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GOODREADS NEWSLETTER CONTEST > PLEASE POST YOUR POEM FOR THE DECEMBER GOODREADS NEWSLETTER CONTEST!

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message 51: by Jim (new)

Jim Spain. (Rimeriter) | 27 comments Is it
Sunset or Sunrise

for bush country towns,
many are waining,
many wear frowns.

People have left,
rushed to the city,
chasing a rainbow.

It’s just a pity.


A rainbow appears
following storm clouds
go back to your shears.

Don’t wear city shrouds.


Return to your roots
relish the storm
others may soon
make bush towns

their norm.


©. Rimeriter 7/7/10.
Bootin' About The Bush


message 52: by Raghda (new)

Raghda (raghda_gamal) | 4 comments Life



Act 1

Looking to each other
With smiles on our faces
Singing that our laughs
Would mix together with
Our dreams of the happily-ever-after story...

Act 2

Smiling faces
Looking to each other
Thinking of how much they
Could destroy each other
How they could let themselves down
With each turning down...

Act 3

With a frightened face
He looks into the bloody sky
Dreaming about the past
Asking for the kindness
she lost long time ago

Act 4

Life goes on...

Act5

In a winter weather
Two little faces
Looking to each other
With a smile…


By Raghda Gamal


message 53: by Heather (new)

Heather (heathertills) | 7 comments I am thinking about how I was in love with you,
once,
when the blue moon shone bright and I didn’t know who I was.
I remember the times we had
in the world
that does not exist.
I remember the laughs and how I thought that fate would bring us together.
I guess it turns out that fate is as much of a fool as I have been over the years.
Fate must have screwed everything up,
given it all away
along with nothing.
Fate must have fallen in love once,
or twice,
or infinately,
with the everyman that is the only man that is the one.
Fate must be a figment of imagination itself.


message 54: by Ivy (last edited Nov 08, 2010 08:31PM) (new)

Ivy 'A Confession'

I have a Confession to make.

First, the days flashed past, like trains.

They left me abaft, like a lone commuter who swallows down what remains of her lukewarm coffee.

The escalator hauled me uphill and down in those next few undulating weeks. I posed in gloom inside my 4-by-5 cubicle, memorizing the exact colors which blended together in my paintings of deceit.

In them, I planted devices of such pretense, that even the masters did not fathom my nefarious initiative.

At the end, I dared not declare my devious ways. But to appease myself, I revealed of the skeleton in the closet.

(Written by Ivy J. E.)


message 55: by Kirra (new)

Kirra (Booey) | 1 comments Locked behind closed doors and cry
With a mournful sigh
Tears of amber for non others sight
I weep away the night
But the sun dues rise
To others joy'es cries
Pout on a mask
Pretend to have a blast
The day wont last
The night will come
I shall be undone
Far to young
For this destiny undone
An Innocents lost
A life would be a smaller cost


message 56: by [deleted user] (new)

briefly, after a fall
by Brandon j Bertram

trip to the corner store
down the snowy sidewalk
for milk and eggs
for breakfast

i slip and i fall
on an icy patch
and look around
embarrassed
checking to see
that no one saw

but when i look down i realize
i'm wearing sweatpants
holey and stained
with mustard

so i get up
and continue
casually on my way


message 57: by Sarra (new)

Sarra Martin | 1 comments Don't let things annoy you,
About life's dearest friends.
They'll never fail to impress you,
Again and again 'till the end.


message 58: by Paul (new)

Paul Maddern | 2 comments The Beachcomber’s Report
-by Paul Maddern

The best place to hear the ocean in a shell
is at a plain wooden desk in a bare room,
your eyes closed, knowing that if open
they would overlook the sound
you’re trying to remember.

If you’re on a beach checking driftwood
for texture, density and weight, stop.
Take the pieces to the fireside and just before burning
smell them, then rub your index finger along the grain.
That’s when you will value their assets best.

When you pick up an imperfect green glass
lobsterpot float, carry it to a distant beach
where such things do not exist and drop it
implausibly beyond the high-tide mark
for locals to puzzle over.

Barbie heads, Ken torsos, Cabbage Patch fingers
are best buried in identikit suburban yards,
forgotten, save for a vague feeling
a writer might one day dig a bed for roses
and imagine non-existent children.

Should you retrieve the message from the bottle,
hide the note in a library frequented by academics,
within a dry encyclopaedia –
Biographie Générale 3536: MerMur ?
Check from time to time if it has disappeared.

Collect frayed orange nylon rope
and pay someone who knits the going rate
for a sackcloth-and-ashes jumper,
ideal for sitting in that bare room
listening for the ocean in a shell.

And when all of this has been accomplished
burn the desk, scatter the driftwood cinders,
throw all floats and doll parts back to the sea,
unravel the jumper, and travel to Bermuda
primed to search for Prospero’s Book.


message 59: by Tarang (new)

Tarang | 4 comments The Painting

My fingers smear color, on the human form...
lovingly tracing the contours, of your imperfection,
with my chaotic mind.

You fade away.

There's no name, no face, nothing.
Just my creation, a thousand brilliant colors...
spread without a pattern, on an empty canvas.

Your soul becomes one, with my painting and my prayer...
and you lose yourself, in the canvas, that is you.

By Tarang M


message 60: by Bill (new)

Bill (krisar) | 2 comments quiet

a quiet breath
a quiet thought
a quiet mind
waiting for the dawning of realization
of the meaning of life,
it’s toil,
it’s suffering,
it’s indifference
betwixt the children

dis-chord-dance is the prevalent composition
of the symphony
the music of our existence
the conductors are blinded
by the misplaced and askew harmonies
of objective selfishness

pain merchants are plotting
new rules to the game
or perhaps . . .
new games for all the unwilling
unconscious
sleepers
who are intoxicated by delusion
and doctrines
and tradition
and variegated colors

we play absent mindedly in the gardens
of the absent hearted
callously going through the motions
with unanchored smiles
and untethered dreams
eating the unleavened bread of sorrows

yet still we have
a quiet breath
that we may breathe new life
a quiet thought to bring forth resuscitations
a quiet mind
that we may spawn creation
and we can reach back
to a better “now”

let us indwell in the stillness
become the genesis of change
dust off the lanterns
that the light may permeate the darkness of the noise
cast aside the voices of chaos
that rides the mounts of pride
and ego . . .
let the Power Mongers open their eyes
and look into the face of their demons
and see fate’s unwavering cosmic law of balance
and become “in” lighted
and we will walk once again
with one
quiet breath
a quiet thought
a quiet mind

of love


(c) 8 November 2010 : William S. Peters, S


message 61: by Chiesa (new)

Chiesa Irwin | 1 comments THE THINGS I LOVE

I gave away the things I love
pictures
ribbons
champagne glasses
men
thoughts

flying from my hands like dying birds
that had passed through a poison cloud
shuttering on impact
warmth leeched from their bodies
dissolving in the wind

these loving things I shed like hair
each follicle yield to the pull
until I stood
bald
pink
shining like an alien thing
empty like death.


message 62: by William (new)

William Robertson (goodreadscombillro) | 72 comments BEWARE


We worship swords that when unsheathed
will tell the deeds they've done.
No maimed man may reign,
so forge the mail deflection-thick.

Life is golden torque
and file-hard spear,
the magic strain of a harp
and a knife well-greased.

Furies, monsters, and hags of doom
send fire and streams of blood.
Beware of the wizard's evil eye
and the powers of strife and disorder.

William P. Robertson
From my Viking novel THIS ENCHANTED LAND: THE SAGA OF DANE WULFDIN
To hear me recite the poem visit
http://www.viking-sagas.com
and click on "Readings"


message 63: by Leonard (last edited Nov 09, 2010 02:23AM) (new)

Leonard Dabydeen (leonard_dabydeenhotmailcom) | 58 comments and then...

and then it came into view
as if it had roots
among the stones and boulders
slithering in silent meandering
towards my broken path

and then slowly in awe
I laid my clayed goblet
with water dipped from the Ganges
on the bedrock
where my naked feet held firm
as if they, too, wanted to make root

and then the cobra lifted its head
tongue darting
eyes riveting
as if transmitting a message
into my frightful brain
its shimmering body
exuding majestic power
at the edge of the fissure divide

and then...
as if the heavens
made friends with the enigmatic quake
a twister with stormy wind
dusted the fissure
like a mirage

and then...
as the dust settled in my mind
the cobra slowly
moved down the opening
only to rise again
wrapped in sanctity
around the neck of Lord Shiva

and then...
I clasped my hands
in solemn prayer
celebrating Maha Shivaratri
unscathed
by evil in my destiny.


message 64: by David (new)

David after the rain

rainbow openly
sparkles with tossed energy
the wind whispers in the breeze
blowing in a burnt longing

summer sleeps in
yellow hues after the rain
the day stretches in
Violet streaks

a sheltered lake glimmers
explosively
with frighting strength
rising up..

Dundee Dave


message 65: by Marcy (last edited Nov 09, 2010 03:31AM) (new)

Marcy | 7 comments “Drowning”

I sit
On a rock bright
As morning dawn in the dusk.
I listen to it while on my rock.
The river rushes,
Beating like a drum,
Like a war drum.
The darkness surrounds me.

My feet
Kick the waters’ surface.
The water, it is cool.
The air, it is frigid.
The water,
Alluring like the siren singers,
Pulls me down in the whitened froth.

Drowning.
The water is under
The water is above
The water is right
The water is left
The water is forward
The water is backward
I am sinking.

I struggle,
Kicking at the merciless chains
That pull me under
Like a serpent of the water.

Light.

I see it above me.
I cannot reach it.
I sink.

In desperation

One last push

And I break through the water like a million mirror fragments.

--Marcy


message 66: by Shermaine (new)

Shermaine | 1 comments Chances by Shermaine Williams

A little look,
A sly glance.

Nothing more needed to fuel her imagination,
an image with him.

Together.

The touch of his hand caressing her skin, boosting confidence.

Only to find him no longer there.
Shermaine Williams


message 67: by Shannon (new)

Shannon Marie (shannontraveler) How Can I?

how can i breathe how can i love?
how can i live how can i, Love?
when i am all eyes
all feeling and pride
choking, deprived
stealing the life
out from under their toes
grinning, unknown

i fall into
not finding you
not finding view
of love, its color
stained over
all of theirs
all their dares
which i dare not do
i can't find you.

dearest, dear Love
electricity
inside me
thoughts killing
whispers willing
to die their death
while i let
the darkness take me
down on my knees
submarine of me
underneath, between
reminding me
always
that love is serene
never seen
holding on trees
the fruits that bleed,
tasty and tempting
under the leaves
covering me
today and tomorrow
the rest spent in sorrow
not finding in them
any such plan
to find me,
find me.

dearly, dear me,
be mine in this vine
on this rhyme
hold me
where the ghosts
cannot be
past all that's passed
behind, let it flee
away from our tree
you've come,
here to see
seas of me
broken waves
believe
in the crests of my bests
and let me still be.

oh love, let me love
my Love
in the here
oh dear, let me love
to leave the how's
the fears
to you and your dealings
not shaking
or wheeling
but honestly standing
on your swarthy shores
accepting the salt
with hands in the mire
green algae covered
waves at my lover's feet.
oh how can it be, that Love could love me?
lovely my Love, how can I see?
how can I breathe
how can I, Love?

how can I live, oh how can I love

-Shannon Marie


message 68: by Melanie (new)

Melanie (chairs) "depression molestation"

sorrow touches me
inappropriately.
innocence trapped
in dark places


message 69: by Emily (new)

Emily Driver | 1 comments Society's Gate

Barred from the world
By Society's Gate
Here I stand
I wait and wait

Will anyone come
Unlock the gate
Will someone come
To change my fate?

For here I stand
Alone in the world
I see no banner
For me unfurled

I saw one once
But, ah, alas
The time for banners
Now is past

All around
Many people I see
But none will
Be a friend to me

So here I stand
I wait and wait
Barred from the world
by Society's Gate


message 70: by [deleted user] (new)

Come Hike with Me


Come for a hike
with me, grandson--
in the mountains
where the moose live.
We'll find treasures
God has given us:
antlers,
nests,
each other.
Soon my legs
will grow old
and weak.
Your legs
will grow
long and lean,
strong and sure;
they will
carry you
away
from me.
So come hike
with me now,
Aiden.


message 71: by Gail (new)

Gail | 12 comments Poetry

Poetry, Poems
What does it mean?

Can you write?
Can I?

Words can open doors
that were closed

Words can build bridges
over waters uncrossed

Words are like sounds
song from the heart

Words can reveal
A writer, a lover, an artist inside

Open your heart
show your words without fear

Words can
be you

Words
can be me

Open your heart
share your words


message 72: by Sujata (new)

Sujata (eternaloxymoron) Mind Nebula by Sujata Sahoo
I am a wanderer
without moving an inch.
An arm chair adventurer
my mind the best mode of transport,
transporting me into fantasy lands or into different realms altogether.
Ceaseless thoughts,
the mind a nebula.
Thoughts born anew,many zillion a minute.
Flitting past each other never going beyond the mind's narrow gate.
Breaking free towards a new path
a new vision envisioned.
New light shed on the black path
things born anew.
Moving towards a transcendental experience
beyond mind's narrow thoughts.
Soaring into the world and being one with it.
Everything in tandem shutting out the chaos.
Peace and Orderliness restored.


message 73: by Janet (new)

Janet Goodfriend | 1 comments Extricating Courage

Hey Big Sister,
can you tell me
where I’m supposed to go?
Can you tell me
my big sister
what I am going to do?
You sit beside me.
You know my story,
feel my ocean- and
know I need to
move against the tide-
go find some glory.
You see my pain
washing over.
You see my heart bleed
crashing the breakers,
when you sit beside me.
You say, Little Brother
you seem so hungry
I want to feed you
but you’ll still be hungry.
Tell me what you are going to do
Little Brother- you say
so much you do,
You do it for me
but you don’t ever say
I do too.
Little Brother, I am your
little brother,
little
big sister

~by Janet Goodfriend from her novel: For the Love of Art For the Love of Art by Janet Goodfriend


message 74: by Joseph (new)

Joseph Breunig III (jjbreunig3) | 19 comments Poem: The Cross, Stark and Still

Into the depths of untold depravity,
a perfect creation had fallen away;
unimagined grace poured out from our God above -
As His Hand of wrath was firmly stayed.

The Cross, stark and still, standing upon a naked hill...
subtly calls for the World's attention.

Since the dawn of everlasting time,
our Savior awaited His appointed day;
despite humanity's race to certain doom -
His Hand of wrath was intentionally stayed.

The Cross, stark and still, standing upon a naked hill...
continues to demonstrate His gift of Salvation.

The twinkling stars danced across the midnight blue
as songs arose from the angelic array;
quietly the Messianic babe in a manger lay -
As His Hand of wrath was lovingly stayed.

The Cross, stark and still, standing upon a naked hill...
serves as a testament of Love's perfection.

A carpenter's son? He's just a man!
His godly claim on earth displayed
had believers searching for purest faith -
His Hand of wrath was securely stayed.

The Cross, stark and still, standing upon a naked hill...
reminds that our debt was paid for sin's violation.

In the face of false accusations,
Christ held His tongue to Pilate's dismay,
for God's plan played out for all to see -
As His Hand of wrath was purposely stayed.

The Cross, stark and still, standing upon a naked hill...
is a backdrop for a risen Lord calling us with adoration.





--------------------
Author Notes:

This is a collaboration piece with Mr. Jeffrey Jordan of Wichita Falls, Texas.

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419...


message 75: by Deborah (new)

Deborah Dempsey | 3 comments Thoughts across the road


The half wild half tame patches are what I like:
goldenrod, asters, tansy, small spruces arrowing up,
old trees along the road, wild roses.

People have worked on a place and then given it up,
gone west or died, and there's a lot of talk
about the stone walls or the broken-backed
barn or the fish shack by the rotting wharf, and
All that work wasted. Abandoned. As if
It needs us in order to be anything.

The goldfinches didn't set out to shoot like sunlight into the weeds.
Old apple trees still shed pungent scabby fruit. Scallops of
Beach stones, erased at every tide, record the waves .

Fire can make these patches, or wind and water, as well as we can.
Salt water works well, too. The world can do without us.
Even to celebrate it is an imposition.


message 76: by Emily (new)

Emily D | 3 comments Ode to Writing Naked

writing naked is like being on a swing
back and forth
your legs swing back and forth
and little toes scrape the white sky like a bowl of vanilla ice cream
as you always wanted them to, in a distant dream
but never believed they actually could
the sky feels icy bright and cold

writing naked is like listening to life like music
seeing the notes climb up an untouched bowl of fruit
arpeggios in a silent insight draw rhythms in a laugh that resonate
and harmonize with the percussion of colliding breaths

writing naked is like running with no legs
and no pain
only the navigation of new streets and fast forests and fantastic horizons which you'll never reach but can run to
when you are legless

writing naked is like joy spread out across the white kitchen table
to be collected in messy handfuls and baked from scratch
into little fragrant treasures in the red
hot oven

writing naked is like speaking at our graduation
except words haven't been invented yet
only mmmm and aaaahh and sllllsh
and fear so how do I tell someone
I love you; You are incredible, You are Everything

without legs without tempo without words without pain without boundaries

naked
you write a life story.


message 77: by Norma (new)

Norma Duncan | 1 comments REBORN

A leaf lets go of Mother’s hair,
Twists and turns in the whirly air,
Dives and slides to the water’s edge,
Catches, tips into the dredge,
Lifts with waves a storm has brought,
Tosses boldly and then is lost
‘Til surges from an undertow
Make it rise to meet the snow.

Soon, Nature gathers all her seeds
And brings them back to Mother’s knees…
And, so it goes as life renews.
The leaf returns itself to soil
To nourish all the trees,
And with the spring, the trees bring forth
New life, new birth of leaves.

November 3, 2006
Norma Duncan


message 78: by Rashid (new)

Rashid Meras | 2 comments COME AUTUMN.

Autumn, thy dwindling leaves,
And every moment as it leaves;
Thoughts, reluctant to heed,
Between joy and pain, they sway.
The leaf gives away finally,
As the gush of wind, takes her away.

Yesteryears like falling leaves,
Swirl away in the autumn breeze.
They are crushed under my feet,
As I walk down the barren road.
My heart aches,
And wishes for a solemn abode.

There is a sense of peace
In the autumn’s dancing leaves.
I looked at them with a smile,
Dreams of spring at a distance.
Standing the chilly wind, while shimmering but still,
A lamp glowed in silence.

Though fallen apart, my yesteryears,
They color my path and remove my fears.
Teaching life and its tumultuous course.
It inspires and strengthens my hope as I pray,
To make every leaf green,
That which had turned grey.


message 79: by Mark (new)

Mark Vigna | 124 comments Looking for Work?


Idling around in Southeastern Michigan
I often see a certain bumper sticker
Which reads:
OUT OF A JOB YET?
KEEP BUYING FOREIGN

I met a woman once who pared
Her her total possessions
Down to one hundred or fewer.
Her husband works on destroying
Dams. They fish for a living.

I rode a Harley-Davidson
Along the coast of Lake Huron.
A Chilean offered me a bunch of grapes
While a Mexican sliced a lemon.
An old Spaniard peeled a clementine,
A young Costa Rican broke off a banana for me.

When I drive up and down the aisles
Of Wal-Marts parking lot,
I always count how many of the “Out of a Job Yet?”
Bumper stickers I can spot.
There’s always two or three.
One time I counted six!

Mark Vigna


message 80: by Miggy (last edited Nov 17, 2010 10:43AM) (new)

Miggy Angel (miggyangel) | 2 comments The Message



If you stay at home long enough
a wonderful thing shall happen

Your hair will mat into a glazed crown

Your nose-hair will splay
its four sacred tresses
to illustrate the compass

Your fingernails will grow
around corners & spy on neighbours

Your feet will become a silent kingdom
resplendent with vegetation

In your beard's black length
shall be read the zodiac, & evidence
of your eating habits

Your armchair will respond, solely
to your curvature’s signature
repelling all others

A large black crow
will fly thru your window
with a message tied to its leg


©2010 Miggy Angel


message 81: by Janet (new)

Janet | 31 comments Moor Conversation

Conversation flowed
like a stream
hesitant
new
switching from rock to rock
from cold pure sweet water
to turbulence
back
to the bank, lightly glancing
to soft yielding places,
it bounces shyly
to eddy, withdraws tentative
but not too far
the beck sings in the
morning air
the curlew responds with a sharp cry

She rises, settles in her wings around her voice
sinks gently, shimmies
a little shake of those shades of moor coloured feathers
as she drops once more to the ground
her sister circles once more
inviting her company

Later we found her cousin on the ground
long dead her core empty
tattered wing span forever half open
wish bone attached to ribs
the rest returned to earth
gone with the fox or burned
with the last moor fire

By - Janet Smith


message 82: by P.S. (new)

P.S. (psbaber) | 2 comments Ask not the angel — ask the devil,
And he shall surely confess:
“Perdition is knowing there exists a beauty
That you can never possess.”

by p.s. baber
excerpted from Cassie Draws the Universe


message 83: by Matthew (new)

Matthew | 2 comments Tree on a Hill By Matthew Labella

There is a tree on a hill,
each day it stands perfectly still,
it hardly moves in wind or rain,
its always there,
its always the same,
the sky is blue,
the hill is green,
it's the prettiest sight I've ever seen.


message 84: by Michele (last edited Nov 09, 2010 02:39PM) (new)

Michele Bondi Bottesi | 1 comments My Prayer Before Reconciliation

Oh sweet Author of Life,
Your pardon I seek as I kneel before Your Cross.
Lord, forgive me.

Immerse me in Your compassion,
for I have so little to offer you.
Even my petition for forgiveness comes from You.

You long for my approach, though wounded,
so generously willing to exchange human iniquity
with the Love that sustains and saves,
when the soul but accepts Your invitation.
I give my nothingness entirely to You.

Divine Justice, have mercy on me,
and may all my brothers and sisters benefit also,
especially those most in need of Your saving grace.

Blood of Christ wash over me,
and transform my self into You.
Make of me the mirror
that reflects Your love to Your beloved.

I thank You for Your sacrifice and invitation,
for Your patience while awaiting my response,
as I seek Your will while You encourage me
to make my own choices.

For lovingly creating, guiding, and consoling me,
and all You have generously given me,
including the grace to recognize
that which on my own I cannot see.

For allowing me to lose, that I may win.
For giving me the opportunity to journey
united with You along Your Way of the Cross.

I accept Your love
and return to You my heart united with Yours
along with my obedience.
I thank You for everything, Thy Will be done,
and petition You to fill this dry well
with Your Divine Presence.

Amen.

-Michele Bondi Bottesi
© 2010 Michele Bondi Bottesi


PyroLily ~Qui scribit bis legit~ (PyroLily) Another World

Another world apart
Is where I like to stay
Is where I keep my heart
Just to get away

Nothing can cause pain
And everything is what I wish
Nothing or everything to gain
Prefect bliss

But nothing is real
Like a sleepless dream
But I don’t want to deal
With trouble that comes as if they where a team

I need to trust my friends of flesh and blood
So I can escape this lonely flood



message 86: by Lee (new)

Lee (LeeTschetter) "OBSERVATION"

Am I observing
Or the voyeur?

Think of that which may be seen in a sigh,
Or heard as a wisp of a cloud passes by,
The taste of electricity in a storm wrought sky.

Ponder the sights and sounds way up high.
Are my senses correct to assume?

Only passing through
This world of wonder,
Who am I to judge?

Be careful your observations,
See with your heart and hear with your eyes.


message 87: by Jaden (new)

Jaden | 2 comments The Sunset Sea by Jaden Baum

the sunset arises
set with wisps
of cotton candy
adrift
in a sea
of fluff
and curls.
they sail
away
like ships
on an orange
and purple
and blue rolling sea
with its whitecaps
of curling
swirling
twirling-
no,
now it's
gone.


message 88: by John Moncure (last edited Nov 09, 2010 03:55PM) (new)

John Moncure Wetterau (wetterau) | 5 comments Community Garden


dull orange/brown, reds
and yellows on the ground,
grass still green,
an eight foot deer fence,
seashells tied to the wires,
birdhouses on the posts,
remains of vegetables, flowers,
herbs in long narrow plots,
a water tank at one end

in the clearing, compost bins,
a pile of wood chips,
three apple trees, newly planted

soon, all will be snow covered,
white shapes and a fence

quiet

we will wait,
relearning patience, hungry
for the colors
that feed us

Peaks Island, Maine


message 89: by Jaden (new)

Jaden | 2 comments Karen wrote: "The Package

When I picked you up
I held you close

I cradled you
in my arms
next to my breast

I didn’t want to drop you

Such a small package,
yet so
weighty

I cried
as I carried you
to your car..."


This was amazing. it was so moving. i almost cried. thanks for writing it!


message 90: by Sean (new)

Sean Alexander Jackson (SeanAlexanderJackson) Heartfelt Eulogies


I've never known anyone

well enough

or gone enough

to give a heartfelt goodbye

but laying awake

in the dark

alone

my mind likes to try


message 91: by Donna (last edited Nov 12, 2010 11:07PM) (new)

Donna Solitario (EmbracetheLight) | 2 comments The Power of Love

Love can do many things
It's like magic and makes the heart sing
It radiates warmth in the dead of winter
Awakens the birth of Spring in December
Blankets the soul with faith and hope
Empowers promising ways through love to cope
Quiets the imperious storm
Promotes healing and peace to those who mourn
Gives refuge to the daunting foes
Fills up a once endless void
Of restless starving pangs
Echoes of loneliness transcend
Vanishing heartache and pain
Radiates rainbows and waterfalls to starlit, twinkling, stars in the sky
Enlightening the yearning soul to fly ever so high
While soaring through the galaxies
To fullfill one's destiny
Rays of moonbeams dance upon heaven's delight
As lovers kiss at the strike of midnight
Love projects mighty strength for the weary and weak
Whispering messages of hope for those who weep
Loves sweet fragrance gallantly drifts off to sea
Seasoned to last for all eternity

authorimage:Donna M. Solitario|3151513]Coming Home To My Heart; For Inner PeaceEmbrace the Light: A woman's story through poetry to touch your heart


message 92: by Terresa (new)

Terresa Universal Gravitation


I am standing in the kitchen,
a cathedral of rain, ghosting to stone,
as his questions fall fecund
across the morning minutes like lace,
delicate and nubbed,
rolling and throated.

Just a minute is exactly what I say,
not what he is,
sunk, heron-swallowed,
apple bright and as forgotten as breath.

What is this life to waking,
a wash of laundry sorting,
echoing open, a cloudburst of bells,
a starfish weighted with bones
and three years life or thirty?

All of us shelter unscaled islands,
but to know it and
live the questions like arms,
the answers like wings,
and fly,
but Newton studied apples and their fall,
not holiness, how we carry it so lightly,
or love and its gravitational pull,
like puffed clouds as they pleat
and gather into waves awaying,
or this filament of time
that is mine as long as I hold it.

--Terresa Wellborn
© 2010 by Terresa Wellborn. All rights reserved.


message 93: by David (new)

David Page (GoodreadscomHarryRiley) | 14 comments The Voice of the Dead

Remember me
Duty called and I went to war
Though I'd never fired a gun before
I paid the price of your new day
As all my dreams were blown away

Remember me
We all stood true as whistles blew
And faced the shell and stench of hell
Now battle's done, there is no sound
Our bones decay beneath the ground
We cannot see or smell or hear
There is no death or hope or fear

Remember me
Once we, like you, would laugh
And talk, and run and walk
And do the things that you all do
But now we lie in rows so neat
Beneath the soil, beneath your feet

Remember me
In the mud and gore and blood of war
We fought and fell and move no more

Remember me
I am not dead, I'm just a voice
Within your head


message 94: by David (new)

David Page (GoodreadscomHarryRiley) | 14 comments Karen wrote: "The Package

When I picked you up
I held you close

I cradled you
in my arms
next to my breast

I didn’t want to drop you

Such a small package,
yet so
weighty

I cried
as I carried you
to your car..."


What a great poem. There is a lot of feeling there.


message 95: by Mary (new)

Mary Naylor | 13 comments The Tree of Truth

My garden is a kaleidoscope of color,
A spring-time bouquet.
The seeds had played a joke on me
I didn't see them hiding in the soil,
And, suddenly, there was a vista of Cymbidium Lilies.
My sight was filled with the beautiful flowers
Woven among their tall, stiff, pointed green foliage.
They crowded my consciousness so that
I only saw beauty wherever I looked.
Wherever I turned, I felt joy and laughter,
But it also vanquished the truth of sorrow,
Ugliness and pain. No...there were never swastikas,
Heavy marching boots, starvation, slave labor,
Piles of naked corpses heaped high, corpses
Deprived of even the small dignity of clothes,
Corpses, stacked like cordwood, awaiting
The match. There was never thick, black
Smoke rising from slender, streamlined
Smokestacks. There was never heart-breaking
Medical experiments on children. There were never
Showers of hissing, deadly gas, cascading
Over men, women and children deprived
Of basic respect even in death: There were no words ever
Spoken over them - no flowers on these mass graves.
And the last bitter blow, years past, the fools that chatter,
"Isn't it time you stopped thinking and talking about
The Holocaust?" As if the wounds of the soul
Could be healed with silence, as if even time could
Erase the horror that had been done. As if mankind could
Now go merrily on its way and ignore the whole thing.
Listen, do you hear the bellow and the clatter of the bells?
The knell of huge, hollow, ominous bells tolling
Their message, shattering peace, shredding prayers,
CLONG, BLONG, CLONG,... the Holocaust
Never Happened. The Holocaust Never Happened...
Tears spill down like rain...rain,
Rain falls in my garden. Rain is a tender mother,
Who nourishes plants like hungry, suckling babes,
Gathering them to her loving breast, tenderly feeding and
Comforting them, spilling out her love...
Angels of my garden, in my garden there is a Tree of Truth.
Its branches droop as if weeping. Its trunk is bent, twisted
And punctured with knots, as if a sculptor had gathered
The essence of pain and poured it into its trunk.
After I walk through my garden, full of butterflies
Birds, and flowers, then guide me to the Truth Tree.
The Truth Tree with its emerald leaves passionately
Plucking the drifting breeze. Remind me to pause before it.
So that it will always help me to remember,
That beyond beauty, forever lies truth.


message 96: by Dr (new)

Dr Samer | 1 comments with the wind in your hair
and the sun in your eyes
from beyond all despair
from beyond all the lies

you're looking for a destination
a place where you'd fit in
you're looking for some confirmation
that your life is worth living

you're alone upon this road to hell
up ahead you see a sign
your eyes are open,but you can't see too well
your tears have made you blind

so you don't know if this is the right road
don't know if what you're doing is right or wrong
but as you go,you hear on the radio
your voice singing a sad song


message 97: by Marian (new)

Marian (gramma) | 366 comments Losing Myself;

Things travel in this house
I am holding tightly to my book
But where are my glasses?
A cup of tea set on the counter-top
Is discovered later on the dining room floor.
Why can’t things stay where they are put?
They are as mischievous as children – teasing, laughing --
Their silly questions, indecent songs.

This is not my time.
My time has wandered away
My friends reside in nursing
Homes or graveyards,

I can no longer shop alone
My grand-daughter picks things
Out for me. You like this, she tells me
Holding a can of soup. How can
I tell her I broke the can opener?
Things are so flimsy these days!

Last night the lady next door called and began
To cry on the telephone. What could I do?
I pretended that I didn’t hear. I pretend that
I understand when my family gives me
Directions. When I go outside I try to stay
Within sight of the house.

The moon is lush tonight. It is a
Moon for lovers. The over-warm air
Clings to my skin – slows my breath.
The earth vibrates with the songs of
Small hidden singers.

I watch the moon alone. Then I go
To my lonely bed. I awake with the
Memory of dreams still pulling me
Backward into sleep. Did the past
Really happen? Or did I make it all up?

See, now the moon is gone. The sky
Is covered with clouds. The singers in
The grass are doomed. Learning to live
Alone is my final lesson.


message 98: by Kenneth (new)

Kenneth Weene (KenWeene) | 132 comments Mark wrote: "Looking for Work?


Idling around in Southeastern Michigan
I often see a certain bumper sticker
Which reads:
OUT OF A JOB YET?
KEEP BUYING FOREIGN
I can't say this is a great poem, but it is a powerful social commentary. If only we'd all remember to buy local - local products and from locally owned stores, we'd improve our communities' economies and help to cut the profits of large corporations.
I met a woman once who pared
Her her total posse..."



message 99: by Julia L. (new)

Julia L. (fuddyduddy) | 585 comments Moor Conversation No. 86. Janet, brilliant poem.

Julie George


message 100: by Georgia (new)

Georgia (katsigeo24) | 21 comments Now

I taste the salt in the air as the cool wind blows through my hair…. I lean my head back to let the sun caress my skin… I feel the sand at my feet, between my toes. I lay back and let the water wash over me lightly. I feel reborn with each wave under the blue sky. I am lost in the calm of the water, the sound of the waves, and the way it makes me feel. Who knew I could feel this way… I can finally see what I could not see before; everything seems so simple, so right. I do not feel alone, I feel loved, and I feel at peace.


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Books mentioned in this topic

Bootin' About The Bush (other topics)
For the Love of Art (other topics)
Cassie Draws the Universe (other topics)
Coming Home to My Heart: Abuse Victim to Survivor; Inspirations for Inner Peace (other topics)
Embrace the Light: A Woman's Story Through Poetry to Touch Your Heart (other topics)

Authors mentioned in this topic

Rob Krabbe (other topics)
Shermaine Williams (other topics)