The Garden

The Lord God Planted A Garden In Eden

Genesis Two

“Of Every Tree In The Garden You May
Freely Eat”

“But Of The Tree Of Good And Evil You
Shall Not Eat”

She sat in the garden in quietness and trust,
a garden full of trees, but one in the midst
she must not touch, it was forbidden.
The sun reflects apples of burnished gold,
with leaves of vivid green. A lustrous sheen
of light surrounds it, a dazzling sight before
her eyes. She is astounded by its beauty as
she slowly rises, but she had remembered
God’s words of caution,” do not touch it,
or else she would surely die.”

Then The Serpent Said To The Woman
“You Will Not Surely Die”

Genesis Three

There is a rustling sound and to her
surprise, a serpent is resting among
branches. She could not resist and
went closer and found it pleasing.
He saw her coming and slithered to
her side, whispering –
“Come, touch the fruit and eat, you
will not die, but you will be as wise
as your God and I.”
She is startled at its gaze as she
looks in its eyes and hears its
deceptive words.
Closer and closer she nears the tree,
bending her ear to the serpents call,
plucking the fruit and then she falls.
Running to her helpmate, she passes
the fruit that he may eat and join her
They stood at the gate in a shy
embrace, as God came walking in the
coolness of day, looking for His
children who had disobeyed. They hid
among the trees in fear, then heard
Him speak, “My love and forgiveness
is with you, a Way has been provided
that you will be saved.” The guardian
angels wept softly as they closed the
doors of the gate.
The garden’s once tethered breeze
now blows with fury. A chain of
lightning with distant thunder, then
rain appears.
Their bodies once clothed with
light, now became garments of
leaves clinging to their skin.
Vines and flowers began to
hang their heads, ones they had
dressed in beauty, now became
But one special Vine was given,
planted by the hand of God, its
branches filling the earth with
pardon and love.
Over miles of distant lands and
many seas, through violent winds
and tragedy, wherever man would
live, the Vine would follow them.
Its ‘Tender Roots’ will survive,
producing fruit, the wine press
has been trodden, the grapes
crushed, a crimson robe is given,
stained with our sins and stricken!

We have been promised our sins are forgiven


A Child’s Journey Through Darkness

“I am not sure what this is all about”

Written by a child birthed into a world
of doubt

Father is holding her with his arm,
she is sobbing in pain. The white
clad doctor in alarm, rushes through
the hospital door. Water is
running down mother’s legs unto
the floor. I begin to ooze between
my mother’s loins, when suddenly
I stop. They quickly pull a bed over,
in anguish she lies. A resistant birth,
in suffering she cries. They pull
me out with metal claws, squeezing
my head, with scissors they cut the
umbilical cord. I have arrived!
I am set aside, as they mop up
afterbirth and water, nurses running
to beds of screaming mothers.
A darkness follows me, from an
infant it encloses me. My eyes are
pinched by blackness, I am
accompanied by sadness. Bringing
me home, my tapered crown is
covered with a cap. Dressed in
pink, she holds me in her lap, as
I sink into a sleep, then waking to
the sound of the tinkling of glass,
of people laughing and having
drinks. Friends and family come
to see this baby, curious to see if I
am normal. I am a gazing ball as
they stare, not sure of what lays
in this cradle. The day comes when
I open my eyes, I look around
at the strange objects, my mind
trying to grasp the colors, smells
and words of curse with adverse
sounds. The very first words I

hear…even as I begin to creep,
there is something that is not
right. I weep in my sleep, waking
to somber thoughts, not knowing
what they are all about. Whispers
are about me, I am sitting in the
center of an atrocity, I am filled
with curiosity. Who are they?
With one fist in my mouth,
trying not to cry, clutching my
doll…she comes into my room
and with a jerk I awake, crawling
out of bed. Two years old,
I am a football! A group of men
are acting strange and laughing.
One comes and picks me up,
throwing me in the air,
taking turns, catching me.
One time they miss! I drop to
the floor, hitting my head.
Touchdown! I am dazed. Red
fluid leaks out. People stand
around…the stage has been
set, could this be the start of
A child’s journey through

Excerpts from the book by
the author –
“Weeping Child To Forgiving Child”

The Spin Of Life

“It always seemed like I was reeling and spinning,
that their was no solid ground”…

Words from a child who one day would
be placed far above her depths of despair.

“Children are resilient, loving and forgiving,
always trusting midst chaos and confusion

There had always been a hand over her,
that one day would be revealed

I ‘m not sure when or why all of this happened, a life like a spinning top, never finding a landing. The clock of my life
had been turned back, sordid thoughts, clinging to each
other, the hands not willing to go forward.
In a normal person’s thinking, they automatically shut
off the thoughts and go on to more pleasing ones.
They can stop it just like that! I never had that privilege,
mine were stuck like glue, defying any means of
separation, causing me much frustration.
In a child’s mind of imaginary people playing the part
of existing role models, it turns out alright, if they are
lucky enough to have had safe and sound boundaries placed in their lives. But in the beginning of my imaginary
persona, they were far from normal, a father bombed
with alcohol, a mother addicted to gambling, abusive
stepfathers with no morals. I really never had the
opportunity to question this existence. It just was!
I remember as a child, the loneliness and abandonment.
I knew something wasn’t right, the constant defeat
chasing me, but then what was right? When I think
in retrospect, it beguiles my mind, that to survive all
of this was a feat worth mentioning. There was no
rhyme or reason for their cruel acts. I looked to my
role models of this pitiful existence as my heroes, but
then why wouldn’t I? I was unable to see what they
lacked. In a child’s eyes this is all I knew. But I grew
despite all of their abusive ways, portrayed on a daily
basis, (and nightly). When it seemed all the demons
and dragons played their mischievous acts, they knew
when to strike, fighting, screaming, attacking an
already compromised brain from trauma, wrapping their
chains about me. How could hope ever come out of such
chaos and confusion? But this child’s suffering would not
be wasted, it must be captured and saved, that one day all
of these meaningless deeds will hopefully bring healing,
as I share my story with others!

Facebook and Cyberspace

“Be yourself, everyone else is already taken.”

Oscar Wilde

I post my poems on Facebook poetry sites,
and just recently due to a glitch in the
system I was unable to receive FB emails,
to engage with other poets with their
comments and replies. I wrote a little
scenario of this experience and how we
become so dependent on technology and
when it doesn’t work we appreciate it even
more when we suddenly are left without

Facebook… you are a wonderment of

the internet. Where else could one
go to have their poems posted among
so many selected other’s?

But I have been away for a while, since
you cut me out of poetic cyberspace.
Because of your glitch have I been
put on the bottom of your list?

Being off the circuit of words has
questioned the theme I post. It
seems that love and romance is
the most well received. The
ravishingly words of erotic touch,

that brings about exhilarating
feelings. Of lovers gone astray
looking for others to fill their
But then I excitedly see new websites
of spirituality coming aboard, which
seems to blend within my reasoning.

Does it just take time to get back
in the circle? What drives people
to read a poet’s books? My books
have only received a few five star

I wonder how people get so
many followers? I have only one,
I’m not sure who it is, maybe one
that can relate to abuse,
abandonment and deliverance,
perhaps not the most popular

I try but the words just don’t come
out right, so I’ll just keep posting
the gift of words given to me, in
hopes that just one visitor will
stop by my sight, leaving a comment
to which I can reply. And of course
I’ll do the same for them. So FB, I’ll
wait for you to return to help me

And thank you Sean Thomas, for your
word ‘Awesome’ you don’t know
how that word gave me a glimmer
of hope to continue on!

“Fill your paper with the breathings
of your heart.”

William Wordsworth

A Poet In Disguise

In three words I can sum up everything
I’ve learned about life:it goes on.”

Robert Frost

I should be so blessed, or be put upon
a shelf to rest,
at least I express my grief, though
somewhat indiscreet.
Through pen and ink, beyond the
scope of color, tapping upon a vastness
deep, I weep.
It is not a fatal sin to share what lies
within, my sorrows make me ill until
I share with others.
We are not alone. The tears we own
have flown through centuries.
A self proclaimed poet is what I am,
not worthy to walk upon the sod of
these sleeping ones.
These comforter’s who have passed,
inspire me to plod my painful path.
Please, do not take my pen and ink
away, it is the only way I can survey
my dismay.
And each book I write, until my last,
I will draw from the inkwell of tears
from my past.

Donna Nieri

OCD – The Doubting Disease

Recurrent and persistent thoughts, urges, or impulses
that are experienced, at some time during the disturbance,
as intrusive and unwanted

Clinical definition (DSM-5) of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

I was diagnosed with OCD,
after many years of suffering with this illness. When I finally
realized there was a reason why I had the symptoms of OCD
I understood why this tormenting disease was so frightening.

I try to reach out to others that grapple with this illness also.
There are many different symptoms that are very perplexing.
I have written in prose and poetry some of those I have

It was dark that night as I
stood in the road, looking
for the bump I had driven
over. I had refrained from
going back, but my thoughts
drew me to cross once more.
Once is never enough!
I looked closer, but could
not see anyone I thought I
had hit. The sky was unlit
since the moon was split
and the stars had lost their
To what kind of thinking is
this? I checked the road
several times, driving back
and forth, worried someone
would see me as I performed
this ritual. It was very
clearly visible there was no
one there. But I knew by
the shift of the car, I must
have hit someone. My eyes
showed how irrational this
was, but there was no
connection in my thinking.
My mind was caught as I
fought to bring it under
control. Finally after several
attempts to go back to the spot,
I went on my way, but I was
still controlled by the thought
that would not go away!

Vice Of The Knives
I walk into the kitchen, going
to the drawers, looking for
those bright shiny blades,
set in wooden handles, hidden
away. Who are these vandals
that plague my mind? I try to
pray them away. These fears
that invade my reasoning.
I am looking for more secret
compartments to hide them.
Like thoughts hidden in the
chambers of my mind, a
nightly ritual before going
to sleep. Why would I do this?
I pray I cry, but never utter
a word to a passerby. They
would think I had lost my
mind. I feared these twisted
thoughts, the compulsive
need to figure them out.
It would be a long time
before an answer to these
questions were given, there
was a reason, with chemicals
surging and misfiring in my
brain. I would like to share
with those who can
understand the illness that
defies all reasoning!

Clinical definition of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

Nevada Mining Town Girl

I thought I had been lost and forgotten,
that there was no hope…little did I know
there would be deliverance for a child
like me.”

Words by a little girl’s dialogue in her mind

A child abandoned in mining towns of Nevada
shares her experience and hope with others!

“A story told of a family’s quest for freedom and
gold…they never did strike it rich, but through their
travels they found riches far better than gold…
their Mama loved them the best she could, everywhere
she went they went too, taking them for a ride over
hills, bumps and ridges, that would become bridges
over time.”

Quotes written by the author of ‘Mining Town Girl’