Poem | |
Featuring: Leonora Galinta
Take My Hands
I Offer Them To You
Hold Them Tight
Never Let Go Of Them!
With all the time on my hands
I gave my hands one job.
My hands paint everything in my life
they paint my weakness, my strength
they paint the fire in my eyes
they hold me when I'm cold
my hands colored my childhood!
Like an architect,
my hands drew the plans and layouts of my life.
My hands *very articulate, are they?
They continue to sew and show the way
Sometimes, my hands paint the truth
Sometimes, my hands paint lies
Painting hurtful images on dry wall
My palms, my fingers embedded calluses from every fall
Creating images, healing my heart
Sometimes my hands are the only friend I see.
With no words to say
I caress the sky line like a mime
My hands ride the wind,
My hands paint a world,
each of their own.
Young and pretty finger prints
They feel, they hold, they grip
Don't let go!
Clever and cute
It's time for motherhood
My hands painted your first hold
Traced your first smile
A painting I treasure forever in my heart
Yes! A Rembrandt they became during birth
Now your all grown up... :-(
Embarrassed to embrace the hold
One day when I'm old you will hold my hands and remember the gold.
My hands paint many designs when it comes to love
sometimes a masterpiece
sometimes a mistake
sometimes my hands felt images I can't describe
Made up moments of handicap when lost
My hands perfect when in love
They write songs when complete
So many interlock moment with you
Firm, the perfect match, my fingers spoke.
they've been told
held so many times
always meeting, greeting,
waving hello's and goodbyes... ((you see my hands, they smile too))
Pinching my way through reality.
Reaching holding on to dreams.
Snapping fingers, we are a team.
My hands age in every turning page
Shriveled and old
Still you embrace and love the hold
my hands touch and make a difference
my hands learned a lot
my hands prayed
and knew their duty.
My hands employed by me.
When they are bored,
they tap and tap and draw THAT' annoying noise.
My hands know secrets, a fortune teller can never reveal
they hold the past, present, and future in every line.
I extend my hands,
without flipping the bird
Thank you Hands!
I am enjoying the sign language show.
In my next life, or so
I will praise my hands
Yes so beautiful, tender, they love to feel...................
I can't believe with all the time I have on my hands.
I forgot to mention I'm left-handed.
Poem | |
and she said
Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams
but today I live in my daughter's happiness
All my goals I left behind to watch her reach her own
All my friends I do not see,to stay with her at home
Money might get tight,but what is money
compared to pure joy of a child
What is money compared to her almond eyes
Success lies dormant on shelves for years to come
But what is success compared to first giggles
to first steps, first mouthfuls and her little grabs
Compared to gurgles and babbles
to first time she calls me mama
and hold on to my hands
What is beauty in the world compared to a pearl
This innocent child,a coloured coral petite pretty girl
Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams
But today I live in my daughter's happiness
I had my days of wine and chocolate eclaires
roses on doorstep,unsigned love letters
with spiced cologne and enticing words
Today I live in my daughter's shadow
To watch her live her own dream
I watch her bloom in autumn gardens
from princess of hearts become queen
Tomorrow I will not be here
She might not get to see the white of my hair
the wrinkle in my smile
But,today she knows I love her
long more after petals wither
long more after a mother's hug fades
long after I shine from the sky.
Dedicated to my beloved Christina with love
Happy first birthday wrapped with barney hugs
and Winnie the pooh kisses :-$:-|B-)
Poem | |
*Note: A 60-year annual tradition that involved a mysterious visitor leaving three
roses at the grave of writer Edgar Allan Poe on the anniversary of his birthday
ended in January 2010. Curators of the Poe House and Museum are at a loss to
explain who left these gifts and why they stopped. On many occasions people kept
vigils near Poe’s grave during this period that began in 1949, but no one ever saw
someone leaving the roses. In the morning, however, they were always on his
grave. Poe is considered the father of the American short story and
his poem The Raven is one of his best known works.
Once upon a midnight dreary, Poe heard a tapping at his window
While grieving the loss of his young bride, a maiden “angels named Lenore,”
A radiant teen whose long, black hair in gentle breezes would billow,
Tapping at the window ceased, but suddenly it was heard at his door
Upon opening it, a Raven flew in repeating, “Nevermore”
At first he welcomed this odd visitor until Poe whispered, “Lenore”
When he heard his word echo, the strange Raven he began to abhor
He asked if he’d see his bride again and the bird replied, “Nevermore”
Though Poe died in eighteen forty-nine, a mystery evolved much later
A century after his death, his grave had an annual visitor
Roses were left on his birthday by someone whose love appeared greater
Who had left these floral gifts forever stumped the Poe House curator
Perhaps the answer can only be explained by reincarnation
Did the Raven embody the spirit of Poe’s beloved Lenore
If so, perhaps the Raven returned again in a life rotation
In human form she visited to lay roses on the earthen floor
And upon her death in two-thousand nine, she took to the skies once more
A Raven who now joins the flock circling above her late husband’s grave \/
Could it be her spirit remains with Poe, as it did in life before \/ \/ \/
Bringing him in the afterlife all the roses a poet could crave \/ \/ \/ \/
For those who consider this possibility totally absurd
Just consider the fantasies Poe created with the written word
By Carolyn Devonshire
Contest Title: “Among the Dead,” sponsored by Constance LaFrance ~ A Rambling
Poem | |
A - special prayer is offered for you today,
N-on-stop singing to greet you a Happy Birthday;
N-orth to south, east to west and in all directions
E-very line of my poem may herald your celebration.
L-oving thoughts of you with my sweetest hugs,
I-‘m sending them warmly as the sun shines brightly over those fogs,
S-ongs of my best wishes may reach you there in Norway,
E-veryday, may God bless you in a very special way
July 23, 2013 8.20 pm.
Happy, happy Birthday my dear friend, Anne Lise!! Good luck, good health, more happiness and all the best to you and your love ones.
I hope you will like this simple birthday poem I dedicated to you. Big sweetest hugs from me!
Poem | |
L egendary is her poetic soul
I nvincible in reaching her goal
N aughty, but she can also be nice
D aring, with not a thought to the price
A mbitious, she will climb to the heights
Linda…she shines in all that she writes!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
PS...Linda, HAPPY BIRTHTDAY!!!!! I wish you all the best!!! May God bless and keep you. I've so come to appreciate you during my time here. You are strong, smart, you speak your mind, you know what you want, you know how to get it, and you are fearless. Qualities I love in a woman! Also, you know how to be caring and tender when the need arises. You are a TITAN of Poetry Soup. Your name says it all. Divide and conquer. Sending you hugs on your special special day! :)
Poem | |
It is about that time of the year…
I have lost count of my age, oh dear.
Sometimes I wonder where the time has gone,
It is has been for so, very long.
I look back and think…
Boy, time has just flown by, in a wink.
It seems like yesterday I was just born,
I don’t feel any different inside, you know.
It’s this body of mine that distracts…
It is a little slower to react.
Oh, I stubbed my toe,
Wouldn’t you know.
I fall asleep at the computer…
Pressed on top of my lap top are my fingers.
I wake up, to my surprise,
There are words of a different kind.
My sacroiliac is tight…
It must be from sitting up all night.
Half way asleep in my recliner, oh my aching back,
Taking my cat naps with my two cats.
Didn’t get much sleep last night, a simple fact…
So, I thought I would stretch out the kinks in my back.
Took some time to pray,
And read my scriptures for the day.
What do we have in store for today, Dear Lord?
Life with it’s ins and outs, there is no doubt.
That when you get older,
We tend to lean a little more on God’s shoulder.
Life has its rhythm with each new heart beat...
We were born yesterday in our birthday suits, cheek to cheek.
We can find humor in our own little lives,
Which ends up at our age as “A Rhyme In Time”
Cinda M Carter
For the older one's out there who are having birthdays' in June and July...
" Have a Very, Very Blessed Birthday"
May 19, 2014
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Deep red the garnet
And carnation petals bright
Snow white the tiny child
A dainty snowdrop white
Soft as the blooms
Are cheeks of rosey red
She is carried quietly
And softly tucked in bed
Someday the little princess
Beloved girl first born
Will wear a garnet ring
To welcome in the morn
As January passes
And winter slips away
A book with these pressed flowers
Will remind us of this day
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A shades poet, writing in blacks quailed ink,
Expressing emotions by a poetic pallet of diversity,
On a canvas rainbow bursting forth across the
Horizon at dawns first light.
Imaginations dream seeker, walking amongst
The clouds, in heaven's meadows above.
Inspiration's muse, she'll never realize what
A simple comments pleasure, can give to
Lighten up someones day.
I've read eloquence's words placed upon the
Lab top screen before me, and felt tears sorrow,
Exhilaration’s heights of elevation.
Through her words of poetic thoughts placed
Getting to know another person, and so now
Calling her a friend.
We the bards are becoming a rare breed,
Unique each one of us, in our own ways,
But in retrospective similarities sharing the
Same traits and needs.
To write, to express, and use our intense
Imaginations, to take others along with us,
In a journey beyond physical limitations,
Beyond body and mind.
She calls herself Poet Destroyer, but in
Reality's truth, she is not destruction’s poetic
Slayer, but instead an angel of
Compassion helping those whom need guidance.
What is the meaning of life, I've heard this
Asked many times before?
My personal opinion to this question is
To make some kind of difference in this
To touch another's persons life in some way,
Poet Destroyer you've touched mine,
And this is my way of saying thank you.
Happy Birthday to come my friend.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Poem | |
I BAKED THIS POETRY CAKE FOR YOU,
I FLEW COLORFUL BALLOONS,TOO
NOW THAT YOUR SPECIAL DAY IS HERE
ICINGS ARE MY BEST WISHES, HUGS AND CHEERS.
LET’S DANCE A CHACHA THEN WE’LL DO A BALLET
EVERYBODY WILL SING TO BE HAPPIER AND GAY
AND LET MY SIMPLE POEM CELEBRATES IN A SPECIAL WAY
FOR THE CELEBRITY IS SO SPECIAL! HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
July 24,2014 10.30pm
Note: This is re-posting my simple gift to our very dear Anne Lise on her
birthday last Month. I hope you will enjoy.
Poem | |
The air breeze,
The sun rise,
The birds chirping,
and reminds me your birthday.
I am alone,
without you who born today,
for I know I do not have anything to offer.
this is a poor me,
that wishing you far away from home,
that I only have my prayers for a gift,
that if I could exchanged my prayers for you,
I am willing to do it all.
I am sorry,
Sorry for not being to pretty,
Sorry for not being rich,
Sorry for not being famous,
Sorry for not giving you a branded gift,
Sorry for ashamed you,
that this is your birthday,
I am glad for your born.
From apologetic me,
that by remembered your born day,
is the best way for your gift.
happy birthday from me,
from the bottom of my heart.