The Macabre Poems Part Three: poems: 3456

34) Eros Ploy

From her mind to her clitoris,
To her nipples and lips,
Wooed like a bird perched on a stick:
She melted like butter
Until there was no other.

35) Tagaririm (Arch devil Belphegor)

He speaks only in Aramaic, calling up the dead
For vagary, spells and signs, to hide
The Atziloth scrolls, until the four heavens divide,
Untiluntil the end of time.

From different worlds, his powers come
Briah, Yetzirah and Asiahwhere immortal veils
Never meet (Neschamah, Ruach and Nephesch);
And questing armies never die.

Lo, Samaul, Evil Spirit of the soul, waits for thee,
Thy signature O Belphegor
To unroll the scroll,
Bearing the names of angelic beings and demonic foes.

36) Dream Maker [Part 1 of 5

Who crafts a dream
Puts us to sleep!
What ear shall hear
Or balance meet
To wake us up
Upon our feet?

II: Comes the Dream

Comes the dream,
An inkling m emory
Sealed tightclasping
In a darkened room
(In soul-vaults).

III: Ancient Scrolls

Endless mysteries
Of the spirits plight
Weave the inner twilight.
Unending sunsgloom!
Ancient dreams and scrolls.

IV: Sleeping Mind

In each sleeping mind,
Light can seldom find
The formless decay,
Of ones dragging worlds
To be left, behind;

For heavens melody,
Darkness lurks
As the mind hovers:
The strains seep out
Lo! Bend the vine:
Let the sunsets in, Awaken
(Alls forgotten).

V: Lonely, Lost

The Dream-maker shouts:
I found songs unsung,
Lonely, lost a while,
Unto and into thy grief,
Thy grief, my grief now sung.

Ah! Death has lost its sting:
And dreams have lost
Their pulse
Thou shalt not wake this time,
The Dream-maker shouts.

37) The Macabre Serpent of Space

With chilling sarcophagus grimace,
The ill-omen serpent appeared
From out of the shadows of space

Lo! More ancient than man, it thirsts for a name
A place in unutterable space
Yet, only blacknesscul-de-sac.

38) C.A. Smith

The cypress blows over my grave:
Oh would I hide from you
Yet I writeall the same.

Ah! I am a ghost:
With shadows above me
And demon ears below.

April 17 2004, Lima, Peru.

Published on the Eldritch Dark website; a favorite of my friends, Phillip Ellis.

39) I. The Woods in the Sea

Upon the throne, of the moon,
Across the land, into the sea,
He treads: walks endlessly
For the entire world to see.

The wind is from the north,
The bright stars rest in the west,
The gift of second-sight
Resides within his chest.

He knows he cannot rest
For unseen shores yet to come
From lands both dim and gray,
Lands of new outcomes.

Published on the Eldritch Dark website 6/04

40) II: Shadow of Fate

I f one lives with the god of hate,
High or low be he,
Such is his fate.

41) III: Talons

I will weave the pale shadows
(Time lost, time forgotten):
All into pallid brows
Onto the strangers talons:
While I sink into the board-walk
Let him tell his tall tales.

42) IV: Wild Stones

Who is the witch, the demon
The culprit and the ghoul?
I could not tell for the life of me:
So I forgave them, one and all.

And then I slept a long sleep
(Forgiving is quite a chore)
Then, when I woke to meet the day,
Love had conquered all.

43) V: Satans Sidekicks

The men that chum with Satan
Their hearts cannot forgive;
They see no more in love,
Than mercy can see to give.

The men that chum with Satan
Their gods are many and small;
They drift away like white ghosts
Climbing demonic walls.

The men that chum with Satan
Seldom can they sleep;
And through their nightmar e visions,
With flames and smoke they leap.

They walk the earth alonethey do,
Strange, deep with palest eyes.
Always thinking they were cheated:
With footsteps dogged by lies.

And in the halls of Belshazzar
Their ghostly eons twist and twine;
Always knowing naught of hope,
Beyond the blazing line.

44) VI The Great Flood of 51

The night is dark, the Mississippi
Lies asleep;
Velvet mists veil the blood-spattered moon
(With hoary strange eyes):
Restless with hazy fear, and slumber
Of her sleep
(White thunder in the skies).
She hears the whisper of the
Ghostly storm (booming far
Encircling near)
Glide overnightoverheadready:
To be born (like a hammer of Thor).
I shall go forth! she hears:
And down the scarlet veil, hails
Triumph is in its roarthe storm:

Roads, men, levee and homes
Cliffs and bridges tossed about:
The untamable god has freed the clouds.

Continuation from the: Macabre Poems

45) Poes Legacy

If Poe hadnt have been born

Thered have been no rapping or tapping
(at least for a whileat my door?)
Nor would there had been morbid beauty
with depth and sin
That circles the globenor HPL and CAS.
What a mundane life (it would have been)
without the devils pen.

I gripped the legacy: lying on savage ground,
the third-eye of the hunter, filled with wax
calls for breath, in the silent Valley of Shock;
thus, stungI remain, by the fruitless trees
of horrorthen I hear a whisper:

Lord, help my poor soul.

June 4 2004

Inspired by Phillip Ellis.

46) Loving in Limbo

Mother! Mother!
My precious one!
To whose dearest love Will harmony run?
Oh! Thy will it is
In the winters to cross
Or lay simply still
Like Octobers frost;
Now my form is cold
(As in trance Im snared)
Keeping heart and soul
With songs th readbare?

June 6 2004

47) Mystery of Mysteries

Were born alone, as shall we die
Looking at the hour of drifting
A Mystery of Mysteries!
We are pitifully helpless things.

The Watchmans guardian eye,
For Himit is not loneliness;
The drumming of the unguided
Lends allurementwith chanting nearby.
In life and death, two faces pry;
One shall overshadow: they cry

Be it night or day, though face may frown,
Unready for the final dawn
And pandemonium near, throbbing:
Comes the drifting of the hour
As were born, we die: alone
A Mystery of Mysteries!

48) Rosinina Tapi of the Sacred Valley

It was long, long, so long ago
in the Sacred Valley of Peru,
wherein a maiden lived, no one really knew,
by the name of Rosinina Tapi
and this maiden lived with no other thought:
than to live out her life within this sacred spot.

I was a Prince and She was to be,
in this kingdom o f the Sacred Valley;
we fell in love: ardent and unconditionally,
I and my Princess to be
with a cherished worship, that only Heaven
could see.

And so it was, that long, long ago
in this kingdom in the Sacred Valley
a ghostly wind blew to and fro
(out of a void no one knew):
after my lovely Rosinina Tapi,
thus inspiring her kinsmen
to take her away from me.
They hence shut her upin a eerie vault
Within the kingdom of the Valley.

Ah! the devils, the devils, that dwelt in Hell,
Were envying her and I
Oh yes!twas their quest
(as all knew within the Sacred Valley),
that the ghostly wind that blew to and fro
through the cracks of the earth:
had seized and killed my Rosinina Tapi.

And sad was I, to bury my dreams,
(such memories that had to be):
and under the moonbeams, my beautiful Rosinina Tapi
was buried within the Sacred Valley.

49) The Ancient Sharra

You that r est in utter and gloomful darkness
Who come from the middle of the world
The Sharra Indians with shrunken heads,
Colored feathers, blow-guns with
Fearful darts,
Along the equators rimthat doesnt spin
To you I pour forth my autumn nights.

Note: 4/20/04: written during a visit at the Middle of the World at the Ecuador (000)

50) Satans Galapagos

By the dark shadows
Vowed to Lucifer,
By his sealed prophets
Foreshown,
By these, by these I claim
Thee
By trickery, wine and sorcery
I have tried to bend thy
Footsteps
In the peaceful Galapagos.

April 24 2004; Lima, Peru

Note: written returning from the Galapagos, to Lima, Peru; many strange and disruptive incidents, occurred.

51) Fading Worlds

Behind a great shadow,
A world fades
This is the price of beauty
How many stars are lost
This way
Lost within the oceans,
Fading skies?
So many lost worlds die.

< p>In memoriam Clark Ashton Smith April 10 2004, Lima, Peru; revised May 5 2004.

52) Lost Souls

Shadows of the lost souls,
If you call on them,
Will never let you go.

April 17 2004, Lima, Peru

53) The Goat mans Fancy

She heard the coming of the Doom
In the silence still of the moon
For, half-enchanted with his stars
In the twilight of his youth,
To the desert he did part.

Now, with the moon unlit,
He left her heart
As if she was to mutter on
And sing his starry, lonesome song!

Henceforth triumphant
Was the Devils rose:
For she poured his devilish poisons, cold
And muttered on, to a new moon.

54) The Hoofed Demon

He heard me not, nor saw
Knowing my presence as he should:
He whispered.

*Ecuador, Quito, 4/25/04

55) Buried Souls

And there his sarcophagus lay
Beneath the towering mountains
Stretching out of the deep, dark sea
(With all its w eight, sealing his fate),
No light, no day, only binding chains.
Lost, forgotten in the sands density

Where no travelers have yet been,
No roads or skies to befriend,
Faceless skeletons, silent voices:
They all embraced in this veil of dark
Embraced by looks: face to face
Hungry to fill the emptiness of space.

April 1 2004, St. Paul, Minnesota

56) The Pale Horse of Rano Raraku

Jesus said: Know what is before your face and what is hidden from you will be revealed to you; From: the Gospel of Thomas.

It is to you, to you among the living that I write; for indeed, I may be dead, and am of little concern if so. For the years now that are in the past, the last few in particular, have been years of terror, of intense dread, as circles the world this very moment, to escalate, I do believeescalate around the globe, and so I write this by inspiration of a story I heard:

Into and onto the Isla de Pascua,
Navel of the world (window to the Pacific)
Whose Moai Eyes of towering volcanic stones
Look towards the Heavens,
As if their spirits were trapped, bound within,
Afraid, fearful, frightened, to leave their stone abode,
To face their worldly sins

Thus, rides the Pale Horse of Rano Rarakus rim of Rano Rarakus rim.

Ah, distinctly, eagerly, pacing,
Tis a visitor who comes racing
Into and onto the whisper of Rano Raraku
To catch the first glimpse,
The very first glimpse, peep, and hint of Apocalypse
Deception and pestilence travel with him,
The Pale Horse: Tribulation

Whence comes hail and fire from above, mixed with blood;
The sun, moon and stars darken.

Henceforth, the Pale Horse comes racing, riding,
From the rim of this wondrous volcanic site.
The seventh trumpet is now ready to be blown,
The woes and vials to be poured:
Within the magic and mystery of this story
Rides the Pale Horse dying, dying, d yingdead,
On the rim of Rano Raraku;

Watching, watchingthe stranger, Austrian, grim:
Thus comes the worlds sins;

As he witnesses the painthe horses message:

The God-King is not dead
The God-King is coming.

Inspired by my poet friend, Johannes [2004

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

Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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Three November Poems

Show-shine Boy

Im warm
Safe
Surrounded by books
Under my heart beat
Resides a phantom
an old drunk
On the long walk
From 12 to 58
I never forgot
The Shoe-shine Boy
In me!!
I never ran out of polish;
When I looked into my shine,
As now, I do, into my poems
Saying: Whats next?
Unhurried, unfurled
I ended up here
Here, writing this poem
It cleverly fits
Into my life, so nice
I drink my latte
Here at the B.N., Caf
(a stir-stick, in hand)
Somehow I feel, really feel:
This is just the beginning

#934 11-22-05

Fears Intentions

Fear, O fear, go to sleep Undiscoveredso you creep

Repulsive, at its very least! You shall not mould me in my Sleep!...

And when he has gone, far away Awkward things, seem to stay

Like plastic clay, I seem to be Waiting for fear, to return to Me!...

#932 11-22-05

The Balconies of Lima, Peru

how swi ft: I step from one to one!

A moment out of the day

The winds upon my brow

A breath taken away; away by The balconies of Lima, Peru

(Most beautiful in the world!) Here is where, within the shadows

Of the Plaza de Arms

Is where kings and conquerors

Once ruled

here! here the air is still,

Warm as the orchards in spring Warm as the Sacred Valleys afternoon.

Here is where the balconies sing! With a ghostly fragrance in the air,

Here along the streets of Lima, Peru Here, here is where they sing, sing

Of the long lost folklores, Of long ago

Note: I have traveled the world over, in Spain, Lisbon, New Orleans, etc., and Ive yet to find any balconies equal to Limas; even in Italy, and 59-other countries. #929 11-19-2005

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

Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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"Jenny Kissed Me" by Leigh Hunt A Discussion of the Poem and the Poet

Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in:

Say Im weary, say Im sad,
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say Im growing old, but add
Jenny kissed me.

Leigh Hunt was a 19th century English essayist, critic, Poet, and publisher. Hunt was not a renowned Poet, though his Jenny Kissed Me has been enjoyed and often quoted for nearly two centuries. However, Hunt lived during an age of English Romanticism and was influential in the lives of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Lord Byron, and John Keats. He was also contemporary with Samuel Coleridge, William Wordsworth, and Charles Dickens. Such great company has given Leigh Hunt a distinguished status.

About Jenny Kissed Me

In 1835 Leigh Hunt and his large family moved to Chelsea in London and became neighbor to Poet and author, Thomas Carlyle, at his suggestion. The two became close friends and Hunts home was always open to his circle of friends, of which there were many.

Two stories exist. One story is that Leigh Hunt visited the Carlyles to deliver the news that he was going to publish one of Thomas Carlyles Poems. When the news was delivered to Carlyles wife, Jane, she jumped up and kissed him.

The other story is that during one winter Hunt was sick with influenza and absent for so long that when he finally recovered and went to visit the Carlyles, Jane jumped up and kissed him as soon as he appeared at the door. Two days later one of the Hunt servants delivered a note, addressed, From Mr. Hunt to Mrs. Carlyle. It contained the Poem, Jenny Kissed Me.

The second story is the one most often repeated.

Thankfully, Hunt was a wise editor, because in the original draft Jenny was Nelly and the word jaundiced was used instead of weary in the fifth line.

Reputedly, Leigh Hunt was a flirtatious man, often in trouble with his wife. Also r eputedly, Jane Carlyle was a bit sour and better known for her acid tongue than for impulsive affection.

The Poem, Jenny Kissed Me has been described variously as whimsical, charming, simple, and unaffected. Many readers encounter it for the first time during their school-age years and remember it all their lives. Numerous girls have been named Jenny as a result of the fond memory of the Poem.

The first striking structural feature of Jenny Kissed Me is the trochaic meter. This is characterized by a foot that contains an accented syllable followed by an unaccented one. This meter is not commonly used in formal English Poetry because it can sound singsong.

The trochaic meter is more common in childrens nursery rhymes where a singsong rhythm is welcome. Think of Twinkle, twinkle little star, How I wonder what you are.

The singsong effect is offset by the abab rhyme scheme in the Poem, as opposed to an aabb rhyme scheme. The former rhyme scheme prod uces a four line verse as the basic unit of the Poem, as in Jenny Kissed Me. The latter rhyme scheme produces two line couplets which enhance the singsong effect, as in childrens nursery rhymes.

Trochaic meter can also sound solemn or heavy due to the fact that the trochaic foot has a falling pattern (stressed syllable followed by an unstressed syllable). However, Jenny Kissed Me is a lighthearted Poem and is supported by the use of feminine rhymes.

Lines that end with a stressed syllable are said to be masculine and lines that end with an unstressed syllable are said to be feminine. In Jenny Kissed Me lines 1, 3, 5, and 7 are masculine, but that rhyme pattern is not carried throughout the Poem. Lines 2, 4, 6, and 8 are feminine, helping to offset the masculine rhymes and helping to make the Poem feel lighter and brighter.

The insightful ending to Jenny Kissed Me invariably brings a smile to the readers face.

About Leigh Hunt

James Henry Lei gh Hunt was born in England in 1784 and died in 1859. Many English Poets and writers were contemporaries of Leigh Hunt, including Keats, Shelley, Byron, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Dickens, Carlyle, Jeremy Bentham, and Charles Darwin.

During Hunts lifetime England engaged in the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812 with America, and the 23 year period of the Napoleonic Wars with France. During Hunts lifetime the French Revolution occurred and Napoleon became Emperor of France. Later, steam engines created an industrial revolution, and Darwin sailed to the Galapagos Islands and reported his findings. During a three year period Hunts friends and supporters, Keats, Shelley, and Byron all died at young ages.

Leigh Hunt was born into a poor family near London in 1784 and attended school in London at Christs Hospital, a school founded 240 years earlier for the education of poor children. Following his schooling, Hunt took a job as a clerk in the war office.

In 1 805 Hunt partnered with his older brother, John, a printer, to establish a newspaper called The News. Three years later the brothers abandoned the newspaper and created a political weekly that established their liberal reputation called the Examiner. Among other topics, the Examiner called for many reforms in Parliament, criticized King George III, and called for the abolition of slavery.

The power of journalism came of age during this period of English history with the publishing of numerous critical newspapers which collectively became known as the radical press. Consequently, the government became very busy, though mostly unsuccessfully, prosecuting the radical press for seditious libel.

In 1812 the Hunts wrote an article in the Examiner that called the Prince Regent, the future King George IV, a violator of his word, a libertine over head and ears in disgrace, a despiser of domestic ties, the companion of gamblers and demireps. As a result, John and Leigh Hunt were convicted by a jury of libel and sentenced to two years in prison.

Though he continued to write for the Examiner while in prison, Leigh Hunts separation from his family convinced him to turn away from political writing and to focus on literary writing.

Shortly after being released from prison, Leigh Hunt moved into his favorite house in Hampstead where he was able to spend precious time with his wife and three children and with his literary friends. Among those friends who stayed with Hunt for periods of time in his Hampstead house were Percy Bysshe Shelley and John Keats.

Hunt had earlier introduced the world to the writings of Keats and Shelley in the pages of the Examiner. His section on Young Poets gave Keats and Shelley access to valuable space where some of their first works were published.

Keats welcomed Hunts tutelage for about a year. He broke away from Hunt when a critic labeled Hunt and Keats as members of The Cockney School o f Poetry.

In 1818 Shelley and his family decided to move to Italy for health and financial reasons. His friend, Lord Byron, was living in Italy at the time and the two corresponded for several years while each lived in different parts of Italy.

In 1821, when Shelley and Byron were both located in Pisa, Shelley envisioned a new magazine called The Liberal, which Shelley, Byron, and friend, Leigh Hunt, would publish in Italy. Shelley sent money and an invitation to Hunt and promised to provide a house and income for Hunt and his large family.

Hunt liked the prospect of joining Shelley and Byron in Italy and took his family to Genoa and then to Leghorn to meet Shelley. After their meeting Hunt and his family went to Pisa to join Byron, and Shelley set sail in his boat, the Don Juan, for his home up the coast at Casa Magni.

Shelleys boat was caught in a thunderstorm and sank. Shelleys body and his crew washed ashore in Corsica a few days later. Local health laws prohibited the moving of the bodies to Rome or Pisa, so a month later Hunt, Byron, and family members attended a cremation of Shelleys body. After the cremation Hunt ended up in possession of Shelleys heart, which he eventually returned to Shelleys wife, Mary.

Lord Byron was not interested in The Liberal and soon left Italy to take a commanding interest in the civil war unfolding in Greece. Byron died in Greece of respiratory disease in 1823.

Hunt and his family were left in Italy without their friends and without an income. Hunt published a few editions of The Liberal, but it lacked heart and soul and failed. Hunt received an advance for literary works and took his family, which now included seven children, back to England.

Hunt was impoverished most of the rest of his life. Charles Dickens was instrumental in agitating the government for the grant of a pension to be paid to Englands needy authors. In 1847 Hunt began receiving the pensio n which eased, but did not eliminate, his financial constraints.

Shortly after returning from Italy, Hunt moved to Chelsea, where, as he had done at the Hampstead house, he opened his home to his literary friends.

The publication of Dickens novel, Bleak House, considered by some critics to be his finest work, though certainly not his most popular, included a character said to be modeled after Leigh Hunt. The book caused a rift to develop between Dickens and Hunt.

The Bleak House character, Harold Skimpole, was described as airy, improvident and objectionable. Skimpole claims to be a child when it comes to finances and manages to have everyone else pay his way through life.

Though Dickens denied that this was a characterization of Hunt and offered apologies, Hunt and his literary friends were offended.

Leigh Hunt died at age 75, well-remembered by his many friends. William Hazlitt, the painter and writer, said that in conversation he is all li fe and animation, combining the vivacity of the school-boy with the resources of the wit and the taste of the scholar.

********************
Garry Gamber is a public school teacher and entrepreneur. He writes articles about politics, real estate, 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:: Jenny Kissed Me, Leigh Hunt, Byron, Shelley, Keats, Dickens, Hunt, Poem, Poet, Hunts, Hunt's
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Three Summer Poems

1) Summers Song

Enter July, happily,
Summers here, and fair
Fancy-free, and young heats beat
With lovers everywhere!

Bright and dark eyes, smiles sweet,
Some tears along the way,
But Winters gone, and
Summers here,
Laugh your troubles away.

#1392 7/17/06

2) Summers Edge

With you, my thoughts are sweet and dear
And my heart is trouble free, but
I sit and let the seasons by
Looking out my window frame,
And wonder with my heart stretched thin:
Is he in Paris again?

#1393 7/17/06

3) Pretense Friends

They shook my hand, and smiled clear
They spoke with check and brow,
And all I heard was what they said:
Were friend forever now!

And they were playful and mild
Who whispered lies to me back then,
The soul that grows in July,
May never mend again.

So young I was, and unwise
And so many a hearts, they split,
And little did they realize
They were only pretence friends.

Who brought me silly talk in June
Shall meet a bitter end,
For July is nearly over now
And my heart has yet to mend.

#1390 7/17/06 Written at El Parquetitos in Miraflores, Lima, Peru; if visiting Peru, stop by the caf and say hello to Dennis, he is usually there writing something, having a cup of coffee, busy writing over some Lomo Saltado, with a coke. Rosa

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

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

Sweet Serendipity

Sweet serendipity
Continue to shine on me
Open my eyes to see
Make me all you want me to be
Cause me to trip over my treasure
Discover my Destiny
Live authentically
Practice spontaneity
Get rid of hesitancy
Live boldly
Engage the day exhuberantly
Manifest my full potential passionately
Never being limited by my current reality
But living from within victoriously
Via my faith and inner reality <
Sweet serendipity
When my efforts are done
And the distance Ive fully run
Let it be said of me
In Love and life I won
Take me from tragedy
To triumph
From a mess
To a deliverable message
From stumbling block
To stepping stone
From seeming setbacks
To immeasur able successes
From pain
Into power
From anxiety
Into Creativity
From hurt
Into healing
From offense
Into feeling
From disaster
Into dynamic recovery
Countless Destiny discoveries
Dream fulfilment
Causing all in the world
To hear it
Sweet serendipity shine on me
Make my life
What it ought to be!

Paul Davis is author of Breakthrough for a Broken Heart a book telling us how to Overcome disappointments and blossom into your dreams! He is a minister, life coach (relational & professional), fitness trainer, worldwide professional keynote speaker, creative consultant, humor being, adventure capitalist, explorer, mediator, liberator and dream-maker.

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

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

Paul can be contacted at: RevivingNations@yahoo.com

407-967-7553 or 407-282-1745 http://www.DreamMakerMinistries.com

http://www.CreativeCommunications.TV

Author:: Paul Davis
Keywords:: Divinity,God,Theology,Poet,Poetry,Creativity,Destiny,dream fulfillment,Love,professional speaker
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

The Amazing You!

In the midst of your rain, might you a frown?
Seeking to hurt they may bring you down.
Forget what they say! Remember its true!
Inside you my friend, is an amazing you!

I know you have talents that wait to convey.
Amazing is waiting to prance on its way!
Uniqueness is wrapped; deep in your mind.
Untying your will, amazing youll find!

We all have perceptions of what we can do.
All have a vision of what we see true.
Resisting your doubts, hold your head high!
Believe in your self, and reach for the sky!

Conceive what to do; I know youll go far!
Believe it my friend! Youre truly a star!
Deep in that coal; a diamond you are.
Dig through your mine; show us your shine!

Dont wait on others; accept in your self.
Achieve with your gifts that sleep on your shelf.
It will not be easy; it will not come fast.
If only youll try; Im sure you will last!
Friend will you cryeven to scream?
Amazing y oull be as you fight for your dream!

Today is your chance will you be brave?
What hopes do you have in your heart that you save?
Step out in faith please do not wait!
Dont you give up on your chance to be great!

Beyond what you think; past what you thought.
Regardless of life and the past you have caught.
I tell you my friend; believe in your now.
Follow your heart and then youll know how!

Now to those others; a sudden surprise!
Painful for them to rethink their eyes!
All those before will soon know its true!
They stand in the midst, of the amazing you!

- We all have fuel for our fires; so burn bright!

Copyright2006 / Published2006/ Compassionpwr@juno.com

L. J. Riley Jr. is writer of metaphorical Poetry, childre ns Poetry, metaphorical literature, philisophical articles as well as Christian topics. L.J. Riley Jr. was raised in Davison, Michigan on a farm until 1988 in which he joined the U.S.Army and served in combat with the 18th Airborne Corp./24th Inf. L.J. Graduated with High Honors from Mott Community College with two associate degrees in 2002. L.J. graduated from the University of Michigan Flint as a Maize and Blue Scholar and graduated with high honors. L.J. is currently finishing his masters degree from the University of Michigan Ann Arbor MSW and management program.

Author:: Laverne John Riley Jr.
Keywords:: Poetry,motivating yourself
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Discover Four Reasons Why Inspirational Poems Are Just Irresistible

It was just after noon when the young President's limousine made its way into a depository. He had stopped twice to shake hands with some nuns and school children. Suddenly, shots were fired; and at 1 p.m. President Kennedy was proclaimed dead.

Overnight, the number of Inspirational poetry written about the president and the assassination that were received by the press could make up a few volumes of books. The question is, why poetry? Why not other forms of writing? What do you gain from writing or even reading one?

Let's discover why Poems are just irresistible during time of confusion and hardships.

It makes you feel better inside.

When we experience difficult time in our lives, sometimes we say that words just couldn't express our feeling. That's exactly right if we 're trying to write a sentence or article. But not Poems. It gives you freedom to write in fragments. It let your emotions out, freely and easily.

If you look at some of the most famous poets, Inspirational verses that they write are almost related to their personal grief or difficult situation they experience.

Let's take Helen Rice. Well known as the poet laureate of Inspirational verses and famous for her motivational words, Helen Rice was writing those word of strength for her own self as well as for her readers. Those verses were written during the Great Depression when her rich young husband lost all hi s fortune in the stock market crash. Mounting debts forced Helen to work while her jobless and depressed husband lived in isolation and later committed suicide.

Her motivational and inspiring verses are words written not only to sooth the hearts of her readers but also to let go off the hardship that she felt inside. It was only through Poems that she could channeled her voice during the hard time. Those Poems actually made her feel good inside.

Inspirational Poems give you hope and faith If you know any ex-soldiers who had been to war, I'd like to ask you a favor. Go and talk to any one of them. And ask them if they knew any Poems. You'd be surprised if they tell you that they memorize several and had written a few.

Prisoners of wars (POW) are known to memorized Poems or write o ne during their hard time in war camps. Apart from religious verses, poetry is another form of written words that could give them hope. It keeps their faith and more importantly their sanity!

US prisoner of war at Vietnam was known to pass along a poem called Invictus by Earnest Henley for morale boost. Meaning unconquerable, the poem begins like this,

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

When you're deprived from the freedom of outside world and contact with your fellow colleague is limited, you need motivational words to strengthen your wills. Poems like Invictus are just what the doctor ordered.

It Heals Aching Hearts Nowadays, Poems are being used in a few hospitals around the world as a form of therapy. Similar to art therapy, the aim is to make patients feel more open in expressing their feelings. Difficult patients were said to be more approacha ble and showed improved attitude when they were enrolled in such programs.

Poetry therapy is a form of therapy to help heals aching hearts. It helps you get rid off burden from your chest. Overall, it makes you feel better!

Poems Touches Your Heart Can you tell me how many essays touch your heart? Yes, there might be a few that makes you wept but they are hardly memorable! But it's a different thing with Poems. It's easily memorable and makes you want top pass it along to friends.

I give you an example. Have you heard the poem called An Interview With God? This classic poem had touched the hearts of millions of people. The owner of a website that created a presentation of the poem had been able to distribute this poem to millions of people around the world just by word of mouth. The reason is simple - it touches peoples heart. The impact of the poem is so incredible that the site owner made multimillion dollars from products derived from the poem.

Ok ay, I understand your problem. Some Poems may make you dizzy, left you mentally tired and leaves nothing but a confused brain and tied tongue. But not all Poems are like that. Most Inspirational Poems by poets like Edgar Guest, Ella Wheeler Wilcox and Helen Rice are easily readable but still carry strong impact and have deep message embedded in them.

Unlike an essay where you have to be concern about your grammar and paragraph, you can just express yourself freely with Poems because it's just like your heart's intimate diary. If you can't write one, just read one. At this internet age, a quick search and a click of a button at the search engine is all you need to get an Inspirational poem in a snap. So, tarry no more. Let's go and read one right now!

Lela Iskandar Suhaimi is a young father who teaches high school math. If he's not lecturing his three-year old energized daughter, he updates a website on Poems - Inspirational Poems that is!.

Author:: Lela Iskandar
Keywords:: Poems,Inspirational poetry, Inspiration
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