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Post by Scrappy Amazon on May 2, 2005 23:42:59 GMT -6
Nice...right up my alley...thanks Bud.
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Post by gwenyver on May 19, 2005 19:27:08 GMT -6
My God
I look out from this place in search of a god From behind this chain link cage I see her Promising salvation and freedom My god walks with me side by side She looks down on me with perfect love She strokes my face and makes me smile But my god is a liar I offer her trust and loyalty In return I am granted a crystal shade of blue For nothing more than being here Thrown away from my place in heaven And still I believe in her Even as we walk the long corridor to the white room Where others have gone before Even as she holds me to her chest And cries her tears I believe she loves me And as the blue fogs my mind I know She offers freedom of a different kind And I understand She loves me more than I can know So I go In search of a new god
I would like to know what everyone thinks of this one.....
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Post by Phalon on May 21, 2005 4:44:51 GMT -6
Gwen –
As I read your poem last night, I felt my eyes grow hot and a lump start to form in my throat. It made me remember when we had to have our cat; 14 and not too old by cat standards but ill, and our dog; younger, but injured at the hands of a well-meaning but incredibly ignorant person, euthanized.
I couldn’t go – Hubs did both times, and held them; stroking their heads and talking softly to his “boys”, while the vet gave the injection. I am thankful for that – that they had someone there who loved them, and who they loved back.
Afterwards both times: Guilt. Maybe the vet was wrong; maybe there was a cure – a way to fix it. Maybe he wasn’t suffering. Maybe it’d get better. How could we have made this decision?
What must our pet have been thinking at the end?
We decided it was too much – no more pets.
Years later, Little Xena began her relentless pursuit to get her parents to let her have a pet. How can you deny your child the opportunity to love an animal? We gave in. Twice.
And if the vet ever tells us again that the disease is incurable, or the injury; irreparable – that the kindest thing we can do is to put our cat “to sleep”….if we ever have to make the decision to “play god” again, and end our pet’s life – I will remember your words….
“And as the blue fogs my mind I know She offers freedom of a different kind And I understand She loves me more than I can know”
Thanks.
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Post by marysgurl1 on May 21, 2005 20:42:17 GMT -6
Gwen....I have put off responding to your last post for many reasons.....mainly because I, too, have a compainion of 14 years. He looks at me lovingly through eyes that are now clouded with cataracts & moves around more slowly these days because of the artharitis that bothers him in his hips. It breaks my heart now when he looks for the frisbee that I have put away or when he drops the ball at my feet that the neighbor kids have lost in our back yard. I long to watch him fly across the yard & catch that frisbee again, but I know one bad jump or one bad landing could be the end of all of his play...... I have walked that corrider with two cats & I have held another 15-year companion while he peacefully went to sleep in my arms.....not ever an easy bridge to cross..... When the time comes for my buddy, I will remember your words & rest assured, I know I will find strength in them.... From the bottom of my heart I thank you, my friend-- & their friend as well.....
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Post by gwenyver on May 22, 2005 21:03:01 GMT -6
Thank you for sharing ladies. I really appreciate it.
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Post by Scrappy Amazon on Jun 30, 2005 10:17:51 GMT -6
Night is my sister, and how deep in love, How drowned in love and weedily washed ashore, There to be fretted by the drag and shove At the tide's edge, I lie--these things and more: Whose arm alone between me and the sand, Whose voice alone, whose pitiful breath brought near, Could thaw these nostrils and unlock this hand, She could advise you, should you care to hear. Small chance, however, in a storm so black, A man will leave his friendly fire and snug For a drowned woman's sake, and bring her back To drip and scatter shells upon the rug. No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, Watches beside me in this windy place.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Post by Phalon on Jul 23, 2005 22:15:23 GMT -6
Hey, Moppet, since you like Shel so much, was wondering if you like Jack Prelutsky also. His books were as popular as Shel's when I was the library Mom, and had to be replaced just as often because they got so worn.
A short one from him that I came across the other day:
You Need to Have an Iron Rear
You need to have an iron rear to sit upon a cactus, or otherwise, at least a year of very painful practice.
A whole new meaning to Buns of Steel, I suppose.
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Post by Freebird on Jul 23, 2005 22:30:20 GMT -6
That was so funny. I used to write poetry but haven't for sometime now. I still have them written down somewhere, when I find them or remember some I'll post them. You all are so talented, I love all of the poems they are great.
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Post by Joxcenia on Aug 8, 2005 14:49:00 GMT -6
Not at all... bump whatever threads you'd like.
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Post by Joxcenia on Aug 8, 2005 21:41:08 GMT -6
Ooops... I just assumed you added one of your favorites from a book. It's nice. Sorry I can't really critique it, I don't know much of anything about poetry. Never studied it. And if I could critique writing of any kind, I'd be better able to edit my own stuff.
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Post by Phalon on Sept 15, 2005 16:33:22 GMT -6
Couldn't resist....
Drenched. Skin glistening with it, in the breaking dawn. Precipitation or perspiration? What does it matter? Either, and still.... ...she is annoying.
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Post by gwenyver on Sept 18, 2005 21:09:27 GMT -6
Butterflies
I went to far, pushed too hard, and walked away with a handful of air Like trees grasping at the summer breeze, you flew away from me Only to circle back and brush my cheek once again
The warmth in your eyes, the softness in your touch The grace in your words, all fill my head with longing But you dont belong to me, so I let you go
Its the Sun that owns your soul not the Rain, so I send you Dancing from puddle to puddle, shielding your eyes From the bright light above and reflections of truth below
All that we had been to each other, washed away Lost in the deafening confusion of words and sorrow No cocoon to spare us from the hurt, no wind to carry us away
I know you will return, when the seasons change When the sunlight recedes, and the rain begins again But you will not be the same, and neither will I
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Post by gwenyver on Oct 22, 2005 23:18:03 GMT -6
Write it down
Write it down so you don’t forget Write down how much you loved her With her beautiful smile So you don’t forget how much it hurt When she broke your heart
Write it down so you don’t forget Write down how peaceful you felt Looking into that angelic face So you don’t forget when your child laughed All was right with the world
Write it down so you don’t forget Write down the words you spoke That caused the hurt and anger So you don’t forget what it’s like To make a friend cry
Write it down so you don’t forget Write down how your lips tingled The first time he kissed you So you don’t forget what love is like For the very first time
Write it down so you don’t forget Write down all the things that make you cry When you are alone and angry So you don’t forget to call a friend When you’ve come to the end of your road
Write it down so you don’t forget Write down all the regrets you’ve had All the pain you’ve endured So you don’t forget there is also Love and forgiveness
Write it down so you don’t forget There is always something to live for And be happy about
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Post by xenavirgin on Oct 23, 2005 2:04:24 GMT -6
Write it down
Write it down so you don’t forget Write down all the regrets you’ve had All the pain you’ve endured So you don’t forget there is also Love and forgiveness
Write it down so you don’t forget There is always something to live for And be happy about Thank you. This poem has helped me so much. And come at a time I really needed to understand its' words. Without going into too much detail, my father died, quite suddenly last month. I've not really been able to mourn him because of our complex and less than perfect relationship. Guilt and regret were to overwhelming. Your poem helped me put some things in perspective and now I feel I can mourn for both him and myself. So. Thank you.
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erco
Whooshite Apprentice
Too technologically challenged to insert a picture!
Posts: 118
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Post by erco on Oct 23, 2005 20:01:04 GMT -6
Hag is a friend, a friend of mine. She makes me laugh, well most of the time. With her eyes so bright, bright as the sun. And her teeth are too, even though she has none. She's great to take, on trick or treat. She has no costume, and still looks neat. This year however, will be great you see. Cause I'm painting her orange, when I take her with me. As you look below, you'll see her there. She's not as noticeable, without her hair. Please remember, Hag, with me in mind. I'm only tossing you this pumpkin, because you're a friend of mine. (the above words written lovingly {pffft} by SweetPeaXG)
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Post by SweetPeaXG on Oct 24, 2005 17:25:37 GMT -6
Thanks for the {pffft} Erco.
For a minute there I thought Phalonie had popped in.
Hope you like, Hag.
Lovies~SPXG
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Post by lolapunk on Oct 27, 2005 8:15:39 GMT -6
I love it, Punkin, thank you.
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erco
Whooshite Apprentice
Too technologically challenged to insert a picture!
Posts: 118
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Post by erco on Oct 31, 2005 11:38:18 GMT -6
I don't write poetry, but have posted a few poems that a friend of mine has written. She is known as SweetPeaXG around here. Phalon nicknamed her SweetPea and there couldn't be a more appropriate name.
This was presented to me last night and she wrote it for my mom, my 4 sisters and myself. For respect for the author I will post it in the format she wrote it, which might make it kind of long on the page.
Sweet Man
He was the man of six woman, That took to their hearts. From the moment he met them, They were never apart.
He gave them their beauty, He gave them their grace. And profusely he loved them, Through the pain on his face.
He shivered and trembled, But cried, he did not. Cause this man was a hero, For the way that he fought.
With courage in his heart, And love in his hands. He made all of his girls, women, And gave them will to stand.
His life lived to the fullest, His wife holding on tight. His little girls with him, Ready to take on his fight.
Peace through laughter, Filled the room. Sweet man closed his eyes, He was coming home soon.
His heart filled with freedom, Their eyes filled with tears. Slowly he slipped away, And left memories of years.
These memories, however, Were good and some bad. But no one would change them, They were all that they had.
I know these girls personally, Some more so than others. Enough to know this man had, A wonderful wife and great daughters.
He knew this when he passed, Or he could have never let go. This man was all heart, And wanted everyone to know.
He lived his life proudly, And with good reason, you know. Cause his family is beautiful, And will continue to grow.
I sit on the sidelines, Not knowing this man. But I see him everyday, Through his family's kind hands.
I know he's seen them, And I picture a smile. Because his time here on earth, Will be remembered for awhile.
Thanks SweetPea. I love you!
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Post by Phalon on Oct 31, 2005 12:33:17 GMT -6
Beautiful sentiments, Eroc - a nice rememberence of the man so important to you and your family. Knew that girl was sweet; but talented?....yeah, I knew that too.
Hugs to both Sweet Pea and you.
(oh...and Christmas remember? Give her that nudge; I'll expect mine in a mail. Have her write something about fuzzy unicorns romping through fields of green; I know it reminds her of me.)
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Post by gwenyver on Jan 8, 2006 0:58:46 GMT -6
Still I Rise You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.
Maya Angelou
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Post by Siren on Jan 9, 2006 21:48:06 GMT -6
Thanks for posting that, Gwenyver, and hello! Another sign of Maya Angelou's absolute brilliance? She's a country music fan.
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Post by Phalon on Jan 13, 2006 7:20:08 GMT -6
Styrofoam Popcorn; Digging through it, Like a box of Cracker Jack; Looking for the prize.
Vivid colors, And long-forgotten gods Tucked inside. They make her smile.
Cheez-it boxes Don't have prizes in them. They should; But they don't.
God, that is annoying.
Thanks, Mophead. Smile.
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Post by Scrappy Amazon on Jan 14, 2006 9:41:28 GMT -6
You know...I told them to put those little air pillows in there...glad you like Madam P. *grin*
Loved the poem by the way. You should write more of it. lol
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Post by SweetPeaXG on Jan 16, 2006 18:55:09 GMT -6
To My Dear Friend Phalon...A little bird told me since the Hag's poem you were feeling a little blue about not getting a poem from the spewer of yoo-hoo! So Here Goes! Her name isn't Cynthia, Sydney or Sue She is just Cindy, without the Lou Who. She likes me so much, she calls me Sweat Pea That's why my friend Cindy is a friend to me. You would know if you saw her Blonde hair and blue eyes. Cindy has the body That any girl would despise. She's great on these ski things She calls them by name. I don't know what they are But I like her the same. If you know Cindy You know she's not the type. To worry about patches on her pants She's not into the hype. She's married to *Hubs* And on Lake Michigan she lives. With her two rotten cats And two very cute kids. This girl can ride a fake bull Like no one you've seen. Even though she held on with both hands We all expected one scream. You may know her by Gams When she drives her Mussel Car. Or if you find her at the ocean You'll spot those great legs from afar. If you've never met Cindy You should try it someday. She's great to hang out with in person And a wonderful friend far away. Lovies to you...Phalonie
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Post by Phalon on Jan 17, 2006 0:16:13 GMT -6
LMAO, Sweet Pea. Big, ole huge grin.
Hugs to you.
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Post by gwenyver on Jan 29, 2006 0:41:24 GMT -6
Sonnet 29 by William Shakespeare
When, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
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kt
Whooshite Apprentice
Six is my favourite number...
Posts: 129
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Post by kt on Feb 7, 2006 13:11:45 GMT -6
I wrote this a couple of months ago, the wierdest thing about it though is that i have no idea where it came from. I know that i was pretty angry when i wrote it for some reason. I Am
I am the prick of fear I am the flash of lust I am the calm before the storm And the bitterness of tears
I am the dying of the light I am the pride before the fall I am the lilting of the song And the cruelty of the years
I am the taste of sweat on a lovers skin I am the final shudder of a last breath I am the daggers in your eyes And the passion in your heart
I am...Me I have no clue what it means or its significance to me, and the fact that i've never written poetry before sorta makes it a strange experience. But i do kinda like it, so i thought i'd share it! LOL! Kt xx
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Post by Phalon on Feb 7, 2006 15:03:32 GMT -6
kt, your poem is great. I like it alot and am glad you've shared.
Unlike my entry for the day. Ever have one of those days where you should definitely not be allowed near a keyboard? Hence my deletion.
My apologies for those who had the displeasure of reading.
Sigh. The moment has passed; I don't wish myself a starfish and think I will leave the arm attached.
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kt
Whooshite Apprentice
Six is my favourite number...
Posts: 129
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Post by kt on Feb 7, 2006 15:21:44 GMT -6
Oh yeah...I get that.
Keyboards are definately my last port of call...If i write anything of significance its always done in rough first!
The only story i've done that i quite like, 'By The Pyre Light' was written and re-written trillions of times before I went anywhere near a keyboard! *giggles*
Kt xx
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Post by Joxcenia on Feb 7, 2006 17:30:58 GMT -6
I also prefer to write in longhand first, sometimes a couple of drafts, before typing it into Word. However, there have been occasions where I've used the keyboard before longhand.
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