Sunday, July 31, 2011

Songs and Poems

Darkness

Uneven ... the glow
a glow ... supposed
a tool shown to mystery guests
and traveling pests.
Unraveled in harvested moons
your tunes
wrestled tunes
yet oh ... my captured wounds.
I wrap them around cellophane hearts
a tour ... be proud
somehow lost in a crowd
glasses high
toast to the note-cards
that sort out my mind against hypocrisies
I sort out my mind ... in the end

PS
There are days of unregistered rhymes
and they seem to be advancing upon undying darkness

What changes us?

What makes us decide 'one day'.... that 'this day' we will do better?

'This day' we will smile on everything as if we were seeing it for the first time.
'This day' we will take time out for our own selves.
'This day' we will climb that emotional mountain that seemed inconceivable 'yesterday'.
'This day' we 'will' do what we had only 'hoped' we would do 'before'.< /p>

'This day' we will FLY.

BE PROUD!

Now

I seem to have new pathways to assemble.
The steam reaches out and irons out the discontentment of time.
I step past memories and longings and reach out.
Life is unclear
impossible to be real.
Days go by and I find myself in a new reality,
a reality of happy.
You lend me the fragrance of freedom,
the air of pause,
in the water and substance there is a tranquility I have never known.
My soldier of old,
my lament,
I am always so afraid they'll take you from me.
I dare not completely touch today
or sleep and find you gone,
and learn you have never been with me at all.
So I smile on the pathway
maneuver my continence.
I cannot live in the shadow of regret
and not see what is right there in front of me.
This spirit being now and present, not meant to be over analyzed.
There are doors belonging to freedom
and t hey all have special handles.
I can decorate them, understand them, hold them, charm them,
or let them go.

Tiny Remains

Unconnected thoughts that ring in much decay,
where the survivors scramble and tears never end.
Emotions run high and moods decide,
generosity is a cure for strangers,
but you and I..... divide into equal parts,
and squabble over tiny remains.

Sunsets

She travels with magic on a mystical ride.
She walks in the moonlight
and covers my mind.
She travels the road down past the pines,
where the mist meets the morning
'fore the river turns ice.

We gather up petals
from the flowers that have died.
She travels with magic
on a mystical ride,
pointing out sunsets
and ponies to ride.
So just see how it goes
how the magic unfolds
how the children you've known
lend out sea covered rhymes
still fasting
but no longer cold.

Autumn Has Seasoned Me Well

Content to be understood in a casual way and yet...

He was a most attentive healer.
Every space and corner he defined in me.
I so tastefully wore a crown.
No one around.
Stayed and stayed...
he remembered he had not seen me in full bloom.
All things considered I should have waited to hear the rest,
but patients gathered in the hallways,
wounds too deep to mind.
Who can contend with such a lover?
At least I know that I don't heal well.
There were reprieves I had not considered,
but Autumn...
Autumn has seasoned me well.

Break Not Your Heart

a song:

1)
There will be times
and treasures I've known,
there will be rivers
melted with snow.

2)
There will be dreams
attached to autumn leaves,
there will be springtime
and reasons to flee.

Chorus:
And break not your heart
hold back the wound s
however inflicted
they were not meant for you.

3)
There will be seas
only airplanes and ships adorn
there will be silence
for a sorrow too worn.

4)
There will be sighs
as the ruler points wrong
yet... there will be comfort
in the rainbow of song.

Chorus

Break:
Time passes by
I plot to hear you call
and yet I know why
and have accepted it all.

Chorus

Reality

a song:

Magic motions used to set my soul ablaze,
until I noticed in the most spectacular form
that little heartbeats
are most easily swayed
and had most certainly swayed me.
My only restitutions being
the crudeness of reality.
A springboard to what I thought would be
the very end of me
turned out to be
the very depths of me.
Oh... unkind blow
vexation of my heart
the knife that penetrated ever so deeply
gave me reality.

Befor e We Go

(a poem for Diana and Robert)

The heros of selfish wounds
owned by summer
not forgotten by fall.
As silent as glances
down a long dark hall.
Their end is as painful as their deed,
chosen so hastily.
There are looks I'd like to share,
silences I would treasure.
There are smiles I'd like to say
silenced now forever.
Their children picked flowers at the neighbors
running across the street saying,
Before we go, before we go. Heros are owned by children,
if they choose to remember them that way.

The Hero Wore Black

The hero wore black.
The echo bore gifts,
and no one knows
the broken hope
as much as you and I.
Shadows dancing
in the dark.
The honorable heartbeat
in the chest.
Do you know I hope for you?
Save hope for you?

Miles Away

a song:

Chorus: It rains miles away, miles and miles away
It rains miles a way, miles and miles away

1)
I don't want to steal your dreams away.
I don't want my presence to intrude...
on you.
I used a compass to find this place.
I used the moon to guide me through
your moods.
You say...
you're only miles away.

2)
She smiled and said, Well yes I know,
there's an element that seems to grow,
in all of us.
I think you've learned
to talk very far.
You give the feeling that your sorrow never ends,
but it's not as if the rain didn't fall here too,
when it fell on you.

Chorus

3)
There is an element of conscience,
that keeps blowing thru cool winds,
and I think if you don't stop to listen,
I might lose before I win.
New things are hard to handle.
It's unclear of what's to gain,
But after all
its' like you say
you're only miles away.

Chorus

About Me Kathy Ostman-Magnusen Hawaii, United States

Aloha! I am a figurative Artist and Illustrator. If you check out my website you will see that I am very prolific in Oils. My paintings are collected worldwide. I also do sculpture; images available upon request. I have illustrated for Hay House Inc. , Neil Davidson, who was considered for the Pulitzer Prize in feature writing, and several other publications. I also enjoy story writing and poetry. All of the paintings,stories and poems on my site and blogs are written by me. Website: http://www.kathysart.com and one of my blogs: http://kathysart.blogspot.com/ Aloha!


Author:: Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
Keywords:: mermaid baby, passion series, art Kathy Ostman Magnusen,African Series,Hawaiian Legacy,Artist, Oils
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Poetry: as a Taskmaster And an Ode

The art of Poetry is a long and lonely road, it is best not to give your life to it, unless it is your lifeand unavoidable (or so I feel). The soul of it is a hard taskmaster. You must be faithful to it, like a woman, or you will be cheated. You must first have her over for dinner, and make sure she doesnt think you have forgotten her; in such a case, make peace with her quick, she will haunt you with her launching of whatever comes to her mind.

She does call me quite frequently, in my sleep, waking hours, here and there, and everywhere:

Dont let my calls disturb you, she says.

I really dont know how I get anything doneI am surprised when I find a spare moment for my own pleasure. She turns her expressions inside of me, upside down: slowly spins on her heels (with her young curves and s lippers). And then she opens her wardrobe, and says:

Lets go! (I suppose it means shopping?)

You see, she is quite busy with me!

[Poetic Prose: #1100; 1/25/06

Ode to the: Lurking Ripples

Here, ripples the wind

Did the song of hell pass?

The abyss-door was open

Something trampled in the

Grass!

A shape, a shapeI see,

Vivid as the veins in me;

Evil lurks (sublimity)!...

Note: The poem: Ode to the: Lurking Ripples, is dedicated to (both): Clark A. Smith for opening the vaults of hell with Poetry, and George Sterling, for decontaminating them; both whiz kid in their own right. Each reading one another (the old and the new), and both providing great Poetry, if not phenomenal. [#1099 1/25/06

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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Father's Day Poems the Haiku Way

Usually, father's day poems consist of some sweet sentiment towards dad. And they've usually been penned by western writers. And while it's true that some of the best poetic sentiments have come from the west, let's not forget what the east has to contribute.

Consider the lovely Haiku poem. In just a few words, Haiku capture the essence of a mood or place and allow the reader to gently step inside the poets outlook. For example, father's day poems can look something like this:

cold april morning --
the scent of
dad's old shirt

Here we have a specific present moment event that brings to mind a lovely memory of dad. Instead of the sanguine sentiments expressed in the usual way, we have something we can enter into - something that express the feeling of father in a unique and intimate way.

The beauty of Haiku is that it doesn't try to tell you everything. Instead, it shows you something. It doesn't suggest you to think one way or another. Instead, it takes you right there. And since Haiku are about present moment experiences, it allows you to step into that moment over and over again.

Looking for good father's day poems? Why not create a Haiku for dad. He'll love you for it and it will touch him in ways most western poetry can not.

Edward Weiss is a poet, author, and publisher of Wisteria Press. He has been helping students learn how to write Haiku for many years and has just released his first book Seashore Haiku! Sign up for free daily Haiku and get beautiful Haiku poems in your inbox each morning! Visit http://www.wisteriapress.com for Haiku books, lessons, articles, and more!


Author:: Edward A. Weiss
Keywords:: father's day,fathers day,father's day poems,fathers day poems,Haiku
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Cruel World

Azra, Azra,
Wake up Azra.
Wake up Azra,
It is time to go.
Go where you must
But hate to do so.
Azra, it hurts me to say,
But you are the way.
Wake up Azra,
You have to go.

Azra, Azra,
You are made of gold,
But the gold, I cannot hold.

Wake up Azra, you must go.
I know Azra,
The world is cruel world.
This world is not yours or mine.
This world is not the one
We want to be.
This world is not
For you or me.

Azra, my little girl,
Your magical power,
Your ocean blues eyes,
Your smile of innocence,
Your body like a bud of rose
Is what will save us all?
It is your sweet innocence Azra,
That our lives depend on.

I know Azra it is not fare.
I know Azra it is too much
For you to bare.
But you see Azra,
I do deeply care.
For I love you more than you
Will ever know.

It is you Azra
That will save us all.
Wake up Azra
For you have to go.

Oh Mother, must I,
Must I really go?
Oh Mother, dont you know,
I am only five years old.
Oh Mother, cant you see
My body aches.
Oh Mother, cant you hear the screams-
The screams of my soul.
Oh Mother, must I really go?

Azra, Azra, my heart aches for you.
Azra I would love to
Instead of you, go.
You see my child
They do not want me.
They say I am too old, and
They want a little girl like you,
In their arms to hold.

Zora Teofilovic


Author:: Zora Teofilovic
Keywords:: Poem,Poetry,Inspiration,Writing,Humanities,Arts
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I Know

You know, I really do mean it
When I say I know how you feel
I do know what youre going through
Is Painful and very real.
I know youre not exaggerating
Or pretending in any way
It really is a trying Time
Getting harder every day.
I do know what youre going through
As I have been there too
And Time right now, just brings you Pain
There seems like no let up for you.
I wont pretend its easy
Youll cope in your own way
You take your Time go at your own pace
And take things day by day.
I know this seems unreal now
But things will improve, its true
Step by step, youll smile again
With each day that is new.


I have been writing poetry for many years and regularly have it published in print. My poetry is published by Forward Press and in many other publications. So I'm now putting my poetry online. I publish my poetry on my Blog jo-hale-poetry at http://jo-hale-poetry.blogspot.com/ and on 8hop .com My poetry on 8hop.com. I also have information about my poetry at http://www.squidoo.com/jo-hale-poetry. I'm married to my husband Peter.


Author:: Joanne Hale
Keywords:: Loss, Grief, Grieving, Pain, Sympathy, Help, Concern, Life, Death, Feelings, Time, Passing, Healing
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Saturday, July 30, 2011

Arizona BlueGunfighter: The Wolves Nest Chapter One of Seven: The North

[Episode Five

Arizona BlueGunfighter

The Wolves Nestin the North

[Episode Five

Northern Minnesota Area

Winter of 1877

Chapter One of Seven: The North

The area was known as Pigs Eye [St. Paul, Minnesota; Northfield was a little more notorious since Jessie James robbed the 1st National Bank, in September of last year, and more to the West. But that was neither here nor there for Arizona-Blue. He didnt like this part of the country for no other reason than it was cold, unpredictable weather, and he didnt seem to offer enough freedom, it wasnt bad thirty years ago, but it had become too tame, Even Mark Twain thought so. His conclusion of why he was here was: Sometimes you just keep on riding and riding and end up where you dont care to be.

As his rode through the thick of the snow, he had come to a cabin, up in an area where the deer was running as wildto and froas the mavericks were down in Arizona, Texas and Wyoming. He s melt the smoke from a nearby chimney. He was a hundred and fifty plus miles North of St. Paul, but it seemed like he was in the Artic.

As Arizona came to a cabin, a man came out of the front door onto his porch. Two wolves stood by his side, a rifle in his hands. He noticed in the back of his house about thirty-more wolves tied to the fence; strange thought Blue.

Can I help yaw stranger? asked the man on the porch.

Blue knew most everyone in this area did not know his name, and that was one unconscious reason he chose the Midwest I suppose, a time for a rest of wondering whom was going to shoot you in the back, or who you had to tangle with next. His reputation out West was preceding him wherever hed go, but here, up here in the Midwest who could know his name? No one he speculated. Northfield was to hot for anyone like him, after the James Gang shoot out, and St. Paul looked like St. Louis, a conservative little city on the banks of the Mississippi, not e nough get up and go for him, plus they sold little books on him: The Fast Gun of the West: Arizona-Blue. They did on all the gunfighters such as: Billy the Kid, Jessie James, Wild Bill, and so forth.

I need a place to lodge for a day or two. Im half frozen.

The man laughed and motioned for Blue to tie his horse up out side and come in.

As Blue descended his horse, a young boy came out and took his horse saying,

Ill bed him down a spell, feed him for you sir.

Blue heard the Midwest was quite hospital to strangers, they had to be, because sooner or later you all ended-up needing the others help. This kind of gives yaw a nice feeling, he told himself.

As Blue entered the house, he noticed a slim middle aged woman, boiling some stew (about thirty-six years old hed guess).

Some hot cider Mister? she asked.

Blue was not sure what that was, but he knew it wasnt whiskey.

Sounds warming, I guess thatll be just fine Miss, unsure how to address her.

She smiled, and commented:

Youre not from around here I gather, you got a Southwestern accent?

Im called Arizona; I guess because that is where I am from.

Arizona what? She asked.

Thats it Miss, just Arizona, thats what my pop called me, no more no less.

She smiled again, the man came back in from the backdoor of the house, stomping the snow off his feet.

Hi yaw, my names Harry, he extended his hand to shake Arizonas, and this is my wife Feba, shes Spanish, and a little cute wife at that.

Harry! stop making me blush.

Well, said Arizona, it looks like you got enough wolves around here.

I raise them. They can come in handy. That was all that was said about the nest of wolves. Arizona got the drift of things, it was private, and he wasnt about to step in on a mans privacy.

Mr. Arizona, please give your jacket to my boy, Tony. He was standing in the back of Arizona. He hadnt heard him come in. As Arizona took off his jacket, Harry, Tony and Feba noticed the guns. Arizona had one tight against his thigh, and one tucked into his belt.

You wont need them here sir, said Harry with a little concern.

Arizona smiled. He was not a wanted man in Minnesota, or for that matter anyplace, just a notorious man, and seldom heard of way up in the North Country; and this was new country for him; if this was Wyoming, or Texas, or for that matter Tombstone, or Deadwood, the guns would stay. But he started to unbuckle them; then handed them to Harry to put away for safe keeping.

How are the Indian problems up here? Blue asked.

Sometimes it ok, other times you just dont know. We had several cabins up here a year ago, and the Chippewas burned three of them down. Rapped the women, after getting drunk, and took off. The Indians are all over the place. You just never know. I hunt bear and fox and sell the furs down at Fort Smelling. And yaw, some of t he Wolves you see, end up being furs. Yaw got to eat. I hate killing them though.

Harry noticed Arizona watch where he hung the guns up; right on the coat rack that lead to the front door.

If you need them mister, theyre right there for the grabbing.

I got the picture, Harry.

Now for the dinner, its about 11-below zero out there, not too bad for the dead of winter. Youd think it was 10:00 PM, but it gets dark quick up here, its only 6:00 PM. Not much daylight in the heart of winter. Tonight it will get down to 20 + below. Its like the cold knocks the sun out early I swear. Its going to be a cold, cold winter, stranger, I mean Arizona.

As they all four sat down to eat, Harry said grace, thanking God for his wife, son, and that the stranger did not get frozen like an ice cycle before he found his cabin.

Lets eat, says Harry, and plunged into the hot stew.

The stew was great, though Arizona, as he took his third helping.

My name is Alex, Mr. Arizona. Are you a gunfighter? You know, like Jessie James, and Billy the Kid?

Hush, said Feba, Mr. Arizona is a gentleman, not a killer.

Said Harry, a bit uncomfortable with the guns hanging where the coats and hats hung:

Mater-of-fact, if you dont mind, what is your line of work?

Well, thats a good question. Ive been a soldier, fought at the Battle of Chickamauga, and I was sheriff for a while, and a deputy. And I guess you could say a cowboy of sorts. Not sure what a gunslinger is, but maybe that to.

Jack of many trades I see, commented Harry.

Feba looked at Blues eyes; she was almost frozen by them. But her husband was the jealous type, and said nothing, just smiled and continued to eat her stew.

Dennis Siluk is finishing up his most recent book, Peruvian Poems it shold been done shortly, and published in the following months [29-poems in English and Spanish look for it. You can see his other works at http:/ /www.bn.com or http://www.amazon.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Chapter story
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Write Your Way to Fame

Have you ever thought about how nice it would be to see your poem discussed in the New York Times? Think you have what it takes to become a famous poet? Well the unfortunate truth is that no one has what it takes to be a famous poet. Heres a little exercise: Name the most famous contemporary poet you can think of. Louise Gluck, Frank Bidart, and Maya Angelou, are all well known poets, but did you even know who all of them were?

Mainstream America has no interest in Poetry and so your biggest audience, as a poet, is going to be other poets. Even Maya Angelou had to write novels in order to place herself in the whos whos list of poets. Poets have to have day jobs. Even Pulitzer Prize winning poets are essentially awarded a day job along with the esteem and money that comes with the prize.

Now then, if you still aim to be a published poet, despite the lack of Fame or wealth you will receive for your endeavors, there are a few things you can do to boost your career . Considering the fact that your biggest audience will be poets, you might need to establish a name for yourself within that circle.

Get subscriptions to well know literary journals. Keep your poetic eye on the kind of Poetry that these journals publish. When you find a reputable journal that publishes Poetry that compliments your poetic style, find out how you can submit your poem to this journal.

Submitting Poetry to literary journals is an art in itself. Always pay particular attention to the guidelines and be sure to follow them to the last letter. If and when your Poetry is published, be sure to pay attention to the rights. You might not be able to submit the same Poems to another journal.

All right, then your next step will be to submit Poetry to other journals, and since youve been published before, you can put that in your biography. You are now establishing a history of getting published in reputable journals. The more you publish, the higher you c an go, see?

You can also try your hand at publishing chapbooks and asking local bookstores if you can do Poetry readings to help you sell them. Self-publishing, which is how you publish your chapbooks, is more common and helpful for poets than it is for traditional novelists. The reason for this is that the consumer very rarely seeks after Poetry. You might consider publishing your books and chapbooks after developing a history of getting published by literary journals.

Finally, dont count out the power of the Internet Super Highway. Create a website for yourself that attracts the poetic community. Advertise your website and try to boost up your sites Google rating. Once you do this, you have a great marketing tool for your self-published chapbooks and Poetry books.

There are many ways, some not even mentioned in this article, for you to establish yourself as a poet. Just remember that it might be a slow, and at times, arduous journey that rarely yields wea lth and Fame.

Devrie Paradowski is a freelance writer and poet. Her Poetry has been published by several literary journals and she has written dozens of articles for various publications including Poetry Renewal Magazine, and Poetryscams.com. She is the Author of the chapbook, Something In the Dirt, which can be found at http://www.lulu.com/content/108560 . In 2001, Devrie founded a Popular online literary community ( http://www.LiteraryEscape.com ) that has become highly respected for some of the most honest and in-depth poetic critique on the Internet. In keeping with her commitment to inspire amateur writers to hone their skills, she also founded a local writer's group called, The Fire and Ice Writer's Group.


Author:: Devrie Paradowski
Keywords:: Poetry, Writing, Publicity, Promotion, Fame, Prestige, Popular, Recognition, Poems, Author
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I Shall Wait...

I Shall Wait..

On all the new mornings, and every singking evening, I wear a small crescent, in the finest of my accent...

Those memories come up storming, that tender touch so warming, That Lovely soothing weather, Feeling as light as a feather, With hands across each other, And nothing else to bother...

With a feeliing as to fly, in the open blue sky, That lonely bank of the river, and a mild wintery shiver,

With silence all around us, and the huge Eucalyptus The water flowing faster with our murmur and our laughter, Those cascading whispers, Calm nature being a listener..

The sky appeared timid, and the rivir far too vivid, That firm hug under the vine, Sent chills down my spine.

A flicker on the nose and a peck on cheeks, and then apart for several weeks, I miss, so much the warm affection, Soul to soul- a pious connection, The care in your eyes and a tickle on chin and those caresses par satin...

It's lonely sans you, Oh my de ar! Being far away, I feel you near I feel your sound right within, Like droplets sound on the terrace tin.

When the world goes dark you be light, To cross over the fiercest night, I shall keep waiting like the stars in space... Till the darkness vanishes to send new phase.

I long for you, I long for you, For morning sun, just like nights passed do, I shall find a new way to my fate, I shall wait and wait and wait and wait...

Shilpa Malaiya is a computer science engineer and currently pursuing her masters in Human Resources. She writes Poetry and articles on a wide range of topics- Malaiya.shilpa@gmail.com


Author:: Shilpa Malaiya
Keywords:: Romance, Poetry, Sorrow, Love, Song, Poem
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Florencia: A Prose Poem Parts 5 thru 7

.5

It was when the child was six years old, war broke out between the Northern Kingdom, and the Western kingdom, and Prince Dnumiunc was slain by one of his Generals, and his bones were brought to the throne chamber of King Niobla, and he picked out one, to have it inscribed, and silver tips fixed firmly on to it, and used as a mixing tool for his wine. It was during a gathering between he and his generals, they talked about warring with the South, and now that the Northern Kingdom was weak (although not crumbling), theyd not come to their rescue should they attack the Southern sphere of influence, then theyd enslave the kingdom, use their gold, and men to dominate the Northern Kingdom, and perhaps, just perchance, take on the Eastern realm. Awe, it was all circling in his head like thunder and rain clouds.

It was in this same hall a week later, the generals met with King Niobla, when he asked Florencia to come into the drinking hall, where all were feasting and wine and ale drinking and joking, and she did obeyun-cheerfully, and upon approaching the king said, What is it that my sovereign ruler wants of me, that you would have me come to such a despicable place like this, and look at your drunken face, and your devil rats, that do your bidding? She was not kind with her words, and the King looked smugly at her, his eyebrow went up.

You insult me, and my generals, perhaps I should have one of them take you to bed and see if he can tame that wicked tongue of yours, they have done this in past times, and are quite good in tactical warfare, perhaps even better than I, which one would you choose, he asked.

Oh choose me, said the old fat general, I will give you male twins, and he laughed, and they all drank more wine.

No, said a tall thin general, do not take the fat one, he will kill you with his belly in the way, take me, I will give you a strong male to rule the kingdom in time when you are old, he will protec t you from your husband. And they all held their bellies laughing and pouring down more wine and ale.

So you see, said King Niobla, you have all these brave generals, although one remains quiet, and one of those killed your father, I have here in my hand, this silver tipped bone, with his name on it, Prince Dnumiunc, so who would you pick to be your new bed partner?

I have a child, but they would all be better than you, and I have my God, and would not soil my soul with such an answer. Said the Queen.

Here, take this bone and stir my wine, and he held up his silver chalice, in one hand, the bone of her father in the other, I said take it, or I will have your daughter removed from your presence, and taken to another outpost of our kingdom. She hesitated but she knew he would do as he said.

Her heart was bleeding, and every inch of her wanted to murder him, but she took the bone, and stirred his wine, tears coming down her face, I curse you, you will lay in Hell and beg the demons to let you glance through their magical mirror of water to see me, and I will be vomiting on your grave.

Be gone before I have the generals rape you on the table, for a show. And she left, to see her daughter in her room.

6

It was two years later when the Queen could take no more, she was either to run, and hide from this mad king, or kill herself, or kill the king himself. He had now taken over the Southern Kingdom, and his plans were going quite well. And she knew it was just a matter of time before her mind would break with hate and revenge for his blood. Yet she was used to him, and there was something unknowing in her fiber that leered out for him, was it hate or a dead kind of lust, or something shielding, how could it be love, lest it be coated with worms, she told herself. She would miss him, if he was dead, so she assessed, but she would die with anger while he lived, and one can learn how to live with naught. And he had her father killed, and all the sins he put upon her house, and her: vengeance, the settling of scores, her mind could not rest until it was so, it was the only healer, and as she sat in her room she asked Adlitolca, her maid to come in.

Is not your lover, the supreme guard in the kings throne room? she asked.

Adlitolca was taken back a ting, she didnt realize the Queen was aware of him as being her lover, and she said shyly, Yes my Queen he is.

Why do you not marry? asked the Queen.

Oh, he says he is too young, and does not want to be burdened with a wife and child. Said the Maid.

Oh, I have a plan, tell him to come into your room at midnight, and I will be there, and persuade him to marry you, or be put to the sword.

The maid was astounded to here such good tidings, and rejoiced, and kissed the hand of the queen. There perhaps was not a brighter day in her life. And she agreed eagerly to do as she was told. And at midnight, Suede reo came into her room, but on the bed said the queen.

The Queen whispered, and the room was pitch black, one could not see the others face, Why, Adlitolca, do you have it so dark in here, I cant even see my hands. Said Adlitolcas lover.

Come over here, said the queen, you do not need your eyes only hands, feel by breasts, they wait for you. And excitedly he came closer, and they lay together, and he was more haply than a schoolboy who won a priced sword.

Said the soldier, You are more delightful than I have ever known you to be, more softer, you smell so great, and all is so perfect. Then she lit a lamp, and Suedereo bellowed, Queen Florencia!

Yes, it is me, said the Queen.

But why? asked Suedereo, dumfounded.

Do you not like what you had? Asked the queen.

Oh yes, it is above all Ive expected. But why.

You will help me kill the king, or be killed by the king for taking me, and I shall scream for his supreme guards.

But how is a simple soldier like I to do such a great feat? he asked.

It will not be so great a feat, I will drug him, poison him, and he will be weak, and we will get Sihcimteh to assist you, he will put the sword across his neck, and slice it off. Said the Queen.

The queen knew Sihcimteh had eyes for her, plus he had special privileges with the king, he could come and go where he pleased, he was one of three of his special guards that stood beside him most always, or behind him. Thus, he was called into the Queens chamber, when the king was off hunting.

I have noticed, said the queen, in a silk gown, the right portions of her body exposed, her long hair laying across her back and shoulders, I say you have had eyes on me like a lion that was hungry these past years.

If I have, said Sihcimteh, it is because of your beauty, not that I would try and take you forcefully, lest I be a traitor to my king.

If I wished you to be a traitor to your king, wou ld you? Asked Florencia.

He hesitated, looked at her carefully, Your beauty is beyond a mans dreams, and if I could be persuaded, it would be only if I had you by my side. I have adored you dearly, but knew you possibly prized the king; I would have killed him long ago, had I felt you would love me. But you accepted the king and have not left his side.

This is true, but not out of love, nor fear, but because of my child; I would have killed myself long ago to rid myself of this monster, but she has always brought me back to my senses, where would she be. Hence, my braver Supreme Soldier, it is not love you see, but a test of my devotion to my daughter. I have looked upon you as a mate; a fine fit for me, a love that could grow, a love that is somewhat. My heart would be grateful, should you take the sword to his head when he is asleep.

He is a brave soldier also you know, and no one to fool with. Said Sihcimteh.

Then you are scared, and weak and fea r him. Said the Queen.

No, I do not fear him out of fear, but out of his skill to fight, he is equal to me, perhaps, but out of love for you, he will be dead if your desire is well planned, and from what I hear, your love for me can grow.

Suedereo, will assist, as I poison his wine, you and he will come into his bedchambers, and Suedereo will hold him, while you cut off his head.

And you will be my love forever? asked Sihcimteh.

Yes, yes, I will be your love, and love you as you please. Replied Florencia.

7

It was the following night; Florencia went into the kings bedroom, sat by him on the edge of his bed, gave him a cup of wine and stirred it willingly for him, with the silver tipped bone of her father.

Why does the wild rat come in to see me, drink with me, have I tamed the witch in her? asked the king.

No, it is I, whom wishes to make love, I desire thee, and I have been lonely for touch. Said Florencia and she handed him the wine stirred, and he drank it, and as she drank it, she hid his dagger under the bed, lest he use it on her, or who else may enter.

It was a moment later the king tried to sit up from his bed, he was a ting sick in his stomach, What did you put in the wine? he asked.

Not a thing, just the bone of my father, she replied.

No it is not true, and he sat up, looked for his knife, and hollered for his guards, and Suedereo and Sihcimteh came running in, Suedereo jumped on him, held him tight, but the king was strong, pushed him over his body, spotted the dagger under his bed, leaned over to get it, and took one glance at Florencia before he grasped its handle of ivory, and said You devils witch and Sihcimtehs sword sliced right through his neck, and his head fell to the floor with a thump, as his body laid jerking as if it was electrified, across the bed.

In heist the Queen filled up a small caravan with the kingdoms treasure, and headed east, there wa s a new king in the Eastern Kingdom, and she felt conceivably she could ask for asylum there, buy asylum that is, with a portion of her treasure, providing that is what the king desired, and she knew all kings desired gold and silver, and whatever else may go with it. He was young, and perhaps he had interests in her likewise, and that could be to her advantage.

Upon her arrival, it was she hoped, the King was pleased with her beauty, and asked if the two soldiers that came along with her, had interest in her. She assured him they were only interested in the treasure, no more. And the king assured her, he would be interested in both her and her treasure; and her being a queen (a queen at one time that is), she perhaps could be a queen again. He seemed to understand her killing of the King, knowing the long story of her oppressed life by him, but asked if this was his fate equally, should he trust her. And having expressed all this, he asked her to think about how mu ch of the treasure hed leave the two soldiers.

It was that very dayforenoon, Sihcimteh came busting into her room, bellowing, Your love has faded to nothingness, what is this I hear, whispers around the kingdom, you and the king will be one?

Florencia looked at him, unshaken, gave him a glass of wine, My love, she said, the kingdom talks because they wish to talk, I sat with the king and told him I wanted safekeeping and Id pay dearly for it, I have a daughter you know, and it is true, my life would only burden you, it has with all men, although Ive only known a few, and the few Ive known seem to love war and killing, is this what a man is made of? Take a fourth of the treasure and go South, or North.

Said Sihcimteh angrily, It was always you I wanted, no more, and I will not let you go for any king, be it of the East or the West, or any kingdom, we shall die together if we cannot live together, I will not be separated. And then he started to sway, You po isoned my drink, you little devil rat, come here.

She hesitated, next, tried to flea, but he grabbed her by the hair, You drink the rest, he demanded, and she threw it to the ground. No, he said, you will not escape me, I love you and we will die together, and he cut her throat, and she said, Yes, yeswe will die together. And they did.

Afterward

Florencias Heart

Who is to know anothers heart? Many think they do, only to find out they were mistaken. In the account at hand, perhaps the queen didnt know men, nor the king women; once the old, had warn off, the King would grow on herso he thought, and perhaps he was right, he did grown on her; on the other hand, perchance, he forgot her spiritsweet looking, with a bitter heart that never had a chance to heal with his disposition; it couldnt had been any other way, she was given a dreadful scar, and it never left, nor had it (I repeat) a chance to mend; he had forgotten all her despair, and abortive ende avor to nurse back to health the wounds between them, but he had mistaken them for challenges.

No, no indeed, he didnt know her dark side, and by and large, he could no longer hurt her. It was as she once said, When it is hot, the king never gives shade. She said it in a hushed tone, to her maid, said it as if her life had become pointless; and through the sheer prevarication of events (state of affairs) she could not live the dream within herself, dreadfully disappointed; furthermore, he had forgot about a womans needs (or perhaps never knew them), to touch the heart, fill her dreams, and know her depth and limits; yet he gave only new sorrow on top of old sorrow; nor did he see her vessel sinking.

If she could have, she would have said something good to leave matters as they were, she wished to, something that would release her mind: something that said: I see a spark of hope in him. But she didnt see this, what she saw was a snake, and there wasnt any medi cine for his bite, which is what she saw, thus, her mind became lost in the placid death of evening; an evening of planning, that would undo the harm he could cause in future time. She had come to the conclusion, she was not going to change humanity, but she could unburden her soul.

Florencias face was still beautiful after several years, yet you could see a rough and heavy appearance being molded here and there on that face, a light color to it, too light, for a healthy countenance; perhaps from years of troubling sadness. She had thought at one time (possible from a passionate desire, I would guess) to cling to something concrete; in a world of dark shadows, it seemed meaningful, but she was learning all men live under a self interested umbrella of sorts, it was their nature to war, as it was for a woman to love, and care take, or want to; in both cases, most always, anyways; hence, she had not found one that had not. And yes, at this point and time, she was bone dr y, her marrow sucked out of its foundations, its roots severed.

We all wonder how our death will be, but Florencia had hers figured out, or at least she thought so, most details were looked at, each corner reviewed, and as we now know, she was not indecisive when it approached her.

11/16-18/2006 [Written in Lima, Peru at the Caf, and home.

Index of Characters and *Places:

Princess Florencia of Drabmol (Queen of Remora) Also know as: Florencia of Drabmol (The North Kingdom)
Prince Niobla of Remora (the West Kingdom)
King Nitsuj, of the Eastern Kingdom
King Dnusirut, of Drabmol (Northern Kingdom, grandfather to Princess Florencia)
Prince Dnumiunc, of Drabmol (his brother slain by Prince Niobla of Remora)
Prince (became king) Niobla of Remora (Western Kingdom)
*St. Sebastian Church 1539 AD/San Jeronimo, Peru (Mantaro Valley)
Maid: Adlitolca
Boyfriend: Suedereo
Special Guard to the King: Sihcimteh

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetic Dialogue
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The Root and the Stem (a poem) Now in Spanish and English

I don’t know if dogs love God, they don’t hate Him, I do believe; perhaps dogs have better sense than their masters—they don’t stare into the woods like so many humans do, trying to figure out the secret of existence. They simply live life, and for the most part, let live. Maybe us humans have too much, too deep an imagination. We want it all—the root and the stem (do we not)? And once we have it, it is still not enough.

There is magic in evolution, there needs to be, it is simple a final cry into a black hole for empty souls to shovel something into. Devoid of God, one must put something other than silence into it; something, anything, lest they acknowledge God, and that would not do.

Uninfluenced by light, and logic, something is better than nothing, thus, making it transcendent and recognizing it as something, makes it something, for some folks, everything. He know has the stem and the root, and a filled hole that was once emp ty—; the pathway has been raked and cleared of all stones, what more can one ask for; indeed God is replaced with a prize, humble karma from the once pitied, who now rules the day. The dog, he watches all this; give him a mind to reason, he will give man good advise, perhaps suggest to bury righteousness, to shut up and stop playing the fool.

#1281 3/23/2006

Spanish Version Translated by Rosa Penaloza de Siluk

La Raz y el Tallo

No s si los perros aman a Dios, ellos no lo odian, creo; quizs los perros tengan mejor sentido que sus amos—ellos no escudrian en los bosques como tanta gente lo hace, tratando de encontrar el secreto de la existencia. Ellos simplemente viven la vida, y sobre todo, la dejan vivir. Tal vez nosotros los humanos tenemos demasiado, una imaginacin demasiada profunda. Lo queremos todo—la raz y el tallo (no?) Y una vez que lo tenemos, todava no es suficiente. Hay magia en la evolucin, tiene que haber, es simplem ente un grito final en un agujero negro por almas vacas para meterles algo dentro. Desprovisto de Dios, uno debe poner algo otro que el silencio dentro de ello; algo, cualquier cosa, no sea que ellos reconozcan a Dios, y esto no hara.

Imparcial por la luz, y lgica, algo es mejor que nada, as, hacindolo transcendente y reconociendo esto como algo, lo hace algo, para alguna gente, todo. l ahora tiene el tallo y la raz, y un agujero lleno que una vez estuvo vaco—; el sendero ha sido rastrillado y limpiado de todas piedras, que ms puede uno pedir; es ms Dios es substituido por un premio, el karma humilde del una vez compadecido, quien ahora gobierna el da. El perro, l todo lo mira; dle a l una mente para decidir, l le dar al hombre buen consejo, quizs le sugiera que entierre la rectitud, que se calle y deje de jugar al tonto.

# 1281 23/Marzo/2006 [escrito en Lima, Per

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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Friday, July 29, 2011

Nature Pictures and Haiku Poetry They go Together!

Everyone loves Nature pictures! They represent what is good and beautiful on this planet. And most everyone has heard of the poetry form know as Haiku. But what most of you may not know is that there is an art form called Haiga that combines Nature pictures with Haiku to create a completely new concept!

For example, take a look at this Haiku by the author:

Warm summer night --
A sea lion finds
An empty rock

Now I ask you, what could be more perfect than to combine a great Nature picture with this Haiku poem? Each art form by itself is wonderful. But combined, they produce a synergistic effect that creates an audio-visual experience.

Many of you have probably seen examples of Haiga. Greeting card producers have used this concept to advantage. Many small entrepreneurs who practice the art of Haiga also have created their own cards to sell.

Here's another Haiku example:

Calm spring sea --
The scent
Of approaching rain

Here we have a picture of the ocean. In Haiku we are asked to use our imaginations to visualize the scene the poet has thought up. But when we add Nature pictures to this, we have an entirely different experience. One in which we contemplate Nature's beauty while we read the words. In the above example, we read that rain may occur. We couldn't possibly know this by looking at a picture of a calm spring sea, but when we overlay this Haiku poem onto a Nature picture, we can certa inly see what may happen.

Nature pictures and Haiku. They've been around for a long time and have taken form in the art know as Haiga.

Edward Weiss is a poet, author, and publisher of Wisteria Press. He has been helping students learn how to write Haiku for many years and has just released his first book Seashore Haiku! Sign up for free daily Haiku and get beautiful Haiku poems in your inbox each morning! Visit http://www.wisteriapress.com for Haiku books, lessons, articles, and more!


Author:: Edward A. Weiss
Keywords:: Nature pictures,Haiku,Nature,Haiga,Nature photography,
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

If You Fear Then Click Here

Afraid of Bird Flu it is coming you know and could kill 100 worldwide? Are you worried about bank robbers like Bonnie and Clyde?

International Terrorists are coming to get your family and You? Are you afraid of lions escaping from the Zoo?

Fear the Comet that will soon hit the Earth? Are you afraid of the coming of Satan, it could well be the next birth.

Totally annihilation and Nuclear War coming soon. Are you afraid of the Tropical Hurricane Season staring early in mid-June?

Are you in totally in dismay of the Santa Clause virus worm, which might ruin your day? Homophobic and worried your kids will grow up to be Gay?

One traffic accident could end your life? Arent you afraid of the mailman sleeping with your soul mate and wife?

Are you concerned you could lose your job to morrow? What if they foreclose on your house and you are in a World of sorrow?

Are you concerned that when you die your soul will burn in hell? Do you have dreams of watching the stock market crash your investments went up and then fell?

Holiday Belly bulge making you fat? What if you grow up lose your mind, not know where you are at?

Does the nightly chaos bother you on the world news? Are you worried of being an alcoholic unable to stay off the booze?

I am here today to tell you my friend, the sun will rise tomorrow and this isnt the end.

Lance Winslow


Author:: Lance Winslow
Keywords:: Fear, click here
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Easter Resurrection Poem

Many cry and wonder why
And seek further insight
From big Daddy in the sky
Not knowing whats going on
Having nobody upon whom to hold on
When the church service is over
And all have come and gone.

Once the offering has been given
All hands shaken
Smiles exchanged
A remembrance of a few names
Dreams unfulfilled continue to turn within
Waiting incessantly for Christ within
The hope of glory to arise
To burst the bonds
Remove the guise
Fulfill His Word
And all surprise.
This futile life
How can it be
That Christ above
Would lower Himself
To die for me!
Amazing love
Beyond comprehension
That upon the cross
Christ knew painful suspension
Brutal torment
The lashing of whips and tongues
The departure of the Holy Spirit
After which He Himself was numb

Its in the silent moments
When defeat seems evident
That the seed of significance is sown
Th e power of the resurrection grown
The sufferings of Christ fully known
When you seemingly are left all alone
Many dont understand
And are quick to judge
I however care not
Knowing the Judge above
Moreover I judge myself strictly
Examine myself wholeheartedly
Desiring to walk circumspectly
To be godly and live selflessly.

Nevertheless lifes circumstances can be hard
And your faculties they temporarily retard
Making you sluggish as lard
Dulling your senses
Troubling your soul
Effecting all areas of your life
Troubling and taking their toll

Thanks be to God however
The Son did arise
With power, strength and fire in His eyes
Though many did not initially realize
And Him they publicly despised
Yet when He bounced back from defeat
Many hid in fear
Others wondered in amazement
The victimized applauded happily
Counting His resurrection
Their personal victory

It i s my urgent request
That you too personalize Christs triumph
Over death, hell and the grave
For you too He surely
Came to save
His death
Being your life
His breakthrough
Breaking chains for you today!
Liberating you in every way
No matter what you do or say
Christs victory personally appropriated
Can better your day
Illuminate your way
Reverse the curse
Remove the tendency to rehearse
Your personal pain and setbacks
Because in Christ
You too bounce back!
You too are blessed
And can boldly express
His more over your less
His loving-kindness
His mercies countless
His joys boundless
His grace groundless
His Spirit measureless
So before you digress or regress
Consider Gods profoundness
To turn Christs sorrow
Into your joy
His pain
Into your gain

His minus
Into your plus
So why therefore all the fuss?
Remove your eyes from yourself
And look up to heaven
Where your help comes from
Get a proper perspective
And from your troubles
No more shall you run
Now is the time
For life to become fun
And like Christ our example
You too shall mightily overcome!

So arise and take your love
And all you dream of
Disburse it among the nations
Build dreams
And break limitations
Cause countless multitudes abroad
To be touched and transformed
Because of Christs crucifixion
And glorious resurrection!

In this pain you go
In this power you know
For love is no vain show
Though you try to deny it
It continues to grow
Despite months of neglect
It does not whither
In the face of cruelty and criticism
It remains alive
Though kill it
Or rationalize it away
You try
And outwardly lie
It nags at you within
Not rationalized away
By your psychoanalysis or spin
Christ the hope of glory
Always wins!

By reasoning against love
You cannot win
So this determine
Take this boundless, immeasurable love
And spread it throughout the nations
With it overtake the world
Turn it upside down
Take it beyond the head
Down deep into the heart
Ignite a fire within
From which no soul can depart

Magnify and multiply
This raging inferno in your heart
And erect a monument of love
An eternal work of art
From which even the hardest of hearts
Cannot depart
Let all humanity know
The glorious creation itself does fully show
That though winter may come
It does also go
And is followed by spring
A time to flourish
A time to sing
For Christ surely has arose
And for you will do a new thing.

By Paul Davis

Paul Davis is author of Breakthrough for a Broken Heart a book telling us How to overcome disappointments and blossom into your dreams! He is a Minister, life coach (relati onal & professional), dating expert, popular worldwide keynote speaker, creative consultant, humor being, adventurer, explorer, mediator, liberator and dream-maker.

Paul's compassion for people & passion to travel has taken him to over 50 countries of the world where he has had a tremendous impact. Paul has also brought revival to many in war-torn, impoverished and tsunami stricken regions of the earth. His nonprofit organization Dream-Maker Ministries is building dreams and breaking limitations.

Paul's Breakthrough Seminars inspire, revive, awaken, impregnate with purpose, impart the fire of desire, catapult people into a new level of self-awareness, facilitate destiny discovery and dream fulfillment.

Paul can be contacted at: RevivingNations@yahoo.com - 407-967-7553 or 407-282-1745.

For additional info:
http://www.CreativeCommunications.TV
http://www.BreakthroughSeminars.org
http://www.DreamMakerMinistries.com


Author:: Paul Da vis
Keywords:: Paul Davis,prolific author, keynote public speaker, breakthrough seminars, life coach, Minister,Poet
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

I am an ARTIST! Seeking Out CREATIVITY Sometimes I'm Inspired By My Own Poetry

Ever since I was a little girl Art has been my world. I made mud pies, paper-dolls, and connected with any of my mother's friends who seemed creative. I remember a friend of hers who lived down the street from us who painted her bathroom black and wore crazy clothes. I LOVED her! I loved her yet stood afar from her because I was a little girl and she was this elusive figure that I hoped to become someday. She was not afraid of criticism she just did what came to her. Gads! I struggle every time I paint or sculpt or write an email. I struggle and then remind myself that it's only paper or it's only clay and that approval of what I do and how I do it is solely up to me.

Stop It!, I say, Forget about everything outside of your heArt

Sometimes that works!

I often pull ideas for Art projects from emotions expressed in my own poetry. I pick out phrases and try to convey the words done with graphite's into colors on canvas or mold a figure from a cool block of clay. I paint women mostly so sometimes a poem I have written is just an expression on her face.

I have posted the poem below before but I post it again to share my idea for my next Painting and my process of getting to that space. Right now I especially connect with these lines in the poem below:

Pointing in the direction of the sky
I expected beyond
But the treasure was in the trees
My eyes gathered them
standing beneath and within
I bend my bran ches

I love the idea of 'becoming' a tree. Pulling from Greek Mythology where everything seems logical and meaningful I accept that I actually can become a tree. I go through fashion magazines all of the time and tear out anything that feels dramatic, colorful, inspiring and file the pages in categories. These files often to get me triggered for my next work. The emotions stirred up by the colors, mood or even specific things, in this case a tree, spark me up and I am ready. I then pull photos of models I have taken and blend all of these elements together. Make sense? To me it does... and I guess that is the point I try to make within my own self. Ha! Just paint! Just sculpt! You have the ideas and all the elements ready. Just accept who you are and what your personal inner being is about and EXPRESS IT!

The full Poem:

Defined By So Few Words

Neon Blue continues on
I am neither sad nor happy
I guess i find myself relieved
wait ing for tears if i need them

I never realized her poems to be so short
so inconclusive
so undefined
she always seemed so magnificently tormented

Ahhh Zelda
where are you when i need you?

Pointing in the direction of the sky
I expected beyond
but the treasure was in the trees
My eyes gathered them
standing beneath and within
I bend my branches

Born with a melancholy
poets charm that pathway
Books and Paintings
sculptures of flight
rounded off with a drunken stupor

My fingers feel numb
I approach the station to arrive
I have been there and back
I am coated with the very same torment
said with few words
on the pages you sent to me

19 May 2006

------------------------------

About the Author:

Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
Hawaii, United States

Aloha! I am a figurative Artist and Illustrator. If you check out my website you will see that I am very prolific in oils. My Paintings are collected worldwide. I also do sculpture; images available upon request. I have illustrated for Hay House Inc., Neil Davidson, who was considered for the Pulitzer Prize in feature writing, and several other publications. I also enjoy story writing and poetry. All of the Paintings, stories and poems on my blogs and website are written by me.

Check out my website http://www.kathysArt.com or one of my blogs at: http://kathysArt.blogspot.com/

Aloha


Author:: Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
Keywords:: Artist,inner self,Creativity,Painting,oiil Painting,poetry and Art,Fantasy,Klimt,show to create,Art
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

The Journey

Moving Fast
Free as the wind
Travelling, Speed
Racing, along

Wheels turning
Breeze, on my face
No-one else here
Just me.

Sun, beating down
Catch me
If you can
I am moving too Fast

Up ahead
The Road, stretches
Long, straight
Yes. Im moving Fast

I am Free
Alone, happy
A care in the world?
Maybe

Slowing down
Now, Im stopping
Breathing, easy
My Journeys end


Biography

Gender: female
Astrological Sign: Gemini
Zodiac Year: Dog
Occupation: poet
Pets: One ginger cat
Location: Bristol : England : United Kingdom
I'm married to my husband Peter.

Always told by teachers I had too much imagination, but can we have too much

Question in my blog profile -

When your science teacher smashed a frozen rose with a hammer, did you warm the petals to bring them back to life?
Yes, I did!!!

My poetry

I have been writing poetry for many years and regularly have it published in print. My poetry is published by Forward Press and in many other publications. So I'm now putting all my poetry online. I publish my poetry on my Blog jo-hale-poetry at http://jo-hale-poetry.blogspot.com/ and on 8hop.com My poetry on 8hop.com. I also have information about my poetry at http://www.squidoo.com/jo-hale-poetry. I'm also publishing all my poetry with Ezine. There are over 50 to be published.


Author:: Joanne Hale
Keywords:: Journey, Speed, Movement, Travel, Fast, Pace, Free, Freedom, Road, Wheels
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Thursday, July 28, 2011

There Is A Koke Frog In My Freezer and a Lizard In my Tub!

There is a Koke in my freezer
and a lizard in my tub!
Yesterday the frog was living
and the Chameleon the color of deep rust.

Grown men go out and pursue them
the Koke night brigade is on.
Grown men pursue their manhood
with a flashlight on their head.

They all must be abolished
these frogs who croak all night.
Track them down, 'tis said
'til every last one of them is dead!

They say that where there is one
two more hide sneakily nearby.
It is like grown men have lost their senses
and have become backyard spies.

The Chameleon runs for cover
as my cat intrudes its space
A cats job is to pounce upon anything
invading this place.

None the less I rescued Mr. Chameleon
as he changed to lime green.
I told him never to come back
my tub was not his scene.

Don't take this rescue for granted
I still have freezer space
You could wind up w ithout a tail
next to the Koke's place.

I am not a relentless hunter
like other humans I know
I draw this line between us
and ask you now to go.

My husband is outside now
I hear him in the bushes.
He still maintains its a man job
as I let him carry out his wishes.

In the morning once again
I will find berries for my smoothie
and there beside the plastic bag
another Koke in a jar, gloomy

Count your blessing Mr. Chameleon
Eat bugs and mosquitos without delay
be glad you are not a Koke
as my husband would have to say.

About the Author:

Kathy Ostman-Magnusen Hawaii, United States

Aloha! I am a figurative artist and Illustrator. If you check out my website you will see that I am very prolific in oils. My paintings are collected worldwide. I also do sculpture; images available upon request. I have illustrated for Hay House Inc. , Neil Davidson, who was considered for the Pulitzer Prize in feature writing, and several other publications. I also enjoy story writing and Poetry. All of the paintings,stories and poems on my blogs and website are written by me.

Check out my website http://www.kathysart.com or one of my blogs at: http://kathysart.blogspot.com/

Aloha


Author:: Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
Keywords:: koke frog
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Poetry Books A Growing Demand

Where were you when American poetess Sylvia Plath gassed herself in her London kitchen at the age of 30 during the harsh winter of 1963? Not perhaps the stuff our memories are made of, but all that could change. There is a distinct revival worldwide of interest in Poetry and Poets. This is expressed in the increased purchase of Poetry Books anthologies and works by individual Poets in the new and secondhand book markets. There are a number of reasons for this:

The internet allows the discussion and publication of Poetry in a way previously impossible considering the uneconomic nature of the physical publishing Poetry and publishing critiques, both amateur and academic. The brash and materialistic eighties preceded the fantastic and terrified nineties. Now here we are here in the middle of the first decade of the 21st century, more sober and reflective, wondering where the world is going.

Out of this a generation is emerging a present-day version of the 60s and 70s dreamers and idealists. They want more than self-help Books, more than herbal remedies and fatuous fantasies. There is a return to serious intellectual examination and spiritual actualization.

And by serious I dont mean lacking in humor. Im talking about intellectual acuity (take the works of travel poet Bill Bryson for instance) compared to idiotic ramblings (say the Books of creative conspiracy theorist David Icke). Bryson is funny and perceptive while Icke is obtuse and laughable. Theres a big difference. We are moving away from weak thoughts to profundity.

Can there be any explanation other than this when a 17-year-old youth enters our Bookshop asking for The Complete Works of Byron, or when a blonde girl no older than 15 says she is searching for the Poems of Shelley?

In a decade of book-selling this has never happened before. Suddenly we are buying Poetry Books again to meet demand, and retrieving the slim Poetry Books we relegated to boxes in the basement, to create a special Poetry section.

This makes sense of the revival of interest in the sixties ballad-Poets: Leonard Cohen and Joan Baez. Once again Bob Dylan is speaking to the contemporary generation. T.S. Eliot and Ted Hughes are being discussed again. The demand for the work of Lebanese poet Kahlil Gibran can barely be met. Dylan Thomas is revisited. There is renewed interest in the war Poets and so-called world Poetry: the Senegalese, Thai, French and Swedish Poets. And why not? It is possible because the Books are available and affordable, thanks to the international online book-buying market and the renewed interest in poetic thought.

Can a rediscovery of Shakespeares sonnets and Miltons Paradise Lost be far off? Horde any old Poetry Books and Poetry anthologies you still have. You could catch your children reading them one day in a way you never did.

Call it poetic justice.

About the author: Justine Eaglestone is a journalist brick-and-mortar Bookstore owner, online bookdealer and Booksite specialist. See her blog at http://search-book-sites.blogspot.com/ and website ht tp://www.abillionBooks.com/.


Author:: Justine Eaglestone
Keywords:: Poetry, Poems,Poetry Books,Books,Poets
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War Poems and Epigrams In Spanish and English

War Poems on Iraqi [And Three Epigrams

Section three

24.

1) The Color of War I

[Iraqi: war poem

I saw the other day
A little boy coloring away
(With crayons) in a sketch book;
With every colored pencil
Under the rainbow
And then some

And when I took a second look
I thought of the Iraqi war
(American and Allied soldiers)
And all the colors it stood for:

Red was for the blood theyve shed;
Gray, for depression of their families

Far away
Blue was for sad skies;
Black and white, for death and life;
Green, for the spoils weve not seen;
Brown, for the dry and dusty nights

All the soldiers had to fighton

Foreign ground.

I pleaded, for the boy to stop,
Surprised, he looked up at me
With his deep blue eyes, haunting

Me, he said, with a tear on his cheek:
I wanted to color the soldiers feet!
I looked and there it read: Peace
Already col ored-in, with gray:
Said the boy still looking at me:
Thats the way it came.

#1371 6/16/06

Here is an unusual war poem Dennis has written today, on the Iraqi war. He said after following it for four years, it is getting old; yet it sells papers doesnt it? He was for the war when it was a war, so he told me, but now it is not, it is more a police action, he explains to me, and feels perhaps we have overstayed our welcome. And what are the motivating factors now? he asks. He adds, When we get into questioning the motives, after a war, when they are not clear, it is perhaps time to leave Dennis being a Vietnam Veteran knows a little bit about how it all works; and here in this poem, he paints his picture of war, the Iraqi war, and how he sees the colors of war through color crayons of a little boy. Rosa Penaloza

Commentary on War: Im fifty-eight years old, and I cant remember a time when the United States was not at war, preparing for another wa r, or just getting over a war (not to include WWI and WWII); thus, weve had a busy half-century. I was but three years old when the Korean War broke out, in l950, and in 1953, when it was tranquilized. Then again in 1964, my friends went to Vietnam, and I in 1971, that war ended in 1975, an eleven year war. I thought wed have peace but we got a few more wars in-between (we always do); such as, in the 80s Haiti involvement, Granada, and some secret Central American things; nothing real big. And then we got Bosnia in the 90s, and a few other little East Europe wars to attend to (mixed with these wars we had Granada and a few African uprisings); always helping out Europe with their little squats, which they feel are important, and when it comes to American made squats, of course they are less important to them. Also in the 90s we got Iraqi I, and in the now 21st Century, weve had to contend with Afghanistan and Iraqi II. We are a country full of warlords to be sure. What w ill be next, between 2007 and 2016, as I had predicted in 1984, we will be in line with the onset of WWIII. We have been fighting it since l950, with Korea, now it is set in motion: the war on terror is part of it of course. When I say set in motion, I mean, things are going to fly. We already got Iran and Korea on the hot list; Syria is bordering it; and we are going to have to contend with the Arabs sneaking through South America to North America and lighting up a path once they got on solid ground. Russia and China are becoming economies with highbrow ideas; we may have ruled the 90s, but I fear, things will change, as often they do. Dlsiluk

Spanish Version

El Color de la Guerra

[Iraqu: poema de guerra

V el otro da
A un nio coloreando lejos
(Con crayones) en un libro de dibujo;
Con cada lpiz de color
Bajo el arco iris
Y luego unos

Y cuando mir de nuevo
Pens en la guerra iraqu
(Soldados americanos y aliados) Y todos los colores que esto signific:

Rojo era por la sangre que ellos vertieron;
Gris, por la depresin de sus familias
A lo lejos
Azul era por el cielo triste;
Blanco y negro, por muerte y vida;
Verde, por el despojo no hemos visto;
Marrn, por las oscuras y polvorientas noches
Todos los soldados tuvieron que lucharsobre
Tierra extranjera.

Supliqu, para que el muchacho se detuviera,
Sorprendido, l me mir alzando su vista
Con sus profundos ojos azules, atormentndome,
l dijo, con una lgrima sobre su mejilla:
Quise colorear los pies del soldado!
Mir y all ste deca: Paz
Ya coloreado en ste, con color gris:
Dijo el muchacho todava mirndome:
Esta es la forma en que vino.

# 1371 16/Junio/2006

Aqu est un poema inslito sobre guerra que Dennis ha escrito hoy, sobre la guerra iraqu. l dijo despus de haberla seguido durante cuatro aos, ...se esta volviendo vieja; pero an est en los peridicos, no? l estuvo de acuerdo con la guerra cuando era una guerra, eso l me dijo; pero ahora no lo es, esta es ms una accin policial, l me explica, y siente quizs que hemos abusado de nuestra bienvenida. Y cuales son los factores de motivacin ahora? l pregunta. l aade, Cuando entramos a preguntarnos los motivos, despus de una guerra, cuando estos no son claros, ste es quizs tiempo para marcharse Dennis siendo un Veterano de Vietnam conoce un poquito sobre cmo esto funciona; y aqu en este poema, l pinta su cuadro de guerra, la guerra iraqu, y cmo l ve los colores de guerra a traves de los lpices de colores de un nio. Rosa Pealoza.

Comentario sobre la Guerra: Tengo cincuentiocho aos, y no puedo recordar un tiempo cuando los Estados Unidos no estaban en guerra, preparndose para otra guerra, o justo saliendo de una guerra (sin incluir la Primera y Segunda Guerra Mundial); as, hemos tenido un medio siglo ocupado. Tena tan slo tres aos cuando la Guerra coreana estall en 1950, y en 1953 cuando fue tranquilizada. Entonces otra vez en 1964, mis amigos fueron a Vietnam, y yo en 1971, aquella guerra termin en 1975, una guerra de once aos. Pens que tendramos paz pero tuvimos ms guerras en el intermedio (siempre lo hacemos); como las de, en la participacin de Hait en los aos 80, Granada, y algunas cosas secretas centroamericanas; nada verdadero grande. Y luego tuvimos Bosnia en los aos 90, y otras pequeas guerras que asistir en el Este de Europa (mezcladas con estas guerras tuvimos Granada y algunos levantamientos africanos); siempre ayudando a Europa en sus pequeas ocupaciones, que ellos sienten son importante, y pasa que cuando America hace ocupaciones, desde luego estos son menos importantes para ellos. Tambin en los aos 90 tuvimos la Guerra Iraqu I, y en el ahora siglo XXI, hemos tenido que competir con Afganistn y la Guerra Iraqu II. Somos un pas lleno de jefes militares para estar seguros. Qu ser el siguiente periodo, entre 2007 y 2016, co mo lo haba predicho en 1984, estaremos en fila con el comienzo de WWIII. Hemos estado luchndolo desde 1950, con Corea, ahora esta puesto en movimiento: la guerra de terror es parte de ello desde luego. Cuando digo puesto en movimiento, quiero decir, las cosas van a volar. Ya conseguimos Irn y Corea en la lista caliente; Siria colinda con ste; y vamos a tener que competir con los rabes que se mueven a Norteamrica a traves de Sudamrica y encendiendo un camino una vez que ellos se pongan en terreno firme. Rusia y China se estan volviendo economas con ideas intelectuales; podemos haber gobernado los aos 90, pero me temo, que las cosas cambiarn, como a menudo lo hacen. Dlsiluk

25.

2) After the Dawn of War II

[Iraqi 2006

I looked over the shoulder of the world

Through its crawling fog
And heard the cold cries

Seen the stir in the eyes
Heard the trumpets of war

Breaking the silence of dawn

(Heard somebody say):
Soldiers w ill die today

For Iraqi Liberty
That thou endure.

#1371 6/16/2006

Spanish Version

Despus del Alba de Guerra
[Iraqu 2006

Mir sobre el hombro del mundo
A traves de su niebla que avanza lentamente
Y o los gritos del fro
V el movimiento en los ojos
O las trompetas de guerra
Rompiendo el silencio del alba
(O alguien que dice):
Los soldados morirn hoy
Por la Libertad Iraqu
Que t soportas.

# 1371 16/Junio/2006

26.

3) War Flag III

(Post Iraqi)

Lone are the days and short

Before the next cruel war
What spirit then shall fill a sweet despair?
To wave the flag of warand say:

Im ready and here!

#1372 6/16/2006

Spanish Version

Bandera de Guerra

(Puesto Iraqu)

Solitario son los das y cortos
Antes de la siguiente guerra cruel
Qu espritu entonces llenar una desesperacin dulce?
Para agitar la bandera de guerra...y decir:

Aqu estoy y Listo!

# 1372 16/Junio/2006

War Epigrams

Someone said on TV, America Loves war, I say, America loves peace, and to have peace, you better be ready to fight a war. #1401

In the real world, every terrorist group, every and dictator knows, should you show your weak spot (like in boxing or Karate), expect a blow right therea knockout punch or kick. If you have no weak spots, you best guard everything, because theyll be trying to make one. #1402

The loser in war can never complain he got a raw deal, lest he want his head cut off; so you best win. #1403

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry and Commentary
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Ceasar Vallejo: Black Roses In English and Spanish

Cesar Vallejo: Black Roses

Bow down your head ol poet To face Gods grace ahead There are no more trenches

To dig today In the forest of your head,

So: Bow down, bow down,

Ol barbaric poet! Death rides the horse ahead I hear the crackling of a whip See the crazed eyes of death.

He summons you to his den The devil and his wind,

So: Bow down, bow down Your blood stained brows He will take you to the edge.

Closer, closer, I see you now Eh! a moving satanic cloud I see a festival of black-roses, I hear clamor in the crowd.

Bow down, bow down, Ol poet I hear your applause!

#666 [5/15/2005

Versin en Espaol Translated by Nancy Penaloza Edited by Rosa Penaloza

Csar Vallejo: Rosas Negras

Inclina tu cabeza viejo poeta Para encarar la gracia de Dios adelante No hay ms trincheras Para cavar hoy En el bosque de tu cabeza,

Entonces:

Inclnate, inclnate Viejo poeta barbrico! La muerte monta el caballo adelante Oigo el crujido de un azote Veo los ojos enloquecidos de la muerte.

El te emplaza a su guarida El demonio y su viento,

Entonces:

Inclina, inclina Tu frente manchada de sangre El te tomar al borde.

Ms cerca, ms cerca, te veo ahora Ah! Como una nube mvil satnica Veo un festival de rosas negras, Oigo el clamor de la muchedumbre.

Inclnate, inclnate viejo poeta Oigo tus aplausos!

#666 (15 de mayo del 2005)

Dennis Siluk's poetry is known worldwide, and has been in many newspapers; his first book, The Other Door, now a rare book to find, of which only 750-copies were made, is a treasure for many seeking one if they can find one. His new book coming out in October will be Peruvian Poems [in Spanish and English look for it...see his site at http://dennissiluk.tripod [this Poem wil be in the book


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poem
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Enquiries

Can I help you? I say
Because its part of my Job
Seated in front of me
He opens his gob
What does this mean?
He looks at me and asks
What I feel like saying is;
That youre a pain in the ass!
But I dont I just smile
And say, May I look?
I glance at his letter
Id have rather read a book
Ill just get your papers
I get up to go
Things that we do
To earn us some dough!
Whilst retaining my seat
I look at his file
Where do I begin?
I start with a smile
Well, its like this
Is how I begin
Why is his face
Covered in that big grin?
Is he sucking a lemon?
Or maybe a lime
He says, I understand;
Im just wasting your time!


I have been writing poetry for many years and regularly have it published in print. My poetry is published by Forward Press and in many other publications. So I'm now putting my poetry online. I publish my poetry on my Blog jo-hale-poetry at http://jo-hale-poetry.blogspot.com/ and on 8hop.com My poetry on 8hop.com. I also have information about my poetry at http://www.squidoo.com/jo-hale-poetry. I'm married to my husband Peter.


Author:: Joanne Hale
Keywords:: Job, Work, Routine, daily life, Boredom, Monotony, Bored, Service, Working, Dreary, Grey, Drudgery
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Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Wiping The Smirk Off Your Face

Do you walk through life blind
Pretending that you're kind?

Do you ever look around
To see whos falling to the ground?
To you ever stop and wonder
If someone is running from the thunder?

Would you pass right by, stare at the sky
As I crumbled to the ground, would you not hear the sound?

Is your world a little box
Are you the only one in the mirror?
Are your eyes empty
Vision blurred and not to get clearer?

Greed, lies, denialThats what fills your soul
Warmth, love, caringdoesnt exist in your world

Do you ever think to reach out a hand
As someones sinking in the sand?
Do you turn away and sigh
Ignoring someones desperate cry?

Are your afraid, that if you touch someones life
You will be tainted, by their burdens and their strife?

Would you sun upon the beach
As I got swallowed by a wave?
A slight grin upon your face
That you will take with you to your grave

But jus t remember this,
All may not be as you believe
What if you are judged on your emptiness and greed?
What if HE wipes that smirk right off your face
And what you feared the most, then becomes your fate?

Written by Alisa Chagnon, webmaster and sole writer of http://www.lovebulletin.com, http://www.petpom.com and http://www.fantasydragonden.com


Author:: Alisa Chagnon
Keywords:: what if, do you ever
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Three Poems from the Story: "Kush"

Berenikes Majesty

The loveliness that crowned her youth,
Swept the grounds with all its roots;
With gentle years and womanhood
With lazy-days and laughs of grace;
Now passes by her majesty.

Her breasts triumphant for a life of flesh
Defiant in her pose, Love was captured,
And love was lost, but proudly her child
Did growHer childs her victory, Her
New tranquil majesty.

#1055 1/3/06 Chapter #15,
of: The Sylphlike of Alexandra

Sinful Games

Stubborn, are our sins
Faint, is our memory
Of them!...
Like a vapor, that
Surrounds our will;
Tears do not cleanse
Our sins,
Only covers them.

We sink through shadows
Nibbling, here and there;
Sly we think we are
With our hidden desires.
We squeeze the juices
Out of our brains
To play lifes sinful games.

#1056 1/3/06 Part of Chapter #16, of: The Sylphlike of Alexandra 278 BC

Coldhearted Swan

I wil l not cry, the child-bride scorned
Silent as stone, to marry a man
so very, very old.
Im so-beautiful, she cried, eyes
Wide, her heart in protest:
Father must I marry, in a haunted
pose, she arouse.
Lifes near fair in eternal splendor;
But not so, in the real world.
And like a swan, she covered
Her wings, and become his trophy
his cold-hearted thing.

#0157 1/4/06: from the story Kush, Land of he Bow, Part Two to The Sylphlike of Alexandra 525 BC, Chapter #5

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com see http://www.alibris.com for Dennis' books


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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Four Poems: Two for the Devil Two for Peru

Here is some witty Poetry (not sure if that is the proper word: witty, but it will do): one poem on the Aztec year 2012, a year that has been in the public's eye quite a lot; one on cloning, and the biblical end time events--which, if I may add seems ripe for the monster events that are said to take place; and two poems dealing with some tradtions of Peru; one imparticular, on vacationing, where not to go; all the makings for some thought.

Aztec Baby

On December 25, 2012 AD
The Devil had an idea
Hed clone himself
In the form of a baby;
Called the Antichrist.

#716 6/7/05

Scorpion Fetus

And from the fetus
Came beast from man
And from the Abyss
Came the raving demon

Man locked into
Animalsthat could
Think, think like man
With tails like scorpions

That would paralyze, sting;
All from, replicating
Experimentations
Horrid, ramifications.

And thus, they came
They came to feast,
These Scorpion beasts
And brought humanity

Down, down, to its knees!...
These cloned hybrids,
Raving demonic beasts
Half human half dead.

#716 6/7/05

Atahualpas Game

Sometimes, its not wise
To share your wisdom
---as did, Atahualpa
(The Inca King) in the
Game of chess; thereafter,
He was condemned to death.

6/6/05 #713

Ica, Witches

Do not go to Ica, dear friend
There you may find witches
In toast and bread

Perhaps lose your head,
Perhaps find them in bed
Perhaps, find yourself dead.

6/6/05 #714 [Ica, is in Northern Peru

Poet/Author Dennis Siluk see http://www.amazon.com for his most recent books


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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Autumn Poems

Autumn is the Season that signals change for launching a gentler Life, and it is the time for Harvesting the fruits sown earlier in the year. The variety of Colors that are bound to fade and wither and the Cooling weather have always inspired poets.

Here are five Poems on Autumn by Joy Cagil:

Autumn (A haiku chain)

floating from the sky
scarlet leaves of bitterness
soon the Harvest moon

some shrill geese in flight
the brook sluggish like the sap
gold turns sepia

horse chestnuts rolling
over vermilion piles
on the rusty lawn

with final farewells
a lonely heart breaking in
the bare arms of oaks

Ballad of the Wind

Among Autumn leaves
rustling in thick frenzy,
the Wind sees the Apple
and rises
with a celestial song.

Rosy lush lips touching fingertips
on emerald green the chosen Palette
come gently sway, to mark the moment,
with luxury of weightlessness.

Shiny, untouched,
a pigment of impetuous joy,
awakening red, delicious,
floating to the Winds tune,
welcoming,
the conceit of choice.

Rosy lush lips touching fingertips

on emerald green the chosen Palette
you gently fell, to mark the moment;
did you think the Wind would catch you?

The color of Dreams fading away,
when grass kneels to cushion the Fall
to miss the Harvest in a rotten mush,
but upon reflection, its worth it all.

More vital than Life is
the vanity of a kiss,
if beauty is madness
when the Wind blows.

Autumn Rain

The Autumn Rain
spread nail polish
over the city
to glitter on
the sidewalks,
asking the flat world
to come alive
and shape up without
stocks and bonds.

But the traffic was hectic
and the people were stacked dominoes.

In frizzled kiosks,
tabloids turned
to paper boats
and went a-sailin g
in the gutters,
avoiding haphazard
feet in boots.

Because the traffic was hectic
and the people were stacked dominoes.

Then Rain imposed authority
over the umbrellas
with the pitter patter feet of
poetrys thrust
for a little change in
focus
to create a change in
result.

Still the traffic was hectic
and the people were stacked dominoes.

On CrabApple Beach

Before CrabApple Beach rolls over
in its sleep to Dream
of summer people
wholl desert it again,
I scoop up the sand inside the arches
of my feet and wander
under the rising moon,
unafraid of the Beach bums,
the Cool water,
or anything else except
drowning
in the Ocean between
me and the world.

Accordingly, I peek< BR> for clues of Life inside
well-lighted Beach-house Windows:
soup steaming on a stove,
white flowers in a coffee mug,
two Lovers in an embrace,
slender volumes of verse
on a Windowsill,
promising an eternity of simple joys
to souls with private pains.

And I recall a delicate moment
when, on a late Autumn night,
on CrabApple Beach,
a little girl penned her first line of poetry,
her first newscast to the world,
with a sigh, as if saying, I do,
to a Lifelong marriage
of clumsily scribbled words from her spirit,
and she felt the earth move
under her feet,
before overnight-gusts barreled through,
inserting icicles inside the sand.

Mute Autumn

They met in a Dream
where fireflies flicked in quick farewells
and farmers gathered lush Harvests
under a fragile sun.

While rusting leaves wavered between color and reflection,
whispering rumors as they fell ,
she warmed her hands by her hearts fire,
watching him walk up the plank over the pond.
He, a migrating bird; she, a deep-rooted willow,
speechless, deliberating the fusion
of two separate species
in a unique world.

In straw-filled terraces,
never enough nerve to talk,
Delicious, Gala, Rome, Winesap,
Cortland, Jonathan, a WindFall crop,
she held up the Apples one by one
and crushed them into glistening cider,
trying to charm him with her potion.

In that Season of colorful shadows,
so adeptly developed was the illusions art,
the emotion so strong, it intimidated the psyche.
Maybe, she froze like the darkened pond,
too full of mystery;
maybe, he didnt hear her silence.
But then, it was just a Dream,
a Dream that didn't make allowances
for sleeping.

Joy Cagil is an author on http://www.Writing.Com/ which is a site for Poetry. Her portfolio can be found at http: //www.Writing.Com/authors/joycag


Author:: Joy Cagil
Keywords:: Autumn,Fall,Season,Harvest,Cool,Poem,Life,Love,Colors,Palette,Leaf,Wind,Apple,Rain,Beach,Dream,Ocean
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