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11-29-2007, 08:19 PM | #1 | ||
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Yappiest Elder Member
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A special place to post Poems, Drawings, whatever is your means for expressing yourself.
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. Last edited by Curious; 12-05-2007 at 12:41 AM. |
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11-30-2007, 01:34 AM | #2 | |||
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In Remembrance
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Wonderfully written - I have been published...
what you may have disliked in school taught poetry was called - "Form" that was suppose to be a rule of poetry style the reason why I love Emily Dickinson -she made her own style... poetry is art -art is in the hand -eye and mind of the Artists... and you are a Word Artist... and Wren - You too have an artistic gift... Bravo to you both! thankyou dear Alfee & dear Curious! ~~~ :hugs: this a quote from Einstein It is important for the common good to foster individuality: for only the individual can produce the new ideas which the community needs for its continuous improvement and requirements—indeed, to avoid sterility and petrification." —From a message for a Ben Schemen dinner, March 1952; Einstein Archive 28-932; Expanded, p. 286
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with much love, lou_lou . . by . , on Flickr pd documentary - part 2 and 3 . . Resolve to be tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving, and tolerant with the weak and the wrong. Sometime in your life you will have been all of these. Last edited by lou_lou; 11-30-2007 at 01:52 AM. |
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11-30-2007, 02:10 AM | #3 | |||
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In Remembrance
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dear poets and poetry lovers -
I was very tired and had too much shakey shakey pain today - so I will post now --- perhaps I am the midnight writer? for you youngin's that was a pun on a old song sung by the Allman brothers band, it was my older brothers song era... my high school daze had disco and Queen? etc. feels like a century ago - probably because it almost is? I am concentrating on healing emotions I still have scarsz - don't we all...it's evidently what we do with the pain that helps us heal instead, and with that I submit these two poems... Sunset Blue Out across my minds eye I am sailing to sunset blue An island hidden far away where my heart ran away with you I see you there so handsome I feel you like you are there and I hear your voice, and laughter The passions from everywhere Oh my love what happened? Please tell me where you have gone? I searched for our life, till midnight broke the dawn Was your love a fable? Were your words untrue? Tell me someone if your able? While I sail to Sunset Blue _______________ In the twilight garden one eagerly awaits amongst the blooms of ardent flowers and past wrought iron gates Her loving heart skips a beat While breathlessly she sighs And his steps are quicked by The love light in his eyes Glancing past the summer rose Trail the honey suckle vine With passions kiss upon their lips That taste of vintage wine Amongst the floral envelope Wild fantasies collide The night of hot passions rage will now, no longer be denied Hence those nights now are past And colder went my bones are chill Yet like a beacon in the night it's search My heart is shining still written by: tena __________________
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with much love, lou_lou . . by . , on Flickr pd documentary - part 2 and 3 . . Resolve to be tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving, and tolerant with the weak and the wrong. Sometime in your life you will have been all of these. |
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11-30-2007, 07:00 AM | #4 | |||
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Young Senior Elder Member
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Here is another Ellen Bass poem from The Human Line
Gate C22 At gate C22 in the Portland airport a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed a woman arriving from Orange County. They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after the other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-ons and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking, the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other like he'd just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island, like she'd been released at last from ICU, snapped out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing. Neither of them was young. His beard was gray. She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish kisses like the ocean in the early morning, the way it gathers and swells, sucking each rock under, swallowing it, again and again. We were all watching - passengers waiting for the delayed flight to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots, the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling sunglasses. We couldn't look away. We could taste the kisses crushed in our mouths. But the best part was his face. When he drew back and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost as though he were a mother still open from giving birth, as your mother must have looked at you, no matter what happened after - if she beat you or left you or you're lonely now - you once lay there, the vernix not yet wiped off, and someone gazed at you as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth. The whole wing of the airport hushed, all of us trying to slip into that woman's middle-aged body, her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses, little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up.
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