Thursday, May 31, 2012

Wondering

How I wonder what he's doing as I sit alone at night. How I wonder who he's seeing How I wonder if I'm right. How I wonder if he's ever thought of coming home again, and I wonder if he doesn't can my heart mend yet again.

Lord, I know that You have told me one for love - that one for life, but that one he doesn't want me doesn't care about his wife, and You know how that part hurts me how it cuts me like a knife how I long to just be with him with the one who has my life.

Lord, I want to stop this crying, Lord, I want to stop the pain, Lord I want to stop the sighing, Lord, I want to love again.

But the pain goes on forever, stopping only for a while and I try my best to hide it, behind a friendly smile. But You and I know better how the tears still fall like rain, only You and I know how much my heart breaks from all the pain. Only You know how much torture my body and my soul can stand, and You've promised for all trials that I can take Your hand.

And I'm reaching out now Jesus because I sure do need a friend, and I'm tired of all the Heartache and I pray that it will end.

But I know You hold the future and my life is in Your hands and I'll try my best to follow all the things Your Word commands. And I know that I will falter and I know You'll pick me up as I do my best to follow and to drink life from Your cup

Copyright Fran Watson

Fran Watson Expert Author http://www.franwatson.ca http://www.mormunny4u.org http://www.diet-basics.org


Author:: Fran Watson
Keywords:: Heartache, Separation, Relationships, single mom, Divorce, Growth, Religion
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What's A Prisoner to Do?

What's a prisoner to do when justice fails
and the innocent is escorted off to jail?

What's a prisoner to do once stigmatized,
caged and abandoned and ostracized?

What's a prisoner to do theres no one to trust;
the system fails and the outcome unjust?

Whats a prisoner to do when family decide
the punishment is warranted and justified?

What's a prisoner to do while confined in a cell;
the perpetrator's free and faring quite well?

What's a prisoner to do once his reputation is dead
and his life has been ruined because of what someone said?

What's a prisoner to do when he's not believed,
though he's telling the truth, he's thought to deceive?

What's a prisoner to do as he sits all alone,
no one seems to care; former friends all gone?

What's a prisoner to do sitting lost and idle
and most of one's thoughts become suicidal?

What's a prisoner to do when freedom's taken away
and the wil l to live diminishes each day?

What's a prisoner to do when hedged in by strife;
with no escape possible; no chance for a new life?

What's a prisoner to do when he can no longer see
the beauty of the sky or the waves of the sea?

What's a prisoner to do when the sun he can't feel,
nor the breeze of spring because his fate is sealed?

What's a prisoner to do when doomed to despair
but still praying to escape the electric chair?

Tell me, whats a prisoner to do?

Rev. Saundra L. Washington, D.D., is an ordained clergywoman, veteran social worker, and Founder of AMEN Ministries. She is also the author of two coffee table books: Room Beneath the Snow: Poems that Preach and Negative Disturbances: Homilies that Teach which can be reviewed on her site. Her new book, Out of Deep Waters: My Grief Management Workbook, is expected to be available in July.

You are welcome to visit AMEN Ministries: Your Souls service Station for spiri tual refreshing, soul edification or to browse our newly expanded mini shopping mall. http://www.clergyservices4u.org.

Blessings to all!


Author:: Saundra L. Washington
Keywords:: article submission, Articles, Writers, Writing, Publishing, Ezine, Email marketing, Email newsletter, Email
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Early Breakfast in Huancayo (In English and Spanish)

Early Breakfast in Huancayo

Friend, today I sat at
a little caf,
adobe walls
outside my casa
where one makes chatter
loose conversations (gossip)
with the many outside
guests.

Early breakfast
in Huancayo
can be heavy
a feast
with a simple bowl of
soup
(chicken or lamb
noodles, noodles
and yellow potatoes))
and yellow grease
floating
on the surface
for flavor and taste!))

The weather was pleasant
this afternoon in
Huancayo, Peru!...

This evening it rains lightly,
and the car wont start
(stuck in the middle of downtown);
as a horde of families
pass me by
seeing me sullen through
the car window

It looks to me, in
this busy Andean city:
everyone, everywhere
(walking by)
are in their own little world.

Where I ask myself,
are they all going?
the rain and car lights
are blinking and blinding; if
you miss people:
HERE THEY ARE!

I get the car started
I pop the clutch, after a group
of people give me a push
and head on home,
to watch a movie at Mini`s

I feel all right now.
A relief resides in me
The busy day, the creaks
in my body, will soon die,
fade away, and Tuesday, yes
Tuesday will soon be.

Note: 8/7/2006; 1416 Dedicated to Mini, translated by Ximena Herrera; edited by Rosa Pealoza de Siluk

Temprano Desayuno en Huancayo

Amigo, hoy me sent en un pequeo caf, paredes de adobe afuera de mi casa donde uno hace charla conversaciones sueltas (chisme) con los muchos invitados de afuera

Desayuno temprano en Huancayo puede ser pesado un banquete con un simple tazn de sopa (pollo o cordero fideos, fideos y papas amarillas)) y grasa amarilla que flota sobre la superficie por sabor y gusto!))

El clima fue agradable esta tarde en Huancayo, Per!...

Esta tarde llueve ligeramente, y e l carro no arranca (atorado en el centro de la ciudad); mientras una multitud de familias pasan vindome malhumorado por la ventana del carro

Me parece, en esta ocupada ciudad andina: todos, por todas partes (paseando por all) estn en su propio pequeo mundo

Dnde me pregunto, estn todos ellos yendo? la lluvia y las luces de los carros estn parpadeando y cegando; si extraas a la gente: AQU ELLOS ESTAN!

Consigo que el carro arranque Presiono el embrague, despus que un grupo de gente me da un empujn y me dirijo a la casa, a mirar una pelcula en casa de Mini

Me siento muy bien ahora. Un alivio reside en m el da ocupado, los crujidos en mi cuerpo, pronto morirn, se desvanecern, y el martes, s martes pronto ser.

Note: 7/Agosto/2006; # 1416 Dedicado a Mini, traducido por Ximena Herrera; corregido por Rosa Pealoza de Siluk

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


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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Narrative Poetry

I adore writing poetry. Ill arm myself, with pen and paper at the ready, and accept any challenge of conquering a new poetry form.

Last year was the first time I questioned whether or not I could meet the challenge and bury it on the battlefield. Sure, Im a perfectionist, but what could make a person whos played with poetry for almost thirty-five years hesitate before charging? It was the narrative form.

Im not talking about the ballad or epic - which are types of narrative poetry - or other rhyming narratives. Im referring to the more modern, freer, narrative poetry. It was different than anything Id ever done before. To me, it seemed more like a story than a poem. I even remember wondering how they could get away with calling it poetry.

EXAMPLES TO READ: (both easy to find on Google if you aren't familiar with them)

Those Winter Sundays by Robert Hayden
The Wood-pile by Robert Frost

I write stories and poetry, but when I write a poem Im in poetry mode, and I felt stuck in neutral. How could the Poet-in-Me mix the two?

Stephen Minot said, in Three Genres The Writing of Poetry, Fiction, and Drama, Narrative is as natural a structure for poetry as it is for prose.

Poet-in-Me then rationalizes that Story-Writer-in-Me borrows stuff from the Poets Toolbox to write more effective stories, so why not knock on her door and borrow a couple of things?

Narrative Poetry Basics in Brief

BRIEF HISTORY

Narrative Poetry is poetry that tells a tale and can be traced back to Homer's Iliad and possibly beyond.

MUST HAVES

*Tell a story.

*Pay particular attention to rhythm and sound.

COULD HAVES or What's The Poet's Choice In All This?

*YOU choose the form or whether or not to even use a particular form (aka ballad, etc.)

*Imagery - depth of imagery up to the author but keep in mind that a primary part of poetry is imagery, and you are writing a poem that tells a story, not a short story.

*Rhyme - use it or not - internal, external or none.

Since Ive tried using narratives in my poetry, I feel as if Ive written some of the best work I ever have in my life. It has opened a door I never knew was locked and I crossed a threshold into a land I never knew existed.

Simply, It has helped me grow as a writer.

WRITING EXERCISE: If you are a writer that really considers yourself more of a poet, try out narrative poetry as a way to build a bridge to story writing. If you consider yourself mainly a storywriter, use the narrative form to ease your way into poetry.

2006 Holly Bliss. All Rights Reserved. This document may be freely redistributed in its unedited form and on the condition that all copyright references are kept intact along with the hyperlinked URLs.

About the Author: Using her writing as paint on the canvas of her life, Holly Bliss is an eclectic writer, newsletter editor and an author on http: //www.Writing.Com/ which is a site for Poetry.


Author:: Holly Bliss
Keywords:: narrative poetry, narrative poem, writing narrative poetry, what is narrative poetry, Definition
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Treasures Within

Where your treasure is

There will you find your heart

Though you enjoy your possessions

Don't let them possess you

Do all you can do

To not let them take over you

Lest they change and overcome

Your true self

Making you selfish

Miserable within

As ugly as sin

Some people

Obviously regard themselves

To be very special and smart

Special they certainly are

Their smarts however are questionable

Because intellect is an arena

Which can be void of the heart

From heartless endeavors

I wish to depart

As you build your bank account

Monitor your portfolio

Carry on in the vain show

Secure your belongings

For posterity

Guarding and guiding many things

One thing you should prize the most

In it making your boast

It is none other than your spirit

Would to God you'd hear it

Care for the inner man

The hidden man within

The innermost treasure

For that is the sacred place

Where the Almighty speaks

Deals with you

Imparts truth

Manifests His love, nature and likeness

That is unless you prefer

Your own shallow pretence

People may disappoint

But God never lets you down

He always removes

The sad long frown

His love for you is great

Perhaps you've already ate

Beyond the belly however

You might find

You're still empty within

In a deeper place

Take time with God

To cultivate a relationship

And develop a friendship

Stand strong inwardly

When struggles cause others to slip

Continue building your inner treasure

Regardless of others

Don't you quit!

For as it was with Noah

Who built the ark

When the floods came

From it

He did not depart

Your ark, your spirit within

Is a work of the heart.

Paul Davis is a life coach (relational & professional), traveling minister and fitness trainer. Paul is the author of several books including Breakthrough for a Broken Heart; Stop Lusting; and God vs. Religion.

Paul is a popular worldwide keynote speaker, creative consultant, humor being, explorer, mediator, minister, 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.

Contact Paul to minister, speak at your event or for life coaching: Revivin gNations@yahoo.com 407-967-7553.

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


Author:: Paul Davis
Keywords:: treasures within,Riches,Wealth,Glory,Jesus,God,Holy Spirit,Success,Prosperity,Religion,Anointing,Fun
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Wednesday, May 30, 2012

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
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safe ty tips

Three Poems About RELATIONSHIPS: "Smiles" "I Noticed" and "They're Friends You Know"

Smiles

So many moons
You see them...
all cut out,
don't you?
Do wear the armor
it's paid for you know...
it's for you.
You have such a knack
at seeing wide spaces.
I envy that part of you.
Wide spaces
be careful...
you know.
I've had a glimmer
of such spaces
rest on my cheeks,
move past my forehead...
a tearful experience.
Hope for arrival...
now I only look past smiles.

I Noticed

I thought I was secure
but I tripped
and noticed you had fallen long ago
alone.
I realized that if I hadn't tripped
I would never have noticed.

A note about the following poem:

I knew a couple who had broken up. They loved each other once; spoke softly; heard music when there was none; passion was obviously surging between them. But then as time went by they no longer loved each other like before. It happens right? Hopefully people can remain Friends.

An acquain tance of mine was just thrilled to see this couples break-up. There are people like that ya know? But I let her know that this couple still remained Friends and wrote this poem about it.

They're Friends You Know

They're Friends you know...
entangled memories
extracting old memories
unleashed powers of camaraderie.
They're Friends you know...
and in their hearts they hold hands.
But goals are uncertain
so easily obscured.
Beggars scramble
toward unconnected hopes
indulging in all the moments
that stars did not sparkle
or shoot forth
and though it may be uncertain
their today
after an emotional measuring
tomorrow they will say,
We're Friends you know.

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:: Relationships,Poems,Friends,love Poems,Divorce,break up,Arrtist,Painter,Mermaid,Fairy,Artist
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An Ancient Tale of Separation Longing and Loss: "Changgan Memories" Revisited

In an epic poem that marks the passage of time with the changing of the seasons, Li Bai, the celebrated Chinese poet, describes the union of a young teenage couple amidst the great bucolic splendor of historic Changgan county.

In this vintage poem, Changgan Memories, Li Bai speaks through the voice of a beautiful young woman, yearning for her distant lover. In a brilliant description of heart wrenching adolescent emotion, he writes,

When my first hair began to cover my head,
I picked and played with flowers at the gate.

Then you came riding on a bamboo horse*.
You circled the trail; playing with green plumbs.

We lived together, here, in Changgan.
Two little children without even a misgiving.

Then when I was fourteen I became your wife.
I was so shy my face remained closed.

But I bowed my head before the shadowed wall,
and called y ou one thousand times, yet I never turned, not even once.

At fifteen I began to lift my brows, and wished to be with you
as dust is with ashes.

Yet you always kept your massive pillar faith**.
I had no reason to climb to look for you upon any hill.

But when I was sixteen you went far far away....
to Yandui in the Qutong gorge.

You should not have risked the dangerous floods that come in May.

And now as the sad monkeys cry in the sky, my pacing has left a mark before the gate.

And little by little the green grass has grown.

The moss is much to deep to just push away.

And as leaves fall in early autumn winds; in August the butterflies are yellow.
A pair of them flies over the grass in the western garden. I feel that they are damaging my heart.

My face now grows sad red and old.

When you come down the river, send a letter to to your home.
We'll go to meet each other however far.

I'l l come to meet you at Changfengsha.


A Contemporary Reading of Events

In a bittersweet story of a young girls' adolescence, this poem demonstrates the poets' great ability to describe the kind of deep genuine emotion that can cut straight to the bone.

Brimming with playful heartfelt imagery and filled with rugged rustic scenes, its real value may lie in the human drama that may, like the woman in the poem, encourage us to call into question the foundations upon which our very existence is built.

A Massive Pillar Faith

In a tale that calls to mind the spiritual dimensions of a young womans' first love, we find a girl awakened by the opening of her heart and soul. Tragically however, this wonderful feeling soon begins to fade away.

Overwhelmed by an emptiness that threatens to ravish her very soul, she searches onward. But her yearning is followed by pain; a tragic mournful loss.

Yet in the end she continues to beckon. But on ly the poet knows if her true love will ever come to return.

And Now the Sad Monkeys Cry

In a scene in which monkeys are said to be crying in the sky, the young girl is immersed in her desperate longing and pain. She cries out, but no one can really hear her.

And little by little the green grass continues to grow. But the moss is now much too deep to just push away.

My Face Grows Sad Red and Old

In a doleful state of sorrow, the young woman must cope with an array of emotion for which she has been sadly, quite ill prepared for. Faced with the prospect of a life of loneliness, racing thoughts and endless ruminations begin to trouble her mind. And tragically, they begin to take their toll.

The sad mournful woman cries, As leaves fall in early autumn winds; in August the butterflies are yellow.... I feel that they are damaging my heart.

When You Come to the River Send a Letter to Your Home

Yet in a demonstration of hope she look s inward. Hoping to find a dream that will rekindle her steadfast faith, she says When you come to the river send a letter to your home. We'll go to meet each other however far.

I'll come up to meet you at Changfengsha.

A Foregone Conclusion

Yet the ultimate fate of our lovely young lady is certainly for us to question.

Will her heroic husband return?

Is she destined to live alone?

Or will she be lost in a sea of bitterness, or like the beautiful butterflies, learn to fly gradually, up above?

..... For only she and the poet, will ever really come to know.

Footnotes:

* a bamboo horse is a bamboo cane used as a toy horse

** a massive pillar faith is a term from a traditional Chinese story. In this story a man arranged to meet his lover by the pillar of a bridge. When the river waters rose, he continued to clutch the pillar awaiting her return. Ultimately however he drowned as he waited.

Gerald Marchewka is an A merican freelance writer currently residing in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. Gerald Marchewka can be reached at geraldmarchewka@yahoo.com.


Author:: Gerald Marchewka
Keywords:: Poetry, China, Buddhism, Taoism, Philosophy, Confucianism, Tang Dynasty, Li Bai, Li Po, Literature
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Florencia: A Prose Poem Parts 1 thru 4 of Seven Parts

Florencia

The Hidden Underworld Kingdoms of the Amuc [An Andean Peruvian Account

A Prose Poem

Prologue: There are many kingdoms that have come and gone on earth, throughout written history, mostly documented, but there is only one kingdom, that has come, and has not gone, that has existed for eons, it is the Hidden Kingdom of the Amuc, which consist of actually four kingdoms, somewhat interconnected; but it is not on the surface of the earth, it is in the crust of the earth. I have talked to many people in the Andes, and villages, and minors, and old timers, they all believe in them, some have saw them, others were legends to live by. Some say they have blond hair, others say they have steel wings, and are a foot tall. I first head about them in 1999, when I first came to Peru, and went to the Andes, and then I came back every year since, nine times to Peru so far, and the year is still 2006, at least for another six weeks. Anyhow, I bought a house in Lima, and one in Huancayo, in the Mantaro Valley. And then I purchased an adobe hobby farm of sorts, in the Village of San Jeronimo de Tunan, and this is when it all started. I mean this is where my story actually originated. I dont expect anyone to believe me, but I shall nonetheless, give you the account that took place.

Close to my property, which is about 6000-square meters, with tall adobe walls surrounding the land, perhaps three feet thick, with several small dwelling within this enclosure, is where I lived on the weekends; an old Church (1539 AD) called St. Sebastian, nearby, up the dirt road a bit. There one weekend in the month of August, I was carving out a garden in one section of my land, by one of the adobe dwellings, and I found a statue, it was carved into the liking of a midget size king, but much smaller; at the time I thought it was a goblin, but I am not in Ireland, I told myself, and it was not a fairy, although it could have been, perhaps it w as something in-between, like one of those Amuc people I heard about.

Oh well, let me get on with the story: the adobe foundation to my property was build about 130-years before I had bought the place, it went through the Pacific War, the one between Chile and Peru, about 1879 to 1883. So I thought it to be a statue of a grave marking of some sort. And it was, but it was not of the war I talk about, it was of a great Amuc that once lived. Oh yes, now we are getting into the real heart of the matter, are we not. Well, that is why I call this story, an account because that is exactly what it is.

So let me go on with the account: I dug deeper into the ground, in the silenced of the night so no one would be the wiser, twilight is always haunting and worth a good dig, and eerie it was, and it really made the spell of the digging more enchanting, smoke like figures even crossed the moon, and moonbeams shot (so it seemed), shot right down through the porthole I had ma de in the roof over my dig, and my head to give me light as I dug; the shadows swept like lotusto and froover the gray ebbing clouds above the crown of my head, it was a warm evening, to say the least. I had even added adobe walls around the dig; thus, it was a structure now: twenty feet deep the hole was, with a rope ladder attached to the adobe walls, tub by tub for three weeks I dug and brought up dirt from the hole, piled it here and there, little mounds everywhere in my yard. Woops, I forgot to tell you, I found a gravestone, of a man, and it read in Quechua (one of the oldest languages of earth). It read,

King Niobla, of Remora (the West Kingdom) scornful heart he had, and a wicked laugh for all, he stole me for his child bride, and killed my brother, father and stirred his wine with his bones; it was best for us all he be where he lay, for I had him killed one summers day: my king of the West Kingdom of Remora, now in his dull grave; let him rest in Hell, as not to contaminate those who live beneath, lest we be his salves. 642 AD His un-grieving wife: Florencia of Drabmol (The North Kingdom)

As I dug deeper, the walls started crumbling, that is when I found the coffin of the king, and when I opened it, he did have steel like wings, as if angelic, but they were laid to his side, perhaps he felt he could fly, they were attachable. He was no taller than a foot or more, perhaps fourteen inches, in all. And he still had his skull attached, to his neck, and deep-rooted socket for eyes in his head. I was at this time, twenty-two feet below the surface, and hence, I dug another week, another ten feet, slowly, now thirty-two feet, then at forty-feet, I found a tunnel, and it went downward, but it was cramped, I am 172-pounds, and five foot, eight inches tall, not tall for todays, primates, but tall for the average Peruvian, and a giant according to the corpse and statue I had found. As I pushed my way through these skin tight walls, I was scared Id be buried alive, but with a flash light I saw a few hundred feet down further (in front of me), where an item in the dirt lay, when I got to it, it was a hat, for a small females head, then I noticed foot prints, small, but I could make them out to be footprints. I was starting to push my body backwards, I had had enough of this, air was thin, and I was scared, and cramped, and going ahead I saw would be more difficult, for it was even thinner, how would I make it. Then (and I must say, there will be a lot of then (s) in this story), I heard behind me the crumbling of the walls, I couldnt turn around, and it would be most difficult to go forward.

I did have a little shovel with me for digging; it was what I had been doing for three to four weeks now, so why not try to dig my way through to wherever the tunnel led me to, or rot where I was, and then I saw a little woman, beautiful as could be, faintly she appeared, and this is were my story come s from, not sure if I dreamt it, or was told it when I was passed out, or whatever, but when I woke up I was back outside my tunnel, in the shack I had built around the hole, it was as if I was pulled out by my feet, my shoes were off, my ankles had red marks around them.

[Opening: to the Dream: it was in the time, perhaps the 7th century or so, a time when the kingdoms of the Mantaro Valley were captured by the Wanka Warriors, and Unishcoto, and Arwaturo along with Wariwilca were just being inhabitant (now old ruins in the Ville), it was a time when the little people, known as the Amuc, lived underground in four kingdoms, the Northern Kingdom, the Southern Kingdom (remote and small, not a fighting kingdom for the most part), the Western Kingdom know as Remora (once the most dominate of them all), which was part of the Eastern Kingdom, yet the Eastern Kingdom was the mightiest of all the kingdoms of the Amucs underworld at this given time, and each had its separate ki ngs. Remora feared the Northern Kingdom, of Drabmol, and under battle, they had lost more lives, yet these two kingdoms were not completely tested to the point of one was dominating the other.

1

King Dnusirut of Drabmol (of the Northern Kingdom), accepted Prince Niobla of Remora, as his guest, he was visiting the kingdom, at his fathers request, to ensure peace was still abreast with this barbarian tribal kingdom of sorts, and at the request of King Nitsuj, of the East. But the Prince had brought up a sour issue, said he:

I would like to take the dagger that killed your son in battle back home with me as a trophy of my conquest in battle.

So he told the king in the throne chamber, and with tears in his eyes the king bowed his head in sorrow, but said, Yes, I understand, it is your right of conquest.

The war between the two kingdoms was stopped prematurely, when the king from the East told all, he would take both kingdoms from both kings should they not make peace, and it was a threat he could fulfill. Now, when the request had been made, it happened to be, Prince Dnumiunc was nearby listening, and went historical into the center of the room, said he in no pleasant manner:

He was my brotherfather, do not give him the dagger he cut the throat of my brother with.

The father looked weary indeed, but what could he say, Son, he said in a humbling manner, oh my son, Prince and someday to be king of this land of the North, you must keep its traditions and customs, it is like particles of the peoples blood that goes for 100,000-years behind us, we must give it or be shamed, now say no more, I am already disgraced by your mouth, go and hide from my eyes!

Disgraced from this mad-god that has no courage, he should have taken the knife out of his heart when he killed him on the battle field, why nowwhy now does the slayer come to do what he could have done before?

Oh yes, there was heat and hate, and v enom coming from the body and the mouth of the uncouth prince. Said the king with a sigh, Say no more, lest I have you removed from this room, and that will be to your dishonor, it will be as I said.

And that was the last words that came from the tongue of the contempt prince.

2

It was in the hallways Princess Florencia of Drabmol was walking, and she was the flower of all the kingdom, most beautiful, more so they say than Cleopatra, or even Helen of Troy, and when the Prince of Remora saw her he stopped, caught his breath, wide-eyed, said, My gosh, who are you, a stunning beauty among these Barbarians?

Said she with her head held high, I, my young and obnoxious Prince, am Florencia, and I dislike you more than my brother, who scorned you in the throne chamber, now leave me pass!

Oh, he would not move, not for love or money, king or land, he would not move, he made his stand, I will have you, you will be my bride to beyou will be in my bed, and bear my children.

You insidious, obnoxious creature, how dare you speak to me like that, I am a Princess, and you will never have me, save my father will slay you first.

The Prince, looked about, And where is he, your father, and who is he?

His name is Prince Dnumiunc, said Florencia.

Oh yes, said Niobla, Him, I suppose I will have to slay him as I did his brother. Perhaps, once I am king, then we shall see who fairs best in war and battle, with the sword, and without King Nitsujs help, we would have you under our heel, had it not been for He.

So you say, but I think not. Rejoined the Princess, You would have been our servants, is more like it.

I see you have a mouth like your brother, so be it, I will tame that also, and put you under my loins, and make love to you, and you will wish I would never stop.

I have no lover, but if he were you, Id cut your throat, or mine. Exclaimed Florencia.

Then all of a sudden Prince Dnumiunc appeared, said he with hand to his sword, Why do you talk to this vulture? he asked his daughter.

It was I mad prince of Drabmol, I stopped her and asked her whom she was, so I am at fault, not her. But she is beautiful, give me her hand in marriage, for my wife, or I will take her anyway, as a mistress. Said Niobla.

You are an infection to this kingdom, and you have out used your curtsey of being our guest, I hope you are gone by morning, I would love to put my sword into your heart, and I need very little reason more. Said the Prince Dnumiunc.

I am sure your sword and skill are as dull as your wit and words, hide your sword and save yourself, by giving me your daughter while you can.

Having said that, the scourged and love hungry prince dashed off to his room.

3

[Nine months later It was by the night they came, and through the princess window they bound her, and took her back to Remora, Prince Niobla was now king.

Said King Niob la, to his captured mistress, Florencia, You will lay with me one way or the other.

I will not willingly, nor do you dare, my father will war with you, slay you. Said Florencia, nervously, yet trying to keep her composure.

He must know you are with me by now, where is this father of yours, he is not knocking at my door, I see him not (he goes to the window, it is morning in his land, looks out it, then looks back at Florencia, his eyebrow goes up, he smirks).

You dare not! repeated the princess.

Do you think for one minute I have gone through all this, to not have my hunger met?

You dare not, my father will. Reiterated the Princess.

But I do dare, I will drink your fathers blood someday, will drink it with my wine and mix it with his bones, time will show you it will be so.

My grandfather will war with your kingdom, and we almost tore your armies to shreds last time we battled, said the princess.

This was true, and the West, fe ared the Northern barbarians, but the new King would have his mistress nonetheless, and make her queen, one way or the other, or have her live as his mistress, like it or not, and he threw her on his bed. And it was that way for three months, each night, every night. He could not get enough of her. And then it came to pass, he was called to attend a meeting in the Eastern Kingdom, by none other than, Prince Dnumiunc, and King Nitsuj, and to bring Florencia along. Oh it was maddening for the new King Niobla to do so, but he heeded the Kings command from the East, lest he lose his kingdom be lost, and Florenciaand he was no fool.

4

King Nitsuj, sat on his throne, as Prince Dnumiunc stood in front of him, and King Niobla, likewise, said the old king, King Nitsuj, You have taken a princess out of a kingdom, and spoiled her, what do you have to say for yourself King Niobla?

This is true, said the new King, and the heart sometimes cannot stop itself, I love her with all my heart, and I had to have her. I requested she be given to me, but her father has venom in his tongue, and blood because I killed his brother in fair battle, as all wars have battles, and loses, and now he wants revenge, and uses his daughter for this; had I not asked for the dagger I cut his brothers throat with, hed have given her hand to me in marriage perhaps.

This is no reason to take what is not yours in battle. You did not win the war, you slay only a man, a prince, not a princess, you are guilty, what should be the judgment on a king who takes another kings granddaughter, what would your judgment be?

I want him dead! bellowed Prince Dnumiunc.

And what do you say to that? asked the presiding king.

Let Florencia decide what is to be done with me. Said the accused prince.

King Nitsuj, looked at Prince Dnumiunc, And what do you say to that? he asked.

Said the angered Prince, So be it, she will cut your throat, and your p rivate parts off, and he laughed with a vengeful grin.

At that, the old king had Florencia brought out, and she was asked what would be her judgment on king Niobla. She hesitated, so her father said, Have him killed, Florencia, you hate him as I do. But she could not speak those very same words.

I must think of this a while, she expressed, perhaps a week would do. Her father held his breath, a sigh came out, it was tension, and he was flabbergasted.

I am with child, do I slay its father, and then tell the child when he is a young prince, I killed him because he raped me? All looked at her indecisiveness.

Said the old king, It must be settled by you now, or I will make the decree and he murmured her indecisiveness.

I cannot make the assessment today, it must wait. Said Florencia.

So be it, said the Eastern King, adding, you will have the right to join King Niobla at his kingdom, or your own, but should you choose his, you will be wed, and made queen. Should you choose your fathers kingdom, in the North, you will be Princess, and do with the child as you please. That is how it will be.

And so it was, and Florencia picked out the Western Kingdom, and King Niobla wed her as his wife, and adored her beauty, but hated her insults, yet for some reason he did not revenge those insults, but played with them with wit, for amusement. And they had a daughter, and the king was not happy, perhaps as most kings, they want a son to hand down the throne to, yet he accepted this fact, and adored her all the more, for it kept the Queen in place. He used it, now and then, off and on, when she got too unruly, hed threaten her with the child, saying in so many words: hed take the daughter away from a mad woman as she, and have her placed in some far off outpost of the kingdoms.

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


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetic Story
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

My Love

I once had somebody I Loved
Her touch, her tender cheek pressed gently against my own
The feeling alone warmed my blood and sent chills down my spine
Oh how I miss that feeling, of my heart pounding, after that first glance

But now its all over
That evil fiend know as time has taken her away from me
If only I could go back, and salvage whatever I could have
Maybe, just maybe, I could have kept her from leaving

She left without a warning, without a sign
She said that she wanted to be friends, but how often is that said
But to just be friends, I should cherish
So, as being her friend, I might soon win her over again

How could I have forgotten that first date
That rapid and violent beating of my heart as I waited for her
That feeling when it all went away after I first saw her sweet angelic face
How I long to experience that feeling once more

But one experience that I shall never forget, was our first kis s
Feeling my heart race hers, in a race that was too close to be judged
That soothing feeling of her lips pressed against my own
A feeling that I shall never forget and will not want anyone else to experience

Parting is such sweet sorrow, said Shakespeare
And at this time I could not agree with him more
For I have lost my Love; and even though I fear I will Love no more
I will always keep her in my heart, and her, I shall never forget

Ron Zvagelsky has a degree in Business Administration from the University of Southern California. He graduated Magna Cum Laude in May 2006. He is currently the Chief Executive Officer of PlanJam.com Fun Date Ideas -- a new interactive planning website.


Author:: Ron Zvagelsky
Keywords:: Romance, Relationships, Love, Society, Dating
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History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

My Love

I once had somebody I Loved
Her touch, her tender cheek pressed gently against my own
The feeling alone warmed my blood and sent chills down my spine
Oh how I miss that feeling, of my heart pounding, after that first glance

But now its all over
That evil fiend know as time has taken her away from me
If only I could go back, and salvage whatever I could have
Maybe, just maybe, I could have kept her from leaving

She left without a warning, without a sign
She said that she wanted to be friends, but how often is that said
But to just be friends, I should cherish
So, as being her friend, I might soon win her over again

How could I have forgotten that first date
That rapid and violent beating of my heart as I waited for her
That feeling when it all went away after I first saw her sweet angelic face
How I long to experience that feeling once more

But one experience that I shall never forget, was our first kis s
Feeling my heart race hers, in a race that was too close to be judged
That soothing feeling of her lips pressed against my own
A feeling that I shall never forget and will not want anyone else to experience

Parting is such sweet sorrow, said Shakespeare
And at this time I could not agree with him more
For I have lost my Love; and even though I fear I will Love no more
I will always keep her in my heart, and her, I shall never forget

Ron Zvagelsky has a degree in Business Administration from the University of Southern California. He graduated Magna Cum Laude in May 2006. He is currently the Chief Executive Officer of PlanJam.com Fun Date Ideas -- a new interactive planning website.


Author:: Ron Zvagelsky
Keywords:: Romance, Relationships, Love, Society, Dating
Post by
History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Senryu and Haiku What's the Difference?

Many people who write Haiku think they are creating Haiku when in fact, they are making Senryu. What's Senryu you ask? It's exactly like Haiku except its subject matter has to do with anything besides nature. Mostly, it has to do with what goes on in the human realm. Here's an example of a Senryu:

Spring morning --
a strand of her hair
between the kiss

At first glance, this seems to be a Haiku poem. It looks like Haiku and has something to do with nature (spring morning) but the main subject of this Senryu is about two people kissing. It has nothing to with something occurring strictly in nature. Here's another example:

Cold April wind --
the scent of
dad's old shirt

Here we have a Senryu describing someone smelling a shirt. Again, something in the human realm. It's quite easy to distinguish Haiku from Senryu - just ask yourself, Is the subject about something in the natural world or is it in the human realm? Once you ask yourself th is question, you'll be able to see the difference. Here's an example of a Haiku poem:

A jellyfish
floats out to sea
winter light

Notice that the subject here is a jellyfish. No humans in sight and it has nothing at all to do with people. It is what Haiku should be. Unfortunately, many people who write Haiku Poems think they are writing Haiku when in fact, they are writing Senryu. Another trademark of the Senryu poem is that quite often, they are satiric or sarcastic. The Senryu is an excellent form for this and has much to offer both poet and reader. Whichever form you prefer it's good to know the differences between them!

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 second book Bird Haiku! Get our free report How to Write Haiku Visit http://wisteriapress.com for Haiku books, lessons, articles, and more!


Author:: Edward A. Wei ss
Keywords:: Senryu,Haiku,Haiku Poems,Haiku Poetry,Poems,Poetry
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

With Every Word

With every symbol I convey.
In certain order, they will say.
Might they build or may they break?
What meaning will that listener make?

Words are more than sounds my friend.
Words confirm the thoughts you mend.
Words can love; words can hate.
Words can bring a deathly fate.

A single sound or many yet;
ensnared within a memories net.
False or true, they may believe.
What message friend will they conceive?

Words may wound; words may hurt.
At times my dear, they love to flirt.
At times they ring a golden sound.
At times those words may bring you down.

Within your sound; your effort made.
The cards of life are surely played.
Words enchain, and even free;
if only known to what degree.

A syllable friend, will change your life.
Words of heat may bring you strife.
Regret may haunt from times before.
Do not get caught in angers door.

Remember as you speak your word.
Your a udience has surely heard.
To follow sound; they come to feel.
They come or run on thoughtful heel.

So do not ramble; do not mumble.
Convey your meaning to be humble.
Be sincere you will be heard.
Careful friend with every word.

- The impact of your words cannot be measured.

- By L. J. Riley Jr.

Copyright2006 / Published2006 Compassionpwr@juno.com


Author:: Laverne John Riley Jr.
Keywords:: The Impact of Your Words Cannot Be Measured
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Love and Live Wholeheartedly

Live WholeHeartedly
Love with Transparency
Give lovingly, never grudgingly
Feel and speak with sincerity
Emotionally allow for vulnerability
Love consistently
Embrace Life's seasons wisely
Learning the lessons
The Creator has for thee
As you grow personally
Become self-aware increasingly
Face your fears boldly
Overcome your weaknesses triumphantly
When you err and fail
Confess your flaws humbly
Pray for heaven's mercy
Realizing that Love endures all things
When adversity comes
Not everybody sings
Sometimes Life is painful
It even bruises and stings
Many care not to discuss
Such pragmatic things
Love however is more
Than a feeling or an emotion
Infatuation is fast
Much like a blur
Undoubtedly Love does similarly stir
It too can be felt, seen, and heard
Yet Love is also far greater
Beyond that of a word
Love is immeasurable
It has ability like no ot her
To move you or make you
Love hopes when all hope is lost
Love does not consider the cost
Love believes the best
Love fights for what is right
And settles for nothing less
Such a divine Love is timeless
It has no end
Love has power to reconcile
Win enemies and make friends
Love is heavenly
The word however is used too frivolously
Sometimes to describe food and wine
Perhaps a hobby or activity
On the contrary
Love is a bond
Between you and me
Impossible to fully describe
Adequately articulate it I cannot
Yet without enduring Love
Life is utter rot
Unpredictable and illusory
Enduring Love comes with commitment
It settles and sets you free
Enabling you to Live WholeHeartedly.

Paul Davis is a Life coach (relational & professional), traveling minister and fitness trainer. Paul is the author of several books including Breakthrough for a Broken Heart; and God vs. Religion. Paul is a popular worldwide keynote speaker, creative consultant, humor being, adventurer, explorer, mediator, minister, 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 served in many war-torn, impoverished and tsunami stricken regions of the earth. His nonprofit organization Dream-Maker Ministries is building dreams, breaking limitations and reviving nations.

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

Contact Paul to minister, speak at your event or for Life coaching: RevivingNations@yahoo.com, 407-967-7553.

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


Author:: Paul Davis
Keywords:: Love,Live,Life,WholeHeartedly,Transparency,Honesty,Truth,Passion,personal power,Heart,Breakthrough
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Happiness is an Inside Job!

Make no mistake about it

Happiness is an inside job.

More important

Than what is happening to you

Is that which is occurring within you.

Don't misinterpret

Your present circumstances

Daily struggles and difficulties

To construct a poor ill-Favored identity

Retreat in captivity

Fade into obscurity

This is not your final reality

Therefore don't erect limiting beliefs

To hide behind.

No!

Break out!

Believe for more!

Your life does not

Need to be a bore

A harsh chore

Rotten to the core

Your present difficulty

Is not your reality

Not your destiny

Therefore don't

Create an erroneous identity

Instead be happy

Because as you live

You learn

As y ou live

You reveal

As you live

You discover

As you live

You flourish and flower

You gain personal power

Difficulties devour

Day by day

Hour by hour

Being resourceful

Never getting sour

Simply growing stronger

Lasting longer

Increasingly becoming greater

Continually conquering

Sensationally growing sweeter

Falling in Love with yourself

The process of maturation

Embracing transition

Mastering change without hesitation

Mastering emotions and moods

Without devastation

Considering the challenge recreation

Cultivating Happiness within

With an attitude like this

Surely you will win

Be unstoppable

Your spirit indomitable

With all confidence

Embrace your fate without resistance

This is your brilliance

Which shall provide you

Great Happiness

Settle for nothing less

Be your perso nal best

Begin within

For herein is your Victory

Your tranquility

Your destiny

The battle begins

Within

Where thoughts occur

Words echo

Reverberate

Empower or aggravate

Harness yourself within

And never deviate

Thyself don't frustrate

Or infuriate

Outside influences

Never placate

Remember you are great!

Therefore

Cultivate Happiness within

Be happy

Be whole

Let Happiness within

Be your goal.

Paul Davis is a problem solver, creative consultant, change master, life coach (relational & professional), minister and former fitness trainer.

Paul is the author of several books including Breakthrough for a Broken Heart; and God vs. Religion. Paul is a popular worldwide keynote speaker, adventurer, explorer, mediator, and liberator.

Paul's compassion for people & passion to travel has taken him to over 50 countries of the world whe re he has had a tremendous impact. Paul has served many in war-torn, impoverished and tsunami stricken regions of the earth. His organization Dream-Maker Inc. is building dreams, breaking limitations and reviving nations.

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. Transcending barriers that divide, Paul's transforms individuals and organizations.

Contact Paul at: RevivingNations@yahoo.com 407-967-7553; 407-284-1705

http://www.CreativeCommunications.TV, http://www.DreamMakerMinistries.com


Author:: Paul Davis
Keywords:: Happiness,Joy,Peace,Love,Patience,Paul Davis,Victory,Blessings,Favor,breakthrough for a broken hear t
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Monday, May 28, 2012

Lord Byron's "She Walks in Beauty"

Lord Byrons opening couplet to She Walks In Beauty is among the most memorable and most quoted lines in romantic poetry. The opening lines are effortless, graceful, and beautiful, a fitting match for his poem about a woman who possesses effortless grace and beauty.

Life in England

Lord Byron was born George Gordon Noel Byron in London in 1788. He became a Lord in 1798 when he inherited the title and the estate of his great-uncle. Byrons mother had taken him to Scotland for treatment for his club foot, but she brought him back to England to claim the title and the estate.

Byron was privately tutored in Nottingham for a short period. He then studied in Harrow, Southwell, and Newstead, and finally at Trinity College. Byron discovered a talent for writing poetry and published some early poems in 1806 and his first collection, called Hours of Idleness, in 1807 at the age of 19. When he turned age 21 he was able to take his seat in the House of Lords.

However, Lord Byron left England for two years with his friend, John Hobhouse, to travel through Europe. They toured Spain, Malta, Greece, and Constantinople. Greece especially impressed Byron and would create a recurring theme in his life.

After returning to England Lord Byron made his first speech to the House of Lords. Later that year he published a poetic travelogue titled, Childe Harolds Pilgrimage, a respectable collection of verses about his recent travels in Europe. The collection earned Lord Byron lasting fame and admiration. Lord Byron had become a ladies man and the newly earned celebrity brought him a series of affairs and courtships.

Lord Byron married Anna Isabella Milbanke in 1815 and his daughter, Augusta, was born later that year. However, the marriage did not last long. In early 1816 Anna and Augusta left Lord Byron and later that year he filed for legal separation and left England for Switzerland, a self-imposed exile.

Life in E urope

While in Switzerland Lord Byron stayed with Percy Bysshe Shelley, a prominent metaphysical and romantic poet, and had an illegitimate daughter, Allegra, with Claire Clairmont. After that affair ended, Lord Byron and his friend, John Hobhouse traveled through Italy, settling first in Venice, where he had a couple more affairs, including an affair with the nineteen year old Countess Teresa Guicciolo. Here Lord Byron began his most famous and most acclaimed work, the epic poem Don Juan.

Lord Byron and Teresa moved to Ravenna, then to Pisa, and then to Leghorn, near Shelleys house, in 1821. The poet Leigh Hunt moved in with Lord Byron later that year after Shelley drowned off the coast near Leghorn in a storm. Lord Byron contributed poetry to Hunts periodical, The Liberal, until 1823 when he took the opportunity to travel to Greece to act as an agent for the Greeks in their war against Turkey.

Lord Byron used his personal finances to help fund some of the battles by the Greeks against the Turks. He even commanded a force of three thousand men in an attack on the Turkish-held fortress of Lepanto. The siege was unsuccessful and the forces withdrew. At this time Lord Byron suffered one or two epileptic fits. The remedy of the day, blood-letting, weakened him.

Six weeks later, during a particularly chilly rainstorm, Lord Byron contracted a severe cold. The accompanying fever was treated by repeated bleedi ng by trusted physicians, but his condition worsened until he eventually slipped into a coma and died on April 19, 1824.

Lord Byron was a hero in Greece and was deeply mourned there. His heart was buried in Greece and his body was sent to England where it was buried in the family vault near Newstead. He was denied burial in Westminster Abbey because of the perceived immorality of his life and numerous controversies. Finally in 1969, 145 years after his death, a memorial was placed in the Poets Corner of Westminster Abbey, commemorating his poetry and accomplishments.

Shortly after his arrival in Greece, Lord Byron had written these appropriate lines.
Seek outless often sought than found
A soldier's gravefor thee the best
Then look around, and choose thy ground,
And take thy rest.

An interesting and exceptional biography of Lord Byrons life was written in 1830 by a contemporary and friend, John Galt, titled, The Life of Lord Byron. The 49 chapters give a good measure of Lord Byrons complexity.

She Walks in Beauty

In June, 1814, several months before he met and married his first wife, Anna Milbanke, Lord Byron attended a party at Lady Sitwells. While at the party, Lord Byron was inspired by the sight of his cousin, the beautiful Mrs. Wilmot, who was wearing a black spangled mourning dress. Lord Byron was struck by his cousins dark hair and fair face, the mingling of various lights and shades. This became the essence of his poem about her.

According to his friend, James W. Webster, I did take him to Lady Sitwells party in Seymour Road. He there for the first time saw his cousin, the beautiful Mrs. Wilmot. When we returned to his rooms in Albany, he said little, but desired Fletcher to give him a tumbler of brandy, which he drank at once to Mrs. Wilmots health, then retired to rest, and was, I heard afterwards, in a sad state all night. The next day he wrote those charming lines upon herShe walks in Beauty like the Night

The poem was published in 1815. Also in that year Lord Byron wrote a number of songs to be set to traditional Jewish tunes by Isaac Nathan. Lord Byron included She Walks in Beauty with those poems.

She Walks in Beauty

1
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

2
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

3
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A he art whose love is innocent!

Discussion of the Poem

The first couple of lines can be confusing if not read properly. Too often readers stop at the end of the first line where there is no punctuation. This is an enjambed line, meaning that it continues without pause onto the second line. That she walks in beauty like the night may not make sense as night represents darkness. However, as the line continues, the night is a cloudless one with bright stars to create a beautiful mellow glow. The first two lines bring together the opposing qualities of darkness and light that are at play throughout the three verses.

The remaining lines of the first verse employ another set of enjambed lines that tell us that her face and eyes combine all thats best of dark and bright. No mention is made here or elsewhere in the poem of any other physical features of the lady. The focus of the vision is upon the details of the ladys face and eyes which reflect the mellowed an d tender light. She has a remarkable quality of being able to contain the opposites of dark and bright.

The third and fourth lines are not only enjambed, but the fourth line begins with an irregularity in the meter called a metrical substitution. The fourth line starts with an accented syllable followed by an unaccented one, rather than the iambic meter of the other lines, an unaccented syllable followed by an accented one. The result is that the word Meet receives attention, an emphasis. The ladys unique feature is that opposites meet in her in a wonderful way.

The second verse tells us that the glow of the ladys face is nearly perfect. The shades and rays are in just the right proportion, and because they are, the lady possesses a nameless grace. This conveys the romantic idea that her inner beauty is mirrored by her outer beauty. Her thoughts are serene and sweet. She is pure and dear.

The last verse is split between three lines of physical descri ption and three lines that describe the ladys moral character. Her soft, calm glow reflects a life of peace and goodness. This is a repetition, an emphasis, of the theme that the ladys physical beauty is a reflection of her inner beauty.

Lord Byron greatly admired his cousins serene qualities on that particular night and he has left us with an inspired poem.

The poem was written shortly before Lord Byrons marriage to Anna Milbanke and published shortly after the marriage.

Garry Gamber is a public school teacher and entrepreneur. He writes articles about real estate, politics, health and nutrition, and internet dating services. He is the owner of http://www.Anchorage-Homes.com and http://www.TheDatingAdvisor.com


Author:: Garry Gamber
Keywords:: Lord Byron, She Walks in Beauty, Don Juan, Shelley, George Gordon Noel Byron
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Minnesota Spring Thaw (A Poem)

Its the way it is, its the way it has always been
Spring thaw, brings spring mud, ripples, birds
Its the way it is, the way its always been,
Ever since: who knows when, when I was a kid.

Strange, my blood runs wild in me today
That I should dream of faces so far away
Im sitting dimly far from Minnesotas horizon
And hear voices, echoes, rivers, from afar.

The clouds are clear on high, endless blue
The spring sounds awaken memories, renewed
Winter stars are gone with winter snows
Birds begin to nest in trees and meadows.

Spring winds will bring some spring storms
Enough to tease Minnesotas willow trees
With many ripples on its 10,000-lakes
Around its millions of Pines and Evergreens.

Its the way it is, the way it has always been
Spring thaw, brings spring mud, ripples, birds
Its the way it is, the way its always been,
Ever since: who knows when, when I was a kid.

Im in Peru, as spring opens up in my home city of St. Paul, Minnesota; I know its every breath and light, when its character becomes boyish; when mothernature bends her knees. My friends tell me the winter snows are almost gone now, they were heavy just a month ago, when I was there. I can feel the doting weather gain, romping winds, emerald green woods blossoming with life, ripe for horsing around, trekking its pathways. The fish jumping up and down, breast first diving deep into the clear lakes. I must give it a tragic kiss, for I will miss her spring, but I remember so many of them, it is like Minnesota is present, alive within my dreams, its the way it has always been. [#1311 4/11/06

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


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
Pos t by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

When You Think of Liberty Think of Me

When you honor the red, white, and blue
When you celebrate our nation's Liberty
Think of the one who's been beside you
in spirit, in heart, in body...
No being could be as loyal as me, for I am
your best friend, your partner... your family

When our nation was young
I was the runner, carrying messages
in a war that would leave us undone
where brother fought beside brother.

And, alone in the face of terror
I moved through enemy lines,
as families fought one another,
my mission foremost in my mind.

I was the one waiting for you even though
I sensed you would not be coming home
I languished on our wooden porch
growing thinner, until the war was over
and my days on earth were done.

I was in the trenches, fields, and meadows
accompanying you into foreign lands.
With you in the jungles and swamps
and at your heels on hot, dusty roads
or on blistering, desert sands.

I have been first in the line of fire
first to enter a field laden with mines
putting myself in your stead.
I went unflinching, leading,
to wherever, doing whatever you said.

With you I've jumped from the belly of a plane
dropping into places neither of us had ever seen.
All for the greater glory and good. All for humanity.

When a bullet took your life I laid by your side
my chin on your chest--despair in my eyes.
Content to have remained with you,
until a man in our unit lifted me up,
carrying me back to the war... as he cried.

When we had parted, when you'd gone home
and when on foreign soil I was left all alone
through no fault of your own I was forsaken.

The government advised you that your friend
and helper; the soldier who'd been by your side,
would not be accompanying you home...
To our home, our country, I could not be taken.

And so it was that we were aba ndoned
after you tearfully told us we could not follow
the men with whom we had served.

Confusion set in as we watched you depart;
being left behind, we had not deserved.
You left us dispirited, empty, and hollow
for we had given to you all of our all.
Like ghosts were we, missing our souls,
for you had taken with you... our hearts

I have been injured for you.
And I have died for you.
In your absence I have wasted away
from the loss of you.

I'm the scruffy, thin dog sitting quietly
next to the veteran in his wheelchair.
On the hill, the band plays a song
and the man softly cries, while
fireworks light up the night's air.

Gently I place my paw on his knee
lay my muzzle on his withered leg.
He looks at the small flag he is clutching
then he turns his attention to me.

His eyes are filled with thoughts and tears
but his smile is as warm as the sun.
Thank you f or reminding me, says he,
what's been sacrificed for the freedom we've won.

In the now, we cannot know
who will be needing who.
But what you may not know is
that when you'll be needing me
I'll be needing and looking for you.

We've been a team, you and me
through the many years
that have shaped this land,
and God has blessed us mightily.

So, every now and then, thank me--
with a look, kind words, and the
touch of a gentle hand...

When you think of Liberty
and count the reasons you are free
Don't forget to think of me!

Copyright Kathy Pippig Harris

Kathy lives in California's San Joaquin Valley with her husband and furry family. She is a weekly columnist for the publication Frank Talk and a published author of five novels. She states, Were it not for her need, desire, and love of writing -- she would surely go mad!


Author:: Kathy Pippig Harris
Keywords:: Military Dogs,Military,service Dogs,Holidays,Liberty,war Dogs,Dogs
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Blind Designs a Poem and a Note by Rosa on "The Other Door"

Blind Designs

Born today, gone tomorrow
Like a butterfly with no stomach
Born n the morning, dead by night
Ohlet me whisper
Ohlet me cry
What man has not learned?
What man will not learn!
In his pomposity, his rhetoric
With his abstract concepts
With his intellect
With his creativeness
He has become enslaved
Bythem
By them all, he will fall.
Ah! Yesabstract concepts
Bombast and rhetoric
His intellect
His cleverness
This he leaves behind
To his decedents!...

(he has not learned he

has detached himself
dangerously from reality).

#814 8/24/05

A note by Rosa Pealoza-Siluk, The very first book Dennis wrote, The Other Door: Poetic Exhortations, appears now on Ebay and Abe, and Alibis books, and elsewhere as a keepsake. It was 25-years ago he wrote the critical praised book, in classical Poetry. Since then it has become a sought-after title for the author, with few circulating copies left. There was only 750-copies made, and 400 of them signed, a short classic in his genre. It is vintage Siluk, Poetryabout people who love and get hurt, and travel, just about the whole gamut of life. He has been thinking of republishing the book with a new introduction by his wife [me, because besides his books on drugs and alcohol, A Path to Sobriety,has proven that it will outlast him and myself, with all respect intended for my husband. Rosa

Poet Dennis Siluk, lives in Minnesota and Peru, and has just finished a new book,on Peruvian poems, and is working on The Curse of the Abyass Worm, which he hopes to ge t out by March, 2006. You can see his travels and books at his website: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Passing by the Cathedral (In English and Spanish)

I often passed by the St. Paul Cathedral:

Passing by in a car; Perhaps Ive passed it a million times, Ive never counted, it always swells

My heart. I pass it so fast (nowadays, or so it seems) Its hard to make it out; but no need to, I

Know it by heart,

I want to get out of the car and go up to it:

It rests on a summit (the highest point in St. Paul, I do believe), to what, Im not sure,

It seldom changes its composure.

A passing glimpse is all I getmy eyes are not

As quick, or swift as they used to be Getting old.

When I was young: to walk in those great halls

Of hers, or under her great domewalk Around those monstrous pillars: often crossed

My mindand one day I did, and I seemed So very small, listening to my echo return!

In autumn, its copper dome looks bluish, with

Autumn colors of: red, orange, green and blue (around it): most beautiful. Leaves brushed across

Its encircling streets and lawns, by the Minnesota winds.

They put on brown copper to its dome, a new Roof, they call it; about five years ago, that no one

On earth likesheaven I doubt will even Glance at it now.

Its a shame, the young folks will only have Pictures to look at how it used to be, until that is,

Until the copper molds with age again.

#1229 2/21/06

In Spanish Translated by Nancy Penaloza

De paso por la Catedral

A menudo yo pasaba delante de la Catedral de Saint Pal: Pasaba delante, en carro; Talvez yo he pasado esto un milln de veces, Jams lo cont, esto siempre hinchaba

Mi corazn. Yo paso esto tan rpido (hoy en da, o as parece) Es difcil entender; pero no hace falta, yo

Lo conozco de memoria..,

Yo quiero bajarme del carro y acercarme a ello:

Esto descansa en una cumbre (el punto ms alto En Saint. Pal, yo creo), a lo que, yo no estoy seguro, Esto raras veces cambia su compostura.

Un fugaz vistazo de paso es todo lo que consigo-. Mi ojo no esta

Tan veloz, o ligero como acostumbraba a estar- Volvindose viejo.

Cuando yo fui joven: caminar en los grandes pasillos

De ella, o debajo de su gran cpula caminar Alrededor de esos pilares monstruosos: a menudo se cruzaron

Por mi mente- y un da lo hice, y me pareci Tan pequeo, escuchando el eco- regresar

En otoo, su Cpula de cobre parece azulado, con

Colores otoales: rojo, naranja, verde y azul (Alrededor de esta); mas hermosa. Las hojas barridas a travs

De sus calles y cspedes rodeados, por los Vientos de Minnesota..

Ellos lo ponen en copas marrones para su cpula, un nuevo Techo, lo llaman ellos; hace cerca de cinco aos, que nadie

Sobre la tierra como- cielo yo dudo echaran una mirada De reojo a esto ahora.

Esto es una vergenza. Los muchachos jvenes solos tendrn Fotos para mirar como solia ser, hasta que eso, Hasta que el cobre moldee con los aos otra vez.

#12 29 2/21/06

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com Poeta Laureado de San Jeronimo de Tunan, Peru

See his new book: Poetic Images out of Peru, at http://www.amazon.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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Sunday, May 27, 2012

Emotion in Poetry: Using Metaphor and Simile

Poetry needs Emotion, but we need to create Emotion with words, the creation which is called Imagery. To enhance the Emotion of any writing, we can use poetic devices. Using Metaphors or similies is one way to strengthen (intensify, vigorize expression, support, vitalize, justify, stimulate, enhance)Emotion.

A Metaphor is the comparison of two unlike things by saying one is the other. An eample would be love is honey poured over life. Love is not honey, but the comparison creates a mental image of sweetness added to life.

A Simile is the comparison of two unlike things by saying one is like or as the other: Love is like honey poured over life.

Metaphors and Similes are very like in what they do in writing. Both compare unlike things.

Remember the nursery rhyme, author unknown:

< p>Twinkle, twinkle little star, How I wonder what you are Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky.

Comparing the star to a diamond is a Simile. But that comparison doesn't show about Emotion, right?

So, let's think of an Emotion. Shame is an Emotion that most people have felt one time or another. Now, to what can we compare shame?

Shame is like a dirty, smoothering blanket that clouds our sight. Shame is a monster that steals our self-worth. Shame makes us feel tarnished, unworthy, like a statue that has sat in the rain until worn and dull. Shame wraps us in gray, obscuring us from others' love. That gives us a start for a poem that includes the Emotion shame and some ideas for Metaphors or Similes.

Shame by Vivian Gilbert Zabel

I stand nude before the world, My faults and shortcomings Exposed for all to see. Like a tacky, tattered blanket, A cloud of despair smothers me. Layers of gray with streaks Of blinding black press me To the ground, a broken statue, Tarnished by relentless rain And worn by whimpering wind.

I cannot lift my head to watch In case others turn from me, Disdain displayed in their eyes. Shame turns confidence into Disgust for myself, burning Like a fire without warmth, Only a chill leaving no comfort. How can anyone love me When I remain disgraced in life By being who and what I am?

The preceding poem has two Similes and one Metaphor. The one Simile states that a cloud of despair, like a tacky, tattered blanket, smothers the narrator. The other says that disgust burns like a fire without warmth. The Metaphor compares the narrator to a broken statue. All help strengthen the Emotion in the poem, enhancing the feeling of shame. Alliteration is also used: tacky, tattered; blinding black; relentless rain; worn, whimpering, wind; disdain displayed.

Hopefully we can improve our Poetry and add to the Emotion and Imagery by using Metaphor or Simile or both. Lets try practicing the use of these in our writing to see how we can create more power in our poems.

Vivian Gilbert Zabel taught English, composition, and creative writing for twenty-five years, honing her skills as she studied and taught. She is a author on Writers ( http://www.Writing.Com/ ), and her portfolio is http://www.Writing.Com/authors/vzabel. Her books, Hidden Lies and Other Stories and Walking the Earth, can be found through Barnes and Noble or Amazon.com.


Author:: Vivian Gilbert Zabel
Keywords:: Metaphor,Simile,Imagery,Emotion,Poetry
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One of A Kind

My oh my
Big God in the sky
Sent me a Lovely Canadian
Hes having His way again
Certainly knows how
To melt me within
Though at times I get restless
And near rebellion
The Father above
Takes divine dominion
Alleviates my miniscule opinion
And exceedingly surpasses my prayers
Bringing countless blessings in

Karla you certainly are thus far
The greatest of them
A blessing from heaven above
Someone I prize and dearly Love
One of a kind
Captivating me all of the time
Making my soul sublime
With you the happiest days
I repeatedly find
Oh but now were apart
And it feels as if
Theres a dagger in my heart
Like Im tormented
By the distance
Nevertheless I persevere
With all persistence
Knowing assuredly
I shall soon see you again
On Queens Day, in Holland
Yet I wish it would come faster
Because I cant stop
Thinking about her

One of a kind
Is this woman of mine
A precious treasure
Beautiful beyond measure
Elegant and radiant
Intellectually brilliant
Stimulating me mentally and spiritually
Leaving me in awe
When I behold her physically
Soothing my soul
When I hear her audibly
Awaking my senses
When we embrace tirelessly
Getting lost in one another
Blissfully

One of a kind is she
Who motivates and inspires me
To be all I can be
To fulfill Gods call on me
Live passionately
Laugh joyfully
Love fearlessly
Let whatever will be
Just be

My one of a kind gem
Do not delay
To travel abroad
And come my way
For my soul longs
Yearns greatly for you
Without which
I know not what to do
For youve become
A part of me
A pillar of hope
Like the statue of liberty
An exquisite work of art
That provokes creativity
Ingenuity and tranquility

Hurry my Love
I wait for thee< br> With all I am
And forever shall be
Make haste my darling
For life is short
To espouse self-control
Without you I cant purport
Such dishonesty
Of my emotions
Makes mere sport
Let me therefore be true
And express wholeheartedly
How I feel for you
Before the sun sets
And theres no time left to.
Karla youre one of a kind
And I sincerely Love you!

By Paul Davis - poet and prophet

Paul Davis is a missionary statesman, life coach (relational & professional), popular worldwide keynote speaker, creative consultant, 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 bringing transformation to individua ls and organizations. 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 plans to marry Karla, the Love of his life, and go on an around the world honeymoon for an entire year. Would you like to sponsor these world changers?

RevivingNations@yahoo.com 407-967-7553 or 407-282-1745.

http://www.CreativeCommunications.TV
http://www.BreakthroughSeminars.org
http://www.DreamMakerMinistries.com


Author:: Paul Davis
Keywords:: breakthrough seminars,keynote speaker, Author,Minister,professional speaker,Love,Romance,Liberator
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Monday

Its 7.15am
Time to get up
A pot of tea on the table
Have I time for a cup?
A mouthful of toast
As I hurry around
Where are my car keys?
No where to be found
This is all I need
Now Im going to be late
Im giving the boss a lift
He wont like the wait
There are my keys!
I run for the car
Its a good job the boss
Doesnt live very far
Start up the engine
Turn the radio on
Tune to a station
This is a good song
Drive down the road
The boss will fuss
If this takes much longer
Hell be catching the bus!
There he is I pull over
Jump in, I cry
Youre ten minutes late
He says with a sigh
We arrive at the office
To start a new day
To have lots of money
Who said this is the way!


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 putti ng my poetry online. I publish my poetry on my Blog jo-hale-poetry at jo-hale-poetry.blogspot.com/ and on 8hop.com My poetry on 8hop.com. I also have information about my poetry at www.squidoo.com/jo-hale-poetry. I'm married to my husband Peter.


Author:: Joanne Hale
Keywords:: Monday, Monday Morning, Getting Up, Rush, Rushing, Stress, Boredom, Making a Living, Stressful, Rush
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

An Afternoon in Chicago a poem: in Spanish and English

The sun like a dear trailbit my brow,
Industriously, as my wife and I took the train
Back to OHare, from downtown Chicago,
Windy city, with stretched-up eyebrows
In its winter sleep.
We walked around, downtown: busy city
From Washington Street to Michigan; across
The bridge, there on East Ontario, we
Ate at Bice, Italian Restaurant (my wife
Paid the bill) her treat, Valentines Day.

Im waiting for the plane now, its 5:00 PM;
It has been one of those happier days, moments,
In my life: strange, even with Northwest being lat
It is pale, to dark now (6:00 PM)
Sitting on these warn out seats!
Ive been thinking, like when youre a little boy,
And spent the whole day rambling through the
City, on your high, two wheel bike!...
Whistling away the sunny day,
With nothing much to do or say.

My wife, sitting next me fell to sleep, hat on:
Holding my jacket in her two hands, sleeping,
Had to remo ve her coffee cup, in case it fell:
Shes in some joyful lofty solitude;
While Im sniffling away like hell.
It was nice, just being ourselves today
Before having to go back home, to St. Paul,
Go back to the kitchen, and fixing things.
As I look about, everyones on cell phones.
Hurry-upflight: NW 145!

Now that I think of it, you could smell the lake
The Great Lake Michigan; feel its pulse, its
Winds like tides in the air all about.
Softer dust, swirling along the cities streets;
Street people blowing brass horns for a meal.
Rhythmic packs, misplaced men and women
Everywhere: like undergrowth, weeds not growing.
Drunks, and derelicts, eyes staring at your every move,
And endless forest of a city, with boulders,
Towering bricks, next to an unforgiving lake:

Chicago!...

Semi prose/1/14/06 #1208

IN SPANISH Translated by: Nancy Pealoza

Una Tarde en Chicago

El sol como una huella quer ida.-muerde mi ceja, Trabajosamente, como mi esposa y yo tomamos el tren De regreso a OHara, desde el centro de Chicago,-

Ciudad expuesta al viento, con cejas dispersadas

En su invierno dormido. Caminamos alrededor del centro de la ciudad: ciudad ocupada- Desde la calle Washington hacia Michigan; a travs El puente, all sobre el este de Ontario, nosotros

Comimos en Bice. Restaurante italiano (Mi esposa

Pag el ticket) su regalo por el Da de San Valentn.

Yo estoy esperando por el avin ahora, son las 5:00 PM; Esta ha sido uno de esos das ms felices, momentos, En mi vida: curioso, aun con el Noroeste atardeciendo.

Esto esta plido, oscuro ahora (6:00 PM)

Sentado sobre estos asientos cuidados!. Yo he estado pensando, como cuando t eres un nio, Y pasas el da entero divagando a travs de La ciudad, sobre tu alta, bicicleta de dos ruedas!..

Silbando lejos en el da soleado,

Con nada ms para hacer o decir.

Mi esposa, sentada cerca de m cay dormida, sobrero puesto: Agarrando mi chaqueta con sus dos manos, durmiente, Tuve que quitar su taza de caf, en caso que esto caiga:

Ella es en algo alegre, sublime solitaria;

Mientras yo estoy resoplando afuera como demonio. Esto fue hermoso, siendo nuestro da para nosotros mismos Antes de tener que regresar a casa, a Saint Pal, Regresar a la cocina, y arreglar cosas.

Mientras miro alrededor, los celulares de todos.

Rpido- vuelo -NW 145

Ahora que yo pienso de esto, t podas oler el lago El gran lago Michigan; sentir su pulso, sus Vientos como oleadas en el aire por todos lados.

Polvo muy suave, arremolinndose a lo largo de las calles de la ciudad;

La gente de la calle soplando cuernos de metal por una comida. Pandillas acompasadas, hombres y mujeres extraviados En todo lugar; como maleza, debiluchas sin crecer Borrachos, y abandonados, ojos mirando fijamente a cada movimiento tuyo,

Un bosque interminable de una ciudad, con pedruscos, Torres de ladrillos, cerca de un lago implacable: Chicago. Semi Prosa 1/14/06/# 1208

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


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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