Live Life to the Fullest!

Live life to the fullest

Fly a kite

Ride a bike

Take a walk in the park

Read saint Mark

Have lunch with mother

Play ball with brother

Vacation in Hawaii

Go to Colorado to snow ski

Help humanity

In some small way

Put a smile on faces

By what you say

Do so

Each and everyday

Before time slips away

Write a book

Bait a hook

And go fishing

In church start singing

Sail to the islands

Mountain climb the highlands

Plant a garden

Don't let your heart harden

Do your best

Forget the rest

Take an afternoon nap on Sunday

Go to Disney World

For a Fun day

Pen out a poem

Take your Lover to Rome

Go on an African safari

Learn to sincerely say

You are sorry

Seek God's blessing

And forget luck

Go to China

And eat Beijing duck

Catch a wave down under

In surfer's pa radise

Use better adjectives than "nice"

Understand economic policy

Ice-skate in New York city

At Rockefeller station

Don't back-stab in conversation

Love by demonstration

Be good to your body

In diet, exercise and hobby

Be creative and create

The Joy it brings can't wait!

Instinctively sense destiny

Playing no games with fate

If you must be there

Don't be late

Know people and seasons

Discern motives

And interconnecting reasons

When in doubt believe

Work hard and Joyfully receive

The Blessings that come your way

Knowing God governs each day

Give thanks rather than complain

Complaints only increase the pain

Realize your contribution to all

Decid e to stand tall

Hold to integrity, dignity, and purpose

Be bold and stay on life's course

Be part of the solution

Rather than the problem

Be pro, for them

An advocate

A mediator

A masterful change agent

A heaven sent

Breath of fresh air

Imparting Love, hope and care.

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 Ministrie s 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: RevivingNations@yahoo.com 407-967-7553.

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

Author:: Paul Davis
Keywords:: live life to the fullest,Joy,Happiness,Contentment,Fun,Play,Rejoice,Celebrate,Love,Romance,Blessings
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An Old Wood Pile a poem with notes

Old skin, once held tight
Against her skeleton
Rose no more, just draped
Loosely over unpadded flesh;
Un-tightened muscles, and tissue,
Lost its courage, no-fortitude,
Gone are the days and years
That stood against the
Indomitable elements;
The skeleton, now a landmark
Hidden under flesh and blood
Guts and moral fiber, backbone
Collapsed from drudgery
Time, time: cascading inside.
Bones now leaving impressions
Accepting fate
Like tarnished silver!...
Hands look like autumn leaves
Fallen from a tree
Winters around the corner
The door of time is closing
Like an old wood pile
Being burnet up
Hard to open things
Hard to do anything
Precariously balanced
Painfully slow

She hears my feet
Cross the roomher pale
Sweet blue eyes, flicker
Like butterflies

Tilting her face
To catch her breath
She says:
Who wants to live like this?

#793 [8 /11/05

Notes by the author: I think of myself as an old wood pile you might say, and so I use that analogy here: in my poem An Old Wood Pile, not out of disrespect. My mother had her mission, I was part of it. She was part of mine. I think I have learned to do one thing, if anything, in life, which is to examine it; otherwise, for me it would not be worth living. For this is where the truth of the matter is. Why do we do what we do; my mother said, Who wants to live like this? and I had to make a choice for her, after she made her choice. We live in a world where most people, willing or unwilling live in a pretense, when my mother said want she said, there was no more deception for her, if there ever was any. She wanted to go to the next level, and said goodbye in her own way. As we will in time.

Dennis Siluk see his books at http://www.bn.com or http://www.abe.com

Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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Difficult Times

I am walking in my normal Life now, Difficult Times ahead. The Times working in my Life, I cannot stretch how far theyll go.
Existed for many generations upon this earth, how many more Times do I have left. I ask for salvation, I ask for strength, the only thing I seem to receive is a loss of wisdom.
My wisdom is strong, my knowledge is deep, I know the simple facts of Life. Many men try to understand what I have to say, but only some take the time to listen.
All I ask is for access back, down the path, into salvation of the mortal The only thing I ever wanted was access to the portal.
My writing strengthens, my heart grows, and it all begins with the path of the Woman and the great love that shows.
She walks, she works, she talks, she speaks, she looks and listens; the Life begins with True Love. Which in essence is the signs of a true dove.
Her hair in the sky, her hair as bright as thy, walking, working and shaking her beauty to the left, to the right, I know now nothing guides me as much as her.

Nick Jacob
http://www.electronicsathome.com

Author:: Nick Jacob
Keywords:: Difficult, Life, Times
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Forbidden Love

Forbidden is my Love for you
Though the Feelings are deep and strong
You and I we belong to another
So being here with you is so wrong.

Yet Passion keeps me coming back
I want it from you more and more
The chemistry is electric between us
You fill my being deep down to the core.

You have such a hold over me
Your power it rushes through my veins
Im addicted to you just like heroin
And this feeling is why I remain.

Well continue to meet in Secret
And carry on this Passionate affair
Sometimes I think its all worth the risk
If we were caught, I just wouldnt care.

Dont get me wrong, I Love my husband
And I know too that you Love your wife
The consequences are unimaginable
Discovery would cause all sorts of strife.

But the magnetic attraction it draws us
We get lost amid its might along the way
How much longer can our Forbidden Love continue?
When it could be found out any da y.

But until such a time may arise
We must enjoy the times that we share
For if they should come to an end
I cannot say that I wouldnt care.

Life would be so less bearable
If I could not feel you inside
So, for this reason, my Love
Our attraction well continue to hide.

**Not written because of personal experience! Just a good imagination!**

I have a really good imagination, which can sometimes be a hindrance, but it is what helps me with inspiration to write my Poetry, which I do as a form of relaxation and to give pleasure to others that read it. I write about everyday occurrences and events that have either happened to me or to others. I write about everyday occurrences and events that have either happened to me or to others. I had my first poem published in a magazine when I was 10 years old.

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:: Love, Passion, Poetry, Adultery, Relationships, Forbidden, Forbidden Love, Feelings, Secret, Hidden
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Savage Nature: The Life of Ted Hughes

One of the most important poets of the post-war period, Edward James Hughes (1930-1998), was drawn towards the primitive. He was enchanted by the beauty of the natural world, frequently portraying its cruel and savage temperament in his work as a reflection of his own personal suffering and mystical beliefs - convinced that modern man had lost touch with the primordial side of his nature.

Born in Mytholmroyd, a remote mill town in West Yorkshire, Ted (as he was known to his friends and family) was enormously affected by the desolate moorland landscape of his childhood, and also by his father's vivid recollections of the brutality of trench warfare. Indeed, his father, who was then a carpenter, was one of only seventeen men from his regiment to have survived at Gallipoli during the First World War.

At the age of seven his family moved to Mexborough (also in Yorkshire), where his parents opened a stationery and tobacco shop. Here he attended the local grammar sch ool, where he first began to write Poetry - usually bloodcurdling verses about Zulus and cowboys - before doing two years' national service in the Royal Air Force. He later won a scholarship to Pembroke College, Cambridge, where he started reading English Literature but switched to archaeology and anthropology, subjects that were a major influence on the development of his poetic awareness. Here he immersed himself in the works of Shakespeare, W.B. Yeats and read Robert Graves's The White Goddess (1948).

Following his graduation in 1954, he moved to London, where he had a number of interesting jobs, including zoo keeping, gardening and script reading for J. Arthur Rank. He also had several of his Poems published in university magazines. In 1956 he and some Cambridge friends started up a literary journal called St. Botolph's Review. It lasted for only one issue but at the inaugural party Ted met his future wife, the then unknown American poet, Sylvia Plath.

Much h as been written about the Hughes/Plath relationship since that first portentous meeting, but few can doubt that these two brilliantly creative people were enormously attracted to one another, almost from the moment they were first introduced. Within just a few short months they were married and living in the USA, where Hughes taught English and creative Writing at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst. And before the year was out, he had won an American Poetry competition, judged by W.H. Auden, Sir Stephen Spender and Marianne Moore. Hughes once said of this contented period:

We would write Poetry every day. It was all we were interested in, all we ever did. Ted Hughes

Plath assisted him with the preparation of his first collection, The Hawk in the Rain (1957), a work that was quite extraordinary in its treatment of natural subjects. He continued to live in America for the next few years, being partly supported by a Guggenheim Foundation grant, before retur ning to England in 1959. He then went on to win the Somerset Maugham award and the Hawthornden prize for his second book, Lupercal (1960); confirming his reputation as one of the most important poets of the post-war period.

The next few years of Ted's life have since become the subject of much biographical speculation. However, the simple facts are that he and Plath had two children and moved to Devon in 1961. Their marriage began to disintegrate shortly thereafter and Hughes started an affair with Assia Wevill. He split from Plath and she committed suicide in her London flat in 1963. In 1969 Wevill also killed herself and their child. He married Carol Orchard in 1970 and spent the rest of his life trying to protect his and Plath's children from the media. Hughes published only children's Poetry and prose in the years following the death of his first wife.

His next major work was Wodwo (1967), which took its title from a character in the medieval romance Sir Gawa in and the Green Knight, and highlighted his increasing interest in mythology. He travelled to Iran in 1971, where he wrote the verse/drama Orghast in an invented language. Some of his other collections include Crow (1970), Cave Birds (1975), Season Songs (1976), Gaudete (a long poem on fertility rites, 1977), Moortown (1979), Remains of Elmet (1979) and River (1983).

Hughes was also one of the originators of the Arvon Foundation and was awarded an OBE in 1977. In 1984 he was appointed Poet Laureate and went on to publish Rain-Charm for the Duchy and other Laureate Poems (1992). Then in 1995 he composed a poem about Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, for her 95th birthday, likening her to a six-rooted tree. He also wrote many reviews and essays, some of which were collected in Shakespeare and the Goddess of Complete Being (1992), A Dancer to God: Tribute to T.S. Eliot (1992) and Winter Pollen: Occasional Prose (1994). In addition to all this he also wrote many wonderful play s and books for children, including his remarkable fantasy The Iron Man. And when, just months before his death, Hughes released Birthday Letters, a collection of Poems about his life with Sylvia Plath, it became an immediate bestseller throughout the English speaking world and was widely praised for its searing honesty.

Ted Hughes died of cancer on 28th October 1998, having just been appointed to the Order of Merit. Andrew Motion followed him as Britain's Poet Laureate.

About The Author

Paula is a freelance writer who has contributed articles, reviews and essays to numerous publications on subjects such as literature, travel, culture, history and humanitarian issues. She lives in North Wales, is a staff writer for Apsaras Review and the editor of two popular online guides. You can read her rsum at: http://www.paula-bardell.com.

paula-bardell@freelance-worker.com

Author:: Paula Bardell
Keywords:: Poetry,Writing,Poems,Humanities,famous poet s,Arts,Entertainment,performing Arts
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Learn About Love From Poet Rumi

In this modern age of technology, busy lifestyles, and obsession with consumerism have taken a lot of the Romance and Love out of our lives. The Internet has become a medium to connect with people as everyone is finding it a lot harder to meet one another in the 'real' world. It has undeniably also become a place of voyeuristic fantasy in the realms of sexuality on pornographic sites. What ever happened to true Love? Are our priorities so messed up that Romance has been forgotten, only to be experienced vicariously through television and movies? The answer is no. Romance will never die; we just have to feed it with our energy.

Around 800 years ago a famous Arabic poet, philosopher and sage named Rumi wrote beautiful Love Poetry beyond all comparison. I don't know if there have been many other people in Earth's history that have thought about Love as much as this master. His poems have not been forgotten, and one place you can simply find and read them is on the Inter net. E.g. www.khamush.com/Lovepoems.html

The Beauty of the Heart
The Beauty of the Heart
is the lasting Beauty:
its lips give to drink
of the water of life.
Truly it is the water,
that which pours,
and the one who drinks.
All three become one when
your talisman is shattered.
That oneness you can't know
by reasoning. (Rumi)

Of course you can also buy books by Rumi on the Net as well, but the mai n point here is that the Internet doesn't just give us access to our present time and place; it gives us a means to connect with past realities often assumed to be lost in time. It is quite ironic and paradoxical that we can use this modern space age tool to connect with our cultural, spiritual and social heritages. We as a society have come a long way in terms of our technological development, but it is well known throughout the world that our ancestors were much more evolved in these important areas where our growth has become stunted due to a lack of awareness and narrow perspectives on life.

Love, Romance, spirituality, none of these things need be forgotten. The answers aren't locked away in tombs and pyramids; they are still here lingering in the back of our consciousness. All we need to do is to get the desire to fulfil our lives by these means and we will search and find the ways. Human beings are incredibly resourceful creatures. When we put our minds to somet hing we can make just about anything happen. I don't want to imply that the answers to our problems are easy, or that the Internet is our sole saviour. I am just amazed at how all things in life are connected, and that we just have to open our eyes to see the all too obvious!

Jesse S. Somer
http://www.m6.net
Jesse S. Somer is a writer searching for Cupid's arrows anywhere possible. He has found that the modern Internet to be a possible source of Ancient knowledge and wisdom.

Author:: Jesse Somer
Keywords:: Internet,Web,Online,Poetry,Love,Writing,Rumi,Arabic,Ancient,Romance,Heart,Beauty
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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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