can’t get you out my mind
Everything you do is feelin right
Remember that way you caught my eye?
I remember that way you was walkin by
Ooh girl, watch out now
You looked at me, turned around and smiled
Gave me eyes, my heart went wild
Hypnotized, this love starts now
And how do I know you’re real

By: jess

Put your problems away tonight we’re flying high
Put your problems away tonight we’re flying high

When you wake up ion the morning and touch a friendly face
Remember we’re alone now, the world is his embrace
It’s his embrace
With him for an engine and music for the wings
We’ll take off in the night and think it’s just a dream
Think it’s just a dream

Put your problems away tonight we’re flying high
Put your problems away tonight we’re flying high

City life can always bring some problems
You have a friend, I feel the same way too
Just rise above the hurt and we’ll find happiness
We can fly, we can try

Look to the sky, the night is moving too fast
Tomorrow will be coming but maybe it won’t last
No it just won’

By: lovetaughtmetodie

Not many mothers can say that they’re actually scared of their own child. But I can, and I have all reason to be. I know that Esme is ill, but it frightens me, In fact I’m terrified. It’s the most heart breaking thing in the world to wake up to your baby standing by your bedside, inches from slicing your throat with a kitchen knife. ‘Esme?’ I whispered, too shocked to move. ‘Drop the knife’ it was like she snapped back into reality, her hand opened and the knife fell to the floor. ‘Mummy, I was going to kill you!’ She said her voice quavering and scared. I scooped up my daughter, and put her back to bed. It wasn’t the first time that my 8 year old had tried to murder me or herself. She would put plastics bags over her head, tie scarves around her neck and balance on window sills. It was all because ‘Amory’ told her to. I would often walk into Esme’s bedroom to find her shaking on the floor, her knees clutched to her chest in fear. ‘They won’t stop, the bad people, they tell me to kill you!’ She shrieked. It came to a point where I was more scared of my daughter than I ever was of my mother. I purchased a safe and secure lock to lock Esme in at night. But even that didn’t work. One night I heard a loud knocking on the door and a crying through the letter box. There was my little girl, in her nightgown, wet and dripping from rain. She Had climbed out of her window.

The writer is 14

By: Hannah D