Just One Life!

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Following My Heart

Following My Heart

Becky Holloway
Way back when I was in high school, I had definite ideas about what I wanted to be when I grew up. I knew without a doubt that I wanted to be a wife and mother. I was very happy with my decision; and at 16-years-old, I had even met the love of my life and knew that he was the one I wanted to spend my life with and have children with. I felt very good about all this until my senior year in high school. It was then that it became evident that I was going to rank at the top of my graduating class. That should have been something else for me to feel good about, but it seemed to bring me undue pressure. It seemed that every adult I came into contact with wanted to know what my future plans were. I shared confidently that I wanted to be a wife and mother with those who asked and that's when the pressure began. No one seemed to think that my goals were lofty enough. They all urged me to aim high. I couldn't think of a higher calling, but they didn't seem to understand. No one did except for one teacher, my English teacher. She encouraged me by telling me that she trusted my judgment and knew that in the end all would work out for me even if I followed my heart and chose to simply be a wife and mother. I was so grateful for her understanding and encouraging words.
Well, life was good as I pursued my goals. I did attend college for 1½ years while waiting for my love, who was serving in the Navy to get back to the States. I knew that I was really just buying time until our marriage, but I had scholarships that took care of the expense, so it seemed like a good thing to do. Finally, we were married, and I was extremely happy with my choice to be a wife. Two years later, we started our family; and again, I knew that I'd made the right choice. Being a mother was so wonderful. We went on to have two more children, and I was blessed by being able to be a stay-at-home mom. It was all I'd ever dreamed of. ...
Through a series of events that could be an entire story of their own, God let me know without a doubt that my next goal should be to become a teacher. ...
On May 16, 1991, however, things changed. My husband was in an accident that resulted in his having to have his arm amputated. He was left unable to work, and we were left with lots of questions. ...
There were many times that we weren't sure we could "make it". As a matter of fact, it never did make sense on paper that we were able to do what we were doing, but we never went without anything we needed. God always came through just when we needed help. ...
I was awarded a nontraditional student scholarship and another smaller scholarship that I'd applied for. I wanted to send thank you notes to the companies that funded the scholarships, so I went to the financial aid office to inquire as to whom I could address notes to. What I found out that day assured me that God was in control and that I had been right all along in following my heart. You see, the big scholarship that I was awarded had been funded by the very same teacher who 20 years earlier had encouraged me to do what I knew was right in my heart. Even after all those years, there she was enabling me to fulfill not only one dream in my life, but a second one as well. Thank You, Dear Teacher, You Know You're The Best.

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Visit: http://www.inspirationalstories.com/10/1010.html

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Canadian Poetry and the Canadian Sonnet

Canadian Poetry and the Canadian Sonnet


The Sonnet



Silent in the Wilderness

The chaparral that cloaks the rolling hills
With branches intertwined and evergreen
Is like a tangled tegumental screen,
Protecting sacred sites from evil ills.
Where manzanita guards a narrow trail
And chamisal defends the hinterland,
The poison oak stands ready with its brand
Of punishment for those who would prevail.
Beyond the piñon, buckbrush, short scrub oak,
A mesa and its long abandoned cave
Reveal the sacrifices from the brave
Who ventured up with fragrant incense smoke.
The gods, the ancient spirits time forgot
Still dwell in silence near that welkin spot.

- Eric Linden
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Visit: http://www.poetrylifeandtimes.com/valrevw34.html

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One Lone Heart ... "We Cannot Be Happy With Others Until We Are Happy With Ourselves"

About the Poem
We as humans have a tendency to feel that we need another person to make us whole so we search and search for our "other half" and in the process, are hurt countless times by those we thought might have been our soulmates.

This poem tries to express this feeling of hopelessness that we feel when we're alone, and the misery we feel when a potential life-partner goes sour. What I am trying to say with this poem is that we cannot be happy with others until we are happy with ourselves. A second person does not fill the void and complete our song, rather, the second person adds harmony to our already beautiful melody.

"We Cannot Be Happy With Others Until We Are Happy With Ourselves"

One Lone Heart

One lone heart drums a solo,
Beats a rhythm in syncopation,
Pumping tears through veins of woe,
Weeping in its segregation

Ever yearning another to find
A heart to just accompany
Its lonely music, and then combine,
And together play a sweet medley

Only one heart provides a beat,
But two hearts joined, a song does make
A true song no doubt all odds defeats,
But hearts are deaf to hear the fake

A loud symphony does a heart mislead
When lyrics sung are none but lies
The heart is torn and left to bleed,
And beat by beat, it slowly dies

Beating still, yet without vigor,
Pushing emptiness through veins,
The bleeding heart assumes its armor
To protect itself from further pains

Behind the shield, rhythm fading,
Broken chambers caving in
Tattered heart in misery wading,
Wincing wildly in its chagrin

If there is no tune and no notes are chimed
Without the aid of a second tone,
Why keep the beat, why count the time?
Why carry on all alone?

A heart alone brings only pain
Two hearts as one prove doubly so
Sad hearts want just one thing to gain:
True happiness in place of woe

The perfect melody is never found
By dead hearts seeking life from another
It will only hear the desired sound
In its own pulse, and none other

Tired heart, ripped and worn,
Resumes its syncopated beat,
Finding song in another form:
Its single rhythm makes music sweet

Withered heart sews the tear,
Rebuilds each chamber one by one,
Making room for music there --
Its own wondrous solo song

Perhaps in time, a second heart
Will hear the song and lend its voice
And together then, will never part
Eternally singing their rejoice

But if none other should join in,
The single heart shall keep on beating,
Listening to its own music within,
Never again from its song retreating

- Angela K Dyson
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Visit: http://www.netpoets.com/poems/life/0126006.htm

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Maxine Kumin: New Life in a Barn

The first thing that catches my eye when I arrive at Maxine Kumin's home is the sign high on the barn wall: "Pobiz Farm" — a bit of humor twice-compounded, just what one would expect from a crafter of language. This modest horse farm survives (the sign implies) only through the auspices of that other business Ms. Kumin is engaged in: poetry. And, of course, only another poet would grasp what a tenuous and absurd occupation it is — selling words: the art of making language and images sing themselves alive so that a reader might join them in the music.

# Maxine Kumin has long survived in the "pobiz," precisely because of her unreasonable and passionate commitment to the life of language. Never one to be steered by literary fashion or academic orthodoxy, she has cultivated her clear, intimate, irrepressible poems in the same determined manner she's used to nurture family, farm animals, and her small corner of the earth.

# I watch her and her husband, Victor, make their rounds, ministering to each creature in turn — the ritual of their husbandry that is set down so faithfully in her poem "Feeding Time." I begin to feel how the simple moments resonate in her imagination. The literature of our time is richer and more humane for the caretaking of poets like Maxine Kumin.

Steven Ratiner: I think it's fair to say that, in your poems, the natural world receives more consistent praise than human nature and society. Where does that feeling come from?

Maxine Kumin: I guess out of my own observations. I don't see that kind of depravity in the natural world that I see in the human world.


In the poem "Credo," the relationship you describe with your horses is astonishingly intimate, almost a mystical bond:

I trust them to run from me, necks
arched in a full swan's S, tails cocked up over their
backs like plumes on a Cavalier's hat.
I trust them
to gallop back, skid to a stop,
their nostrils
level with my mouth, asking for
my human breath
that they may test its intent, taste
the smell of it.

- Steven Ratiner
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Visit: http://www.csmonitor.com/atcsmonitor/sp ... kumin.html

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New Life ... A New Beginning

As a new day goes to and fro.
It is true that's how life goes.
We are here at its beginning
and gone at its end.
Taking with us the memories
that time will lend

Memories of each new day,
the love and happiness it brings.
Memories of family and friends.
The sounds of life.
The songs it sings.

Yet as the new sun rises
our lives are not ending.
For with each new day
comes a new light,
a new beginning



- Sonji Rush
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Visit: http://www.romanticpoetry.com/page2.html

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Life's Qualities

Life's Qualities

The quality of life is in the mind,
Not in material things.

The world is filled with beauty,
when your heart is filled with love.

So live everyday of your life
as though it were your last.

Cherish yesterday, dream tomorrow,
Live today.



- Jessica Kulzer
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Visit:
http://www.netpoets.com/poems/life/0789001.htm

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Life's Qualities

Life's Qualities

The quality of life is in the mind,
Not in material things.

The world is filled with beauty,
when your heart is filled with love.

So live everyday of your life
as though it were your last.

Cherish yesterday, dream tomorrow,
Live today.



- Jessica Kulzer
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Visit:
http://www.netpoets.com/poems/life/0789001.htm

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Life's Qualities

Life's Qualities

The quality of life is in the mind,
Not in material things.

The world is filled with beauty,
when your heart is filled with love.

So live everyday of your life
as though it were your last.

Cherish yesterday, dream tomorrow,
Live today.



- Jessica Kulzer
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Visit:
http://www.netpoets.com/poems/life/0789001.htm

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Saturday Night

Saturday Night

Saturday night in the crowded town;
Pleasure and pain going up and down,
Murmuring low on the ear there beat
Echoes unceasing of voice and feet.
Withered age, with its load of care,
Come in this tumult of life to share,
Childhood glad in its radiance brief,
Happiest-hearted or bowed with grief,
Meet alike, as the stars look down
Week by week on the crowded town.

~And in a kingdom of mystery,
Rapt from this weariful world to see
Magic sights in the yellow glare,
Breathing delight in the gas-lit air,
Careless of sorrow, of grief or pain,
Two by two, again and again,
Strephon and Chloe together move,
Walking in Arcady, land of love.~

What are the meanings that burden all
These murmuring voices that rise and fall?
Tragedies whispered of, secrets told,
Over the baskets of bought and sold;
Joyous speech of the lately wed;
Broken lamentings that name the dead:
Endless runes of the gossip's rede,
And gathered home with the weekly need,
Kindly greetings as neighbours meet
There in the stir of the busy street.

Then is the glare of the gaslight ray
Gifted with potency strange to-day,
Records of time-written history
Flash into sight as each face goes by.
There, as the hundreds slow moving go,
Each with his burden of joy or woe,
Souls, in the meeting of stranger's eyes,
Startled this kinship to recognise, --
Meet and part, as the stars look down,
Week by week on the crowded town.

~And still, in the midst of the busy hum,
Rapt in their dream of delight they come.
Heedless of sorrow, of grief or care,
Wandering on in enchanted air,
Far from the haunting shadow of pain:
Two by two, again and again,
Strephon and Chloe together move,
Walking in Arcady, land of love.~


- Mary Colborne-Veel : 19th Century
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Visit:
http://www.daypoems.net/poems/918.html

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Zen Evening

Zen Evening
* "Original"

This was a season to be traveled,
it was a time of redemption.
Sitting on the roof top in contemplation.

Old Man of the sky winks down at me,
makes me smile as I hum to guitar strings.
It was a day to consider all that is taken for
granted.

Night crying its twinkling lights
as if to bless the chosen one, but I am
just a humble scholar of this life buzzing
on around me.

There was a feeling of animosity*****
waiting for some sign of what, I cannot
say. It is not written in my philosophy.

A smile on a dog, I See enlightenment in
those knowing eyes. Put it all in perspective
as the winds blow around bright colored leaves.

I learned from a Zen master what it is
to drink in harmony from the well that is
found within.

** "Tightened"

A season to be traveled,
and a time of redemption.
Sitting on the rooftop in contemplation.

Old Man of the sky winks at me,
I smile as I hum to my guitar.
It is a day to consider all that is taken
for granted.

Night cries its twinkling lights
to bless the chosen one, but I am
just a humble scholar of this life.

There is a feeling of animosity*****
waiting for some sign of what, I cannot
say. It is not written in my philosophy.
A smile on a dog, I See enlightenment in
those eyes. Puts it all in perspective
as the winds blow bright colored leaves.

I learned from a Zen master what it is
to drink harmony from the well
found within.

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Visit:
http://www.arcane-artistry.net/index.php?showforum=57

***** anxiety / doubt ?! ... ANY SUGGESTIONS!

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Zen Evening

Zen Evening
* "Original"

This was a season to be traveled,
it was a time of redemption.
Sitting on the roof top in contemplation.

Old Man of the sky winks down at me,
makes me smile as I hum to guitar strings.
It was a day to consider all that is taken for
granted.

Night crying its twinkling lights
as if to bless the chosen one, but I am
just a humble scholar of this life buzzing
on around me.

There was a feeling of animosity*****
waiting for some sign of what, I cannot
say. It is not written in my philosophy.

A smile on a dog, I See enlightenment in
those knowing eyes. Put it all in perspective
as the winds blow around bright colored leaves.

I learned from a Zen master what it is
to drink in harmony from the well that is
found within.

** "Tightened"

A season to be traveled,
and a time of redemption.
Sitting on the rooftop in contemplation.

Old Man of the sky winks at me,
I smile as I hum to my guitar.
It is a day to consider all that is taken
for granted.

Night cries its twinkling lights
to bless the chosen one, but I am
just a humble scholar of this life.

There is a feeling of animosity*****
waiting for some sign of what, I cannot
say. It is not written in my philosophy.
A smile on a dog, I See enlightenment in
those eyes. Puts it all in perspective
as the winds blow bright colored leaves.

I learned from a Zen master what it is
to drink harmony from the well
found within.

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Visit:
http://www.arcane-artistry.net/index.php?showforum=57

***** anxiety / doubt ?! ... ANY SUGGESTIONS!

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Life New : Poetry Anew

Dorothy E. Robbins : Most modern day poetry lacks rhythm. But rhythm is as necessary to good poetry as a beating heart is to a living human being. SAVOUR THE FOLLOWING!

Going Home

Happiness
at the thought
of going home
for such an occasion
I liken
to an autumn day.

A warm glow
fills my heart
like slowly burning embers
as I think
of my dear parents
who gave me life
in the springtime of their love.

The God-given joys I have known
I liken to spring with
new life bursting forth--
my husband, children, grandchildren,
beauty in nature, in song.

The chill of winter
reminds me of sorrows
I have known,
yet your love, God's strength
through our Lord---
Those have given me courage
to go on.

Remembering summer, I rejoice,
at the warmth of happy times,
fond childhood memories,
the joy of daily living,
in and for our Lord.
Sharing life with friends and loved ones---
All this I do
because of you!

NOW, SAVOUR THIS AS WELL!

The Creator : Life Anew!

He takes the scent of the softening ground
Where the first green blade pricks through,
He takes the reddening maple bough
A-slant against the blue,
He takes the cheer of the robin's song
And the flash of the blue-bird's wing,
The joy of prisoners set free,
And of these He makes the Spring.

He takes the sheen of the waving wheat
Where the slow cloud-shadows pass,
He takes the brook's soft rippling tune
And the daisied meadow's grass,
He takes the swish of the mower's scythe
In the noontide's hot, white glare,
The joy of labor and growing things,
And makes the Summer fair.

He takes the sound of the dropping nuts
And the scent of the wine-sweet air
In the twilight time of the year's long day,
When the spent Earth kneels in prayer,
He takes a thousand varied hues
Aglow in an opal haze,
The joy of the harvest gathered in,
And makes the Autumn days.

He takes the peace of the snowy fields,
Asleep aneath the clear, cold moon,
He takes the grace of the leafless trees
That sway to the wind's wild rune,
The frost-made lace on the window pane,
The whirl of the starry flakes,
The joy of the rest when the toil is done,
And the quiet Winter makes.

He takes the years,-the old, the new,
With their changing scenes and brief,
The close-shut bud and the fruiting bough,
Flower and fading leaf,
Grace and glory and lack and loss,
The song, the sigh, the strife,
The joy of hope and the hope fulfilled,
And makes of the Years a life.

He takes our lives and the sum of them,
His will and the will of man,
Evil and good and dream and deed,
His purpose and our plan,
The thwarted lives and the crippled lives
And the things that give them worth,
The joy of life and the pain of life,
And He makes the Heavens and Earth.

- Annie Johnson Flint
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Visit:
http://www.artsreformation.com/a001/dr-prose.html

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All I Have ... Thank You, Alexander Graham Bell

*
All I Have

All I Have

You may laugh, but this is all I've got,
A piece of paper and a pen whose ink I employ to the very last drop.

I invite you to continue to listen; I've got an ongoing story to tell,
As I think back, it was just yesterday I received a letter of
rejection through the mail,
Yet, I continue to write.

Some may identify with, but for others it can be tough to grasp,
when the bleeding eye continues to trickle, how then the soul doesn't last,
So to those who own the riches of the world, this is all I've got:
a piece of paper and a pen, whose ink I employ to the very last drop.

- James L. Daniels


**
Thank You, Alexander Graham Bell

Thank You, Alexander Graham Bell

E-mail doesn't have a sound,
I have found
that miles in-between
smiles can be seen
in a tone
on the phone.

Memories do not freeze,
can be seized or
we can laugh, talk
about a walk
taken this morning on a beach
or a moment
when we reach
out to each other,
smother
a cry of pain
or laugh again

at a joke
or just soak
up small talk.

- Gilda Kreuter
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Visit:
http://www.poeticvoices.com/Poetry/0303poems.html

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Pacifying Word ... Useful Verse ... Dhamma Word ... Self Conquest

*
One Pacifying Word Is Noble

Through a thousand speeches be
composed of meaningless lines,
better the single meaningful line
one hears, then comes to calm.

Explanation: Expressions replete with thousands of words are of no value. One single meaningful word is more valuable, if hearing it one is pacified.


**
One Useful Verse Is Better Than A Thousand Useless Verses



Though a thousand verses be
composed of meaningless lines,
better the single line of verse
one hears, then comes to calm.

Explanation: A poem replete with thousands of verses is of no value if it has no useful meaning. One single stanza pregnant with wisdom is more valuable, if hearing it one is pacified.

***
A Dhamma-Word Is Noble

Though a thousand verses chant
composed of meaningless lines,
better the single Dhamma-line
one hears, then comes to calm.

Explanation: One may recite hundreds of verses replete with meaningless expressions. If one recites one line of verse pregnant with wisdom, which is pacifying, it will be more valuable and nobler.

****
Self-Conquest Is The Highest Victory

Though thousand times a thousand
in battle one may conquer,
yet should one conquer just oneself
one is the greatest conqueror.

Explanation: One may conquer a thousand men in a thousand battles. But the person who conquers just one person, which is one’s own self, is the greatest conqueror.
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Visit:
http://www.buddhanet.net/dhammapada/d_thous.htm

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SUNDAY UP THE RIVER : Merry Month

*
Merry Month

While out on a walk in the park,
I found such a wonderful feeling
The hawthorns are blooming.
In springtime, sweeping changes,
It's the month, the merry month,
It's the merry month of May.
God watches over the vines, the bliss
That makes girls want to marry
And boys want to woo them
Sweeping changes in springtime,
It's the month, the merry month,
It's the merry month of May.

- JAMES THOMSON - (Translated by Stephen Hoy)
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Visit:
http://vasthead.com/Thomson/sunday_river.html

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The Angel

The Angel

Once upon a moonlit night
I witnessed an Angel in
soaring flight
Gently gliding on the cool
night breeze
Face of ivory with features
to please
And on his head, long hair
of spun gold
Ere' never before had I
been told
Such beauty beheld ever
could be
For the eyes of a mortal
granted to see
His wing span a silken
feathery kite
Adrift on air so graceful
and light
He looked at me through a
rose lipped smile
And beckoned to me to
stay a while
Then lifted his voice in
melodious song
Like the sound of violins,
as he floated along
In awe I stood ground under
the moon
Knowing I must be gone
all too soon
I longed to stay but
I had to return
For to stay with him meant
my life's adjourn
I whispered to him, "I cannot stay,
For I have loved ones along the way"
He looked back at me with
a tearful eye
And blew a kiss of gold dust
through the moonlit sky
Then wished me adieu saying
I should not fear
For perchance I would need him
he'd always be near
For many days I missed seeing
my angelical friend
But now I know beauty
awaits at the end.


- MoonDay
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Visit:
http://members.aol.com/MoonDay50/Heaven.html

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Mending Wall : 'Good Fences Make Good Neighbors'

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'

- The Poetry of Robert Frost by Robert Frost

Visit:
http://www.poets.org/poems/poems.cfm?45 ... 0C07030D74

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At End of Winter, Life's Poetry Is Reborn And Grief Turns To Hope :

I visited Michigan's most famous funeral director to talk about grief. Instead, we wound up reciting poetry.

Thomas Lynch, the writer who runs Lynch & Sons in Milford, moves deftly in two worlds. And perhaps, as we cross over from winter to spring, we all can benefit from making a spiritual turn from a darker season to a world of hopeful song.

In Milford, our transformation in themes and seasons went something like this: I was feeling weary of winter's slow progress as it growls its way off stage, so I visited Lynch to talk about grief and changing seasons. We started our conversation with the jumble of feelings we all carry for years after the deaths of loved ones.

I enrolled in 1970 in one of Nobel Laureate Joseph Brodsky's first Poetry Seminars.

Students showed up the first night, curious to learn why Brodsky had not assigned a text.

"I want to know what poetry you've got in your heads," he said. "In prison, it's the poetry in your memory that helps you survive. Let's start with something easy. Someone, recite a psalm!"

As it turned out, I was the only one in the room who knew a psalm by heart. I recited Psalm 90, which includes: "We spend our years as a tale that is told" and "So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom."

"You see?" Brodsky said. "This is the stuff you need to have swimming in your heads."
...
Lynch was reciting W.B. Yeats and W.H. Auden and I was answering with Robert Frost. The exchange was more than a matter of language. It became a kind of ritual of word and image shared between us on an overcast morning. As our conversation swirled, we circled back to grief.

"For people who grieve, the process is undulent, tidal, with peaks and valleys," Lynch said. "There are absolute surprises along the way as a word, a song, even a taste or smell, triggers deep memories sometimes years later."

We agreed that poetry is a way of capturing the crystalline core of memory and carrying it with us -- tucked in our heads, as Brodsky liked to say, forever.

On Thursday, Lynch sent me his latest creation, a poem that will appear in a British newspaper to mark Nobel Laureate Seamus Heaney's 65th Birthday on April 13. He agreed to let me share a tiny excerpt here, a brief passage that takes the incident with the lobsters and transforms it into verse.


Great debris, delight indeed:
So it is with this life. We
Hammer at the moment till
All that's left is memorable.


- DAVID CRUMM : April 2, 2004

Visit:
http://www.freep.com/news/religion/crumm2_20040402.htm

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Dead Sea Products ... To Re"LIFE"


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[HH]

Colourful Life!


Life has so much mirrors…
So many things to show you
And deep inside you know..

When you see a big waterfall…
Wich is of course able to let all his waters fall…and flow
So big..,

What is the feeling when you see such a thing…
Why is it overwhelming…

We think we know the boundaries.
We think we know who we are.
We’re often to proud

But we ‘re just what we are.

**
Secrets
In my mind
Keep me from walking
Secrets
In my mind
Keeping me talking
About nothing important
To hide my
Secrets


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[HH]

Starry Nite - Vincent van Gogh

A Moon Poem


I saw thee once- once only- years ago:
I must not say how many- but not
many.
It was a July midnight; and from out
A full-orbed moon, that like thine own
soul soaring,
Sought a precipitate pathway up through
heaven,
There fell a silvery silken veil of light,
With quietude, and sultriness and
slumber,
Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand
Roses that grew in an enchanted garden,
Where no wind dared to stir, unless on
tiptoe-
Fell on the upturn'd faces of these
roses
That gave out, in return for the love-
light,
Their odorous souls in an ecstatic
death-
Fell on the upturned faces of these
roses
That smiled and died in this parterre,
enchanted
by thee, and by the poetry of thy
presence.
Clad all in white, upon a violet bank
I saw thee half-reclining; while the
moon
Fell on the upturn'd faces of the roses,
And on thine own, upturn'd- alas, in
sorrow!
Was it not Fate, that, on this July mid-
night-
Was it not Fate (whose name is also
Sorrow),
That bade me pause before that garden-
gate,
To breathe the incense of those slum-
bering roses?
No footstep stirred: the hated world
all slept,
Save only thee and me. I paused- I
looked-
And in an instant all things disap-
peared.
(Ah, bear in mind this garden was
enchanted!)
The pearly lustre of the moon went
out:
The mossy banks and the meandering
paths,
The happy flowers and the repining
trees,
Were seen no more: the very roses'
odours
Died in the arms of the adoring airs.
All- all expired save thee- save less
than thou:
Save only the devine light in thine
eyes.
I saw but them- they were the world
to me.
I saw but them- saw only them for
hours-
Saw only them till the moon went
down.
What wild heart-histories seemed to lie
enwritten
Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres!
How dark a woe! yet how sublime a
hope!
How silently serene a sea of pride!
How adoring an ambition! yet how
deep-
How fathomless a capacity for love!
But now, at length, dear Dian sank
from sight,
Into the western couch of a thunder-cloud;
And thou, a ghost, amid entombing
trees
Didst glide away. only thine eyes
Remained.
They would not go- they never yet
have gone.
Lighting my lonely pathway home that
night,
They have not left me (as my hopes have) since.
They follow me- they lead me through
the years.
They are my ministers- yet I their
slave.
Their office is to illuminate and enkindle-
My duty, to be saved by their bright
light
And purified in their electric fire,
And sanctified in their elysian fire.
They fill my soul with Beauty (which
is Hope.)
And are far up in Heaven- the stars
I kneel to
In the sad, slient watches of my night;
While even in the meridian glare of day
I see them still- two sweetly scintillant
Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!

- Edgar Allen Poe

Visit:
http://www.moonlightsys.com/themoon/edalpoe.html

[HH]

Ray of Sunshine In A Forest : Every Good and True Thing Is Given To Us From Heaven, Coming From The Father of Lights. - JAMES 1:17a


Nature's Beauty


The sun rises in the brisk morning air
as the world slowly begins to awaken.
Dew kissed leaves softly sparkle,
shining in the new day's light.
White clouds fill the baby blue skies,
soft and light, in all shapes and sizes.
The sunlight shines down from overhead,
casting shadows that swirl and dance.
The day goes on as the daylight dims
and twilight settles over the land.
Brilliant colors fill the gradually darkening skies
Blues, pinks, lavenders, and oranges…
Like fingers reaching towards the heavens.
Do you ever stop and look around…
Take the time to see the beauty
That surrounds us everyday

- Tara Bassler (aka RosePetals25)

Visit:
http://poetry-magazine.com/poetry/poetry-009/12page.htm
http://www.edenpics.com/pictures/001/en ... little.jpg

[HH]

[quote]






The Charm Of Spring



I passed in a garden
with the gaits of the wind.
I saw the owner of garden
with the art of love
in the look of a rose.
The branches of all the
trees were ornamented with
the blossom of the apple.
Bravo, the art of the charm
of the spring. The green
velvet of the grass has
spread its skirt for seeing
the munificence in the
hearts of my companions.
Flowing with the joy, a pond
in the garden took the fishes
that song the love melodies to
the abode of dream. Bravo, the
art of the charm of the spring.

I heard the joy of love in
the clamour of hundred
swallows. Then I saw the
feast of the trees that had
the branches ornamented
with the blossoms of love.
They song together the
melody of unity: bravo
the art of the charm of
the spring.

- Taraneh Javanbakht : "I was born in Tehran (Iran) in may 1974. I got my B.S. degree in chemistry in Tehran in june 1996 and came to Paris in 1997 in order to complete my studies. I got my M.Sc and Doctorate at Pierre and Marie Curie University in Paris. I am now resident of Canada and I live in Montreal. My works have been published in various literary journals and magazines in Iran. They contain lyric and modern poems."



Visit:

http://kabulpress.org/kprahapp1.htm

[quote]

[HH]

AIDS Poetry


*
Virus

It's there when you are,
you can't see it, but it can
see you, you can't touch it
but it can touch you, you
can't stop it but it can stop
you, you can't hear it, but it can
hear you, you can't smell it
but it can smell you, you can't
kill it but it can kill you. AIDS.

Dedicated to those who have died and those who will.
- Alex Michaels, age 13


**
Untitled

AIDS is more than just a word.
It doesn't rhyme, or sound a certain way.
It doesn't assign itself to a meaning.
AIDS cannot be summed up into one definition.
But one can try:
Sadness, tears, depression.
Moments, unification, love.
Beauty, ugliness, plainness.
No, AIDS is more than just words.

- Georgia Elrod, age 15


***
The Deadly Disease

I am scary, people are not aware
and some people don't even care
some people are careless and don't
really think about what I am capable of.
There are some people who are innocent
but I kill them by accident.
I know no face, no race, no gender.
I am a deadly disease that keeps on
spreading from one person to the next.
I am just around the corner so everyone
needs to be careful and aware. You need
to educate yourself and your children
or I will keep on spreading and will not cease.
I AM AIDS THE DEADLY DISEASE.

- Catherine Nettey, age 19


****
What is AIDS?

AIDS --
Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome
To some, AIDS means --
There is no hope for me.
It's time to write my will.
It's time to say goodbye.
It's time to die.
They feel angry.
They feel scared.
Even sorry for themselves.

And to some, AIDS means --
It's time to enjoy life the best way I can.
It's time to tell my friends and family how much I love them and how I really feel.
Some feel happy with the life they have lived so far.
Happy to have their loved ones by their side.
Happy to have loved.

To know and love someone with AIDS.
To go through it all.
Is almost the same as having AIDS --
Not physically, but mentally.
AIDS isn't a punishment, but
A lesson that the whole world is
Learning at the same time.

- Sally Montas, age 17

*****
AIDS is a Hard Word to Spell

Don't cry
They're only letters,
four letters.

Love
sudden
and new found
when you find time is running out
or absent when it is needed most.

Hope
that suddenly wells up inside you
to become your weapon
or leaves you in a fleeting moment
and never returns.

Fear
for life and love
and pain and suffering.

Nobody's crying for the same thing
There are always four different letters
Spelling out
how
a life
was lived.

- Katie Levin, age 15

******
Fading Away

I am a building
that hasn't been built.
I am a sculpture
that hasn't been molded.
I am a book
that hasn't been written
I am fading away.

I am a sun
that doesn't shine.
I am a painting
that hasn't been finished
I am a chuckle
that hasn't been laughed.
I am fading away.

I am a shadow
in a very dark room.
I am a seed
that hasn't been planted.
I am a mirage
that hasn't been seen.
I am fading away.

I do not know who
Or what I am.
All I know is that
I am a wall.
Separating nothing from nothing.

- Ivana Rosenberg, age 11



Visit:
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[HH]

Flying Saucers And Extraterrestrial Life ...


*
Prof. Hermann Oberth, German Rocket Scientist :

(From The New York Times, December 31, 1989: NUREMBERG, West Germany, Dec. 30 (AP) - Hermann Julius Oberth, a pioneer of the space age who worked with Werner von Braun to help develop Germany's V-2 rocket, died on Friday (December 28, 1989). He was 95 years old. Mr. Oberth died at a hospital in Nuremberg after a short illness, the Hermann Oberth Museum in Feucht said in a statement.

He began experiments on a jet motor for the German Government in 1930 and developed a model later that year. He worked on the motor with Mr. von Braun, considered the leading scientist in American space flight development.

Mr. Oberth joined Mr. von Braun in rocket experiments in the United States in 1955, but he retired three years later and returned to West Germany. Mr. von Braun died in 1977.

Mr. Oberth was born near Nuremberg on June 25, 1894. At age 15, he built a model of a rocket motor described in Jules Verne's "From the Earth to the Moon." After high school and service in the infantry in World War I, Mr. Oberth studied medicine, aerodynamics, and physics at universities in Munich, Gottingen and Heidelberg.

He submitted a thesis on rocket experiments for his doctorate, but it was rejected as too cursory. An expanded version was published in 1923 as the book "The Rockets to the Planets in Space.")


Flying Saucers Come from a Distant World
By Professor Hermann Oberth
The American Weekly, October 24, 1954

Professor Hermann Oberth started the article with the following statement: "It is my thesis that flying saucers are real and that they are space ships from another solar system. I think that they possibly are manned by intelligent observers who are members of a race that may have been investigating our earth for centuries. I think that they have been sent out to conduct systematic, long-range investigations, first of men, animals and vegetation, and more recently of atomic centers, armaments and centers of armament production. They obviously have not come as invaders, but I believe their present mission may be one of scientific investigation."

...


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