Women Of InspirationPosted by : Tina on 31-Dec-2005 Total Views : 238 Angels whisper to her heart
nightly as she sleeps
gentle kisses of sweet design
elegantly formed for hearts entwined
loving woman adored by many
authentic creation for us to enjoy
Beautiful spirit
romance forms her soul
once a soft bird of hope
overlooking our pain filled hearts
keeper of her words
everlasting friend to the end
Such a dynamic woman
answer to ones prayers
troubled eyes feel love
In their hearts when she speaks
night keeper spirit of love
A sweet woman of heart
notorious for making me smile
never will I tire of reading her words
Lady of sweetness
united heart of hope
always precious words
never grows weary
nice, caring, woman
everlasting friend
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Something About A SmilePosted by : Tina on 31-Dec-2005 Total Views : 229 A smile gently opens
the petals of your heart
its delightful shine
macerates your woes
The beauty of a smile
glitter like stars
and guides you into
hope's embrace
A smile brings in
waves of comfort
the breath of relieve
that bathes your world
It's a beautiful sunset
that sedates your mind
where thoughts flower
of new beginnings
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I Teleported Home One NightPosted by : Shaveta Mahendru on 30-Dec-2005 Total Views : 173 I teleported home one night
With Ron and Sid and Meg.
Ron stole Meggie's heart away
And I got Sidney's leg.
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The IlliteratePosted by : Shaveta Mahendru on 30-Dec-2005 Total Views : 188 Touching your goodness, I am like a man
Who turns a letter over in his hand
And you might think this was because the hand
Was unfamiliar but, truth is, the man
Has never had a letter from anyone;
And now he is both afraid of what it means
And ashamed because he has no other means
To find out what it says than to ask someone.
His uncle could have left the farm to him,
Or his parents died before he sent them word,
Or the dark girl changed and want him for beloved.
Afraid and letter-proud, he keeps it with him.
What would you call his feeling for the words
That keep him rich and orphaned and beloved?
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As I Walked Out One EveningPosted by : Shaveta Mahendru on 30-Dec-2005 Total Views : 180 As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.
And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
"Love has no ending.
"I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,
"I'll love till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.
"The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world."
But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
"O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.
"In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.
"In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
Tomorrow or today.
"Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.
"O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.
"The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the teacup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.
"Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.
"O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress;
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.
"O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbor
With all your crooked heart."
It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.
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Snow ManPosted by : Shaveta Mahendru on 30-Dec-2005 Total Views : 173 One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
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