I want to touch your life
and leave a mark ...
... a deep impression ...
So you will think of me
and of my smile ...
... my sweet expression ...
I long to touch your life
and leave a sign ...
... a warm inscription ...
So you will care for me
and keep in mind ...
... a clear description ...
I need to touch your life
and leave a joy ..,.
... an inspiration ...
So you will love me soon
in reality ...
... not imagination ...
*For S.K.A.T.'s give it to me straight contest ...
Copyright © Linda-Marie SweetHeart | Year Posted 2012
Rhythmic tones form a most beautiful symphony of love
A shining star as nature's splendor reflects Heaven’s light
It’s my destiny to learn a passion and purpose to use now
Even for a moment, I would not change for you’re my love
And love is a blessing, an eternal gift that keeps on giving
Take your wish, shattered dreams—leave this world behind
And we shall seek and find a togetherness with lullabies pure
For each new emotion my heart shall always find you dearest
Sending warm golden stirring echoes dancing into your dreams
Softly lips whispering so gently in the air as a loving tune sings
As the warm sun lights up our footsteps treading on golden sands
Perfect maiden you’re the siren ringing bells for midnight chimes
True precious bride inside the heart you have keys to all the doors
Walk with me hand in hand as the soul breathes and butterflies sigh
Ocean waves crash—kissing salt of the earth as windows flutter free
Safely sitting on the throne as the crown graces a fair maiden queen
Our special music reflects the precious nature of our love dearest
As we share enchanted moments with each other so real and pure
When I take your hand in mine, I feel the magic warmth of passion
When I gaze into your eyes, I sense the depth of our love forever
The delight I share with you dear one defies all human description
And so my love—enjoy the oneness we share as two souls together
As we bask in God’s own heavenly light and music in His Universe
Our hearts unite as one in forming a most beautiful symphony of love
Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman ©
A Collaborated Poem – June 22, 2015
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015
Ignorance is definitely a description of bliss
Look at Washington if you don’t believe this
They are never on target, they always miss
Their biggest decision is whose butt to kiss
We were told we were getting change
It looks the same, now ain’t that strange
The positions of the rich just rearrange
Take care of their own, they prearrange
Maybe I was hoping for something new
But what I see is the same old doodoo
Filling their pockets, screwing me and you
Spitting on the Red White and Blue
Society brainwashed, a robotic crowd
Entitlement minded, crying out loud
Sorry boys, no thinking allowed
Socialism will make you proud
They say they will make the country strong
But I’m watching now and see the wrong
Change has been coming for oh so long
But you are still singing the same old song
Bliss isn’t living off a government check
Being a dependent, a financial wreck
Ready to sail but no one on deck
Living with a noose tied around your neck
Bliss is different for you and me
A pursuit of happiness and being free
Earning a living, the right to be
Productive members of a society.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2009
My heart skips a beat my love each and every time
I’m with you my dearest sweet and lovely Darling
Since the passions and feelings you stir in me
Touch the very depth of my inner being and soul
And render themselves not to mere words only
Suitable for depiction, exhibition, understanding
Rather to the image and strength of your beauty
And your rapturous desire and feeling as they
Defy rational attempts at any simple description
For you are the most radiant beyond all compare
My heart skips a beat my love when we lie together
Locked in a most enchanting embrace and kissing
So deeply, palpably that we run out of breath and pant
Anxiously at what comes next in our mutual longing
And crescendo as our passions explode and express
Themselves in a most hungry trail of urges and desires
Which makes finding love for us all the more magical
Pairing us together like a couple of star-struck kids
Lost impossibly in moments of hope and imagination
In a timeless world of love, desire, emotion, and oneness
My heart skips a beat my love when we walk so closely
Hand-in-hand talking, laughing, and living our dreams
Confronting the world and taking on whatever comes
Next as we steer our ship of destiny on a true course
Where our like-thoughts and deep love for each other
Mean something quite special that only Dreamers and
Poets can imagine and set to melody and harmony in perfect
Verses of sheer passion and delight painted onto a canvas
Of unending happiness where Heaven and Earth are one
My heart skips a beat my love when we’re forever one
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(November 5, 2014) (Free Verse)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014
I’ve distanced myself
I didn’t mean to
Didn’t set out to do it
An unconscious act of the mind
For self preservation
My visits went to once a week
Sunday dinners that once lasted for hours
Became shorter and shorter
Until now its get in
Get it cooked
Clean it up
And we’re out
Occasionally circumstances would
Happen and one would be missed
Oh well I’ll go during the week
Sometimes I did
Sometimes I didn’t
Today my heart cried to be near you
I entered the home and immediately
Settled my mood into the atmosphere
Funeral home-esque for lack of a better description
I speak in hushed tones
Slow my movements
And quiet my spirit
You want something
Oh thank you give me a job
What do you need???? Anything
I’ll gladly do anything
So many things hurt you now
You who were so tough reduced to such pain
Questions, answers, questions, answers
Over and over and over
This is the part I know
I’ve practiced this so many times before
You speak and in mid sentence you cry
Have I seen my sister,,you can’t remember
Ever seeing my sister, have you seen her
Yes mom remember mom
My answers are calm
You look searching in my eyes
Yours, sunken, confused,
Pained, with a depth of sadness
I haven’t seen before
I look away.
I meet all the needs you’ve asked of me
I pat you, hug you, pray with you
I look at my brother, the saint
He’s tired, worn, sad
I leave, I’m OUT
How’d I get here
How long have I been driving
The sky so desperately gray
Muted tones of nothingness
The air feels so heavy
Like a shroud encompassing me
The river runs beside me
It rages from the wind
There’s no stopping its power
It’s dark and gloomy and brown
And suits my mood
I try to pray
HOW DO I PRAY
Do I pray for healing,
Health, life, death
Joy, maybe peace
I cry out to you
I DON’T KNOW HOW TO PRAY
I look to the sky and see
The smallest spot of the most beautiful sapphire blue
In a sea of nothing
And I cry
Copyright © Laurie Ginn | Year Posted 2009
Description of The Funeral of Atala (Funérailles d'Atala or Atala au tombeau), 1808, Louvre
I sauntered through the Louvre, observing art.
One painting struck me for its quality
of sadness; I could see a young man’s heart
was clearly broken by a tragedy.
The man is Indian; he’s in a cave
with an old man who holds the shoulders of
a woman they’ll be putting in her grave.
The Indian is mourning for his love.
He’s sitting, clinging to her draped knees, and
though for me this image was unclear,
a crucifix is clutched inside her hand.
Outside upon a hill, a cross is near.
The artist was recalling the sad scene
of Atala, a woman who was mired
in mental conflict. She was torn between
religious vows and the one man she loved.
Although the heroine wears virgin white,
some sensuality is shown with grace.
The day is waning, and the sun’s last light
caresses her fair bosom and her face.
The focus is this woman, but my eyes
go to the half-nude Indian whose skin
is brown, in contrast to the girl who lies
dead by her own hand for fear she would sin!
The novel that explored Atala’s woe
inspired more than one painter in the time
romanticism had begun to grow,
but Girodet’s work of art for me is prime!
Written May 9, 2017 for the Celebration of Art Contest of Kim Rodrigues
Note: I can't find a French syllable counter, but English puts the artist's name Girodet at three syllables.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017
Take my letter to her, O Messenger!
Yes, totally washed are its words and phrases
A deed of my flooding eyes I couldn’t deter
The tornado of tears accumulated for ages
The storm of anguish concealed in heart
Washed all urges of soul that flowed from pen
The torrents rumbling from the start
Once started couldn’t be stopped there and then
Her perception will be triggered, I am sure
This blank sheet will reveal all that I meant to say
The power of love will her instincts conjure
My feelings, my urges won’t go astray
Tell her, that the lustrous mansion of pride and ego
Is falling to pieces like the house of cards
The dark alleys of life that lost their glow
In a state of disrepair, description beyond words
The King of Diamond has lost the game
A player is lucky to hold the three A’s
Lost is all the glory and fame
Built in years and lost in days
His eyes craving for your enchanting face
The candles of his eyes weep in the desolate nights
Lost is all peace and tranquility’s trace
Your charming features his heart ignites
A few breaths are left in the dying tree of life
With fallen leaves and barren branches entwined
Resuscitate and free it from torments and strife
Be a glow of the dimmed eyes that brilliantly shined
Tell her, the writer awaits your reply
With burning heart and soul alight
Before torments enhance and wounds multiply
And the bird of life takes to wing of flight
Copyright © Mohammad Yamin | Year Posted 2011
I began to tell of the two pens (my couplet) I always carry tucked away in my shirt
pocket, and of my humble closet which contains nary a pocketless shirt.
My thoughts drifted to what by.. and how I am inspired, when my love and I began speaking
of a subject very dear to me.
When we finished .... in what I believe to be an infused prayer,...perhaps inspiration to
some,... I saw what seemed to be liquid glass like droplets ..falling slowly from above ..
as a slow motion shower into an atmosphere of what may have been, space and time. I saw
no earth or sky.
These liquid glass droplets were falling without disruption through a pellucid barely
recognizable outline of a figure that I perceived to be a poet.
Somewhere from within I asked why the poet could not be lined somehow with a shell to
capture these apparently valuable liquid glass treasures. They were so clear that the
atmosphere through which they were falling, appeared as a gloom gray.
I understood that these treasures cannot be contained or retained. They must fall
through the poet who must also be like these liquid luculent treasures in order that these
particular gifts may come through the poet ..continuing to transform same and all others who
allow these treasures to permeate them.
There is no clearer description within me to give. ...
And then... I was no longer free and came back into the pain,
discomfort and seemingly bloated entity
within this shell.. that I call me.
Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2010
The meadow lies ravaged
beneath the scorching sun,
fields covered with dust,
grasses yellow and flat,
sunflowers hang their heads.
Only dandelions survive
releasing seed into the air.
Few birds chirp, singing sad songs,
Spiders move slowly
weaving their webs.
Insects undeterred abound.
Ants carry their meager harvest
to their underground caves.
The breeze too cold,
the skies occasionally grey.
No farmer tills the land,
afraid of sweat and backaches.
No tractor sputters to life
no tools lie around,
Only a sickle is stuck upright
in the fallow land.
5 September 2017
Contest/Sponsored by Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
September is the month when summer ends.
Please write a free verse poem on your thoughts about The End of Summer.
Visual imagery is essential.
Good grammar and spelling are essential.
Date your poem.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2017
Allay, my heart ...
Pray, hush your cadence ...
For the sacred sake of unsated thirst
Beg thy thrums to be not now abounding.
Each dream comes haunting, dusted in dusk
Every sentimental pluck of your syrupy strings
Beckons her back to my yearnings, interminable
Every wistful pang is strummed by her affect on me.
This place, dipped in the dripping mist of morning
Echoes things quite beyond my words ... of her
'Tis no forte for flowery phrase can capture it
No poetic capacity worthy of its description.
It pulls and mills my spirit like the ebb of the briny blue
But to its most dark, stinging, brumal depths.
She was such a visceral part of my fibre ...
From the quintessence of deep, dreaming slumber
To the first nascent meandering of each wish-flavored morning
(Her sublime taste still seasoning my mouth ... and my mentalities).
From the uncommon commonplace of teatime sun in her tresses
To the chipped-edge porcelain puddles of the mocking moon
Cackling at my fevered foolishness for its glint in her eyes
Or for her skin, when she'd dip her toes in pale pools of twilight.
My core breathed her like youth breathes rebellion
And the cells of her press on my emotions infused my blood
Coursing like the fire of a drug through my arteries.
Never ... ne'er did I touch her
But to write secret stories on her skin
Fingertips spelling out sexy words in cursive
Or focusing the intent of my heart to a simple caress -
A brush of her shoulder, a graze of her cheek
A stroke to put her hair behind her ear
A pillow-deep hug - full of warmth and security
A gentle pat of her knee
Or a grasp of her hand ... like heaven!
Each space corresponding with mine, like perfect dovetail.
This place, to some, is just that - a place
But it was OUR place, you see, and it sighs of US
Deeply, forlornly, achingly ...
The wash of the waves is but the whisper of her name
The salt-sea fresh air aromas are her perfume
The feel of the cool sand under each footstep
Is but a soft memory of the tender, tousled passion we shared
And this dark, misty day
Is the remnant of my heart ...
The melancholy that drips from my spirit to the well of days gone.
I shall not come here again, though I love it so ...
Oh, how I adore this place and all it means
But if I ever return, it will claim me ...
It will swallow me as time has swallowed her
It will transform me to this damp, dour, graying mist
And I'll be lost to the wind and the dark
Just as surely as she is lost ...
** Written October 5, 2017, and submitted November 11, 2017, for the "Choose A Topic" Poetry Contest, Russell Sivey, Sponsor. My topic is "Heartbreak and Loss". **
Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017
Walking towards the light
Leaving behind a wink of the night
Ignoring the massive things between
Exploding with all the things I've seen
Reality to dreams, it may be
Blinded by the ways of me
Without knowing my deception
Painting myself with a bad description
About me, I have no reason to lie
Some things should never be asked why?
A sickening motion due to gravity
When life decays turn into a cavity
Life will soon find a solution
Ahead of myself like a resolution
Developing the pictures of all time
Predicting a way out of a single crime
I sit and listen to all incoming observations
While my mind is lost in its own rotation
Losing myself in a severe way
I hate the way I wake up everyday.
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010
*****To the naked EYE, this poem may seem like gibberish,
but I assure you it is loaded with 24 palindromes,
3 palindrome phrases, 1 hidden palindrome phrase,
and is chock full with enormous wordplay...
oh and one more palindrome in this description.
Can you find more? I challenge you word freaks!*****
____SATAN OSCILLATE MY METALLIC SONATAS____
Last night, around eleven or so, I decided to paint a pink castle.
To my dismay, on display, is what looks more like a pink asshole.
Picasso would've been so proud!
Today, upon recording nothing short of a colossal debacle,
I've chosen to
utilize the eyes of a hostile apostle.
Tossing docile scribble, I'm scribing.
Describing life like a diatribe conniving REVIVER at a revival.
Palindrome EYE to the side of my tribe.
Get in line, standing at the hands of HANNA.
RISE AND VOTE SIR!
POP a PEEP at NOON!
DAD got so damn mad he DID the DEED
and split three XANAX with his MADAM and MOM!
(ALA the ABBA GIG way back in them AHA kookie KOOK days)
Back to peek hassle!
Do ya' think he might like ta' take a stab at my STATS?
*****(this was fun as fun can be:
hope you have half as much fun with it as I did:)*****
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014
Zeal uncontained, needing quarantine
Oscillating rigor mortis, feigned or real
Madness, the only description saleable
Both for actors and non actors alike
Invested in the runaway train consumers
Enjoy at the expense of real tragedy
Shuttered from public view, until it's not
Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2014
What a slap in the face!
It’s an international disgrace!
and (subversion in action)
It’s now commonly used in parlance by judiciary
while in literature this prevalent (lie) I see.
With a bland, enough face?
or is there the hint of a trace?
Could there be in its origin, a.. motive? or motion
created to infiltrate a nations notion?
A.. (sort of sufferance)
involved with its utterance!
So (abused & misused) is the category
I must zero in all my batteries,
Now I am clearing my decks,
here I go, what the heck!
For I have admiration for a Francophile
would converse with a Russophile
I so enjoy your work Faberge
and appreciate the charm of the Gallic sway
But for me there is no third way!
(now) without any doubt I am coming about
And stoking all my fires
for full ahead’s my desire.
On the literary beach
I see a very (rotten peach)!
And it was ‘hidden’ in full view
Hmm.. let’s see what some firepower can do
For the doting parents who pray
keep our kids safe today.
Hardworking moms & dads who care,
find time that is to spare
From extra help with early reading
to painting nursery room ceilings
Some working 14-hour days
it makes me angry I say.
Aunts & uncles, grandparent, teachers
of calm nature and reason
With motives pure and in step
with life’s seasons
And the name of the paedophile should by rights be theirs,
its been hijacked, does anyone care?
It’s too good a description, just not the depiction
to be bandied about, LISTEN
AS I SHOUT WITH TRUE INDIGNATION
CHANGE THIS DECEPTION OF NATIONS
© Joe Maverick 25-04-2011
Copyright © Joe Maverick | Year Posted 2011
We had just got married - was the month of June
This is the saga of our disastrous honeymoon
We started off in a hotel in Norwich
The bedding was itchy just like doing ‘porridge’
Back home to Birmingham to get ready for our cruise
To the Norwegian Fjords - stunning scenery to peruse
I had already started to get a horrid cold
My sneezing was totally uncontrolled
We arrived in Norway and I was feeling ill
The fjords were smooth no need for sea sickness pill
I started to brighten as we began the cruise
Hubby and me together we had nothing to loose
Enjoying the scenery and the fresh cold air
Watching the waterfalls oh how we did stare
We arrived at the first hotel and got ready for the night
We were on honeymoon and wanted everything right
Climbing the stairs to our hotel room
Separate beds – you could sense the doom
Well we got over that hurdle… details I won’t discus!
But when we saw the tour guide oh how we did cuss
Next day we got onto our honeymoon boat
Enjoying the experience whilst we were afloat
On to another hotel as part of the tour
Separate beds yet again – oh what a bore!
Every hotel we stayed at we had separate beds
Hardly ideal scenario for a pair of newly weds!
Finally it was time for us to go our journey back home
One more meal at the hotel – oh how time had flown
Disaster struck – it could only happen to me
I got food poisoning I was as sick as a flea
Firing from both ends it was absolute hell
My honeymoon disaster – oh I remember it well!
A pretty accurate description of our honeymoon in June 1991…
but despite everything that went wrong we are still together!
Contest: Memorable Vacation – Shadow Hamilton
~awarded 2nd place~
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
Little Innocence was forged into the world
A shrill Sound flickered around the expecting eyes
Laughter carved out of marble
A statue thought to beat immortality
Yet Fear had a surprise
It crept into the cradle with ease
Laughter was choked
Tears burst instead
And Sadness had a form
Evil found in youth a red soil
Jealousy marched with Envy
Lust befriended Desire
Until cupid threw a bunch of arrows
Excitement beyond description
A Thrill with no past
Sentiments were aroused
Pride threw some words
Ego played its part
And when Love meddled to defend its territory
The Heart bled in utter silence!
© Guru Jad 2013
Copyright © Guru Jad | Year Posted 2013
A Love So True
A love so true is what I’ve found in you my dearest one!
The depth of our shared emotions defy all description,
As they excite and enchant every aspect of our lives.
A love so true is a quest I started long ago to find you!
One so special with that undeniable smile and laugh;
One possessed with that rare angelic heart of gold.
A love so true binds us together even in strife and tribulation!
We find our shared thoughts and love do sustain us each day.
We renew our passion and commitment without reservation.
A love so true blessed by our Lord God in Heaven above!
He watches over us now and gives us His true love always.
We walk in His divine path now, two souls forever as one.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
January 13, 2016 (Unrhymed Tercet)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016
I have spent,
being calm___________cool collected---afraid to show the darkness!
U n a w a r e,
of the freedom,
that comes from releasing the beast, no longer muzzling the dog!!!!
from deep in my chest,
fists clenched and released, red flush in my face and chest.
I feed off your fear,
as you look into my eyes,
you my tormentor SURPRISED as you watch me rise.
see my new found addiction,
I'm in a heightened state, no longer afraid, an uncontained contradiction.
between heart and brain,
moving from soft spoken to someone I can't explain!
to me my weakness personified,
letting my self completely go, spectating from deep inside.
ANGER e r u p t s,
fifty four years of playing the stamp collecting game,
I'm the one at fault but others think you're to BLAME!
Written October 29, 2015
By: Richard Lamoureux
For Casarah's Dancing with description contest.
Note: this is eight lines stylized for visual effect.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015
My imaginary restaurant will be named “All That You Imagine.”
Any food you can imagine, you will be served.
Thanks to technology and a world-class cooking staff,
I can offer my patrons any food that they desire.
However, they must book their table three days in advance!
If their wish is for a dish like their mama used to cook,
they need only provide my chefs with the recipe or its description.
If their palate leans to the exotic, they need only give its name.
My research team, like no other, can track down any foreign dish.
From All-American delights like mac‘n cheese or burgers and fries
to all the others: Indian, Mexican, Brazilian, Chinese, Italian, French,
and the list goes on and on. We can do it all! Everyone wants to come here!
By the way, my restaurant has become a tourist attraction.
Renowned for its varied and eclectic menus, it is visited by thousands daily.
If restaurants were malls, mine would be the largest and the most incredible.
Patrons may reserve a private room or choose a table
from one of many wondrous atmospheric sections.
Each section is a restaurant in and of itself, with its own kitchen
and a staff of waiters and waitresses dressed as befitting that section’s theme.
From jungle room to bar and grill to futurist (where servers dress in pristine white),
I have over one hundred types of settings to match the mood and the type of food;
some with karaoke, some with splendid views, utilizing IMAX, for example,
some with magic shows, others with comedy, and one room with a waterfall
where divers perform amazing feats. There are classic sections
where patrons may dance in ballroom style; imagine any type of music you like,
I am sure we have it in one of our beautiful sections!
For the romantics, candlelight dinners can be enjoyed next to a faux River Seine.
Tourists, for a small fee, may observe the many rooms in a guided tour.
We use technology that allows the tours to not disturb our diners.
It’s that same technology which allows my restaurant to flourish,
for expert computer techs arrange for the smooth operation
of matching patrons to sections and coordinating everything efficiently.
Favorite recipes may be purchased from us too in our gift shops.
Souvenirs and samples of our most popular food items
are sold there along with a wide array of unique gifts!
Nothing is impossible in “All That You Imagine.”
Well, except for one thing: No endangered specie, such as monkey or koala
will be served here!
(Getting ready to enter the contest I noticed I had misread the rules. Sorry, I don't know if I can redo it any other way. I am calling this prose and hoping it's acceptable!)
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
My Freeway Angel
Caught between two cars
There was no lane between them
Who guided my hand?
back and forth between them both
It was harrowing
At another time
I was sideswiped by a rig
on that same freeway
My car went sideways
to the front of a man’s truck
I had no control
I was being pushed
as the trucker slowed his pace
in his middle lane
Before the truck stopped
I wondered is this the end?
I felt strangely calm
My car then emerged
faced against the traffic but
on the embankment
A few other times
my tires had big bad blowouts
I came out unscathed
I’ve stayed uninjured
through all my mishaps but not
so lucky - my cars!
Have I been lucky
or is a freeway angel
looking after me?
For the Senryu on Angels Poetry Contest of Marvin Celestial
True story written with senryu syllable count. I would like to think I have an
angel, but I can't really say for sure!
Contest Description: 1 original, poem on the theme of true encounters with Angels
Only Senryu form will be accepted with the title "Angel / Angels."
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
Lake Breaking News
Early this morning, there was a robbery
A turtle mugged a snail down by the pond
The shell the turtle jacked, was off the poor snail's back
and when he turned around, the thief was gone
He went down to the station, after much deliberation
And told the cops his story at last.
With such a keen depiction, they asked for a description
But, the snail said it happened much to fast
Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2015
In the beginning was the word
Before that, no noun, no thing
Then no sound was ever heard
And no passing bell would ring
So therefore no adjective was needed to describe it or deplore it
No preposition required to be positioned right before it
No verb to do something to it or say what act it was pursuing
No need for an adverb to describe how well or badly it was doing
Since not even one noun existed, conjunctions would have been redundant
There were no things to act on and to move across the face of the fundament
So the first word there had to be - was BE, and that was the very first in existence
And from Genesis and Eden to Elsinore, it has had a remarkable degree of persistence
Now, in the Oxford English Dictionary which is venerable institution
There are 171476 full entries of words (2nd edition) all capable of elocution
Of these, about one seventh are verbs, therefore there must be around 24497 give or take, to enumerate all action
And that should be enough for even the most garrulous to get some satisfaction
This is a limited calculation and I wouldn't want to be tied down to it
We can be more free in our estimates so while we are about it, we might as well do it
It seems that once BE had been exercised, the dam broke and words poured out as from a cornucopia.
And verbs would soon exist in an abundance enough to carry you from here to Ethiopia
Except in the culture of youth where it appears this multitude has been reduced to the deplorable "was like"
To them I am tempted to say: "Learn some real verbs"; OR I would employ a phrasal such as
The possibilities are now endless particularly if you include the phrasal
Giving us enough elan vital to at least maintain a metabolism basal
So to whoever first said BE, whether God or someone with similar propensities
though another name or description:
I say Well done! I couldn't in my wildest dreams with a wish to create a rich life and culture,
have produced a better prescription
Copyright © Geoffrey Brewer | Year Posted 2017
Let me set something straight -
Right here, right now!
Let me put India in the right perspective,
Let me banish some myths,
Some gross misconceptions,
And take you beyond elephants,
Sacred cows, snake charmers and yoga,
Beyond Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Taj Mahal,
To a civilization rooted for
over 5,000 years in the past
To a land rich - majestically rich -
In many cultures, customs and traditions,
In a bewildering variety of races,
Religions, languages and folk arts,
In a vibrant tradition of dance and music,
In religious festivals and traditional events,
In saints, sadhus, gurus and sages,
In gods, goddesses, munis and mahatmas,
In temples, palaces, shrines and monasteries;
I'll baby-steps you through a land
Of Vedas and Upanishads,
Of epic stories and incredible mythologies,
Of Ramayana, Mahabharata and Bhagavad Gita,
Through one of world's great spiritual sanctuaries,
Where religion is a way of life;
An overwhelming, complex land -
Its charm, its vitality and yes, its confusion,
Atonce alarming and enticing.
And that's the way India is:
Elusive, confusing, contradictory,
mysterious and exasperating!
Beyond easy description or analysis,
A phenomenal diversity of dress
and manners making one aware
of a different world -
A veritable fairyland!
No other country offers quite such
A spectacle of teeming masses that
continue to enrich the heritage of mankind,
Nowhere do the past and present
coexist in more colorful promiscuity -
An incomparable country,
Easy to love, hard to forget!
"There's only one India!" raved Mark Twain,
"A wonderland of fabulous wealth
and fabulous poverty, of splendor and rags ..."
"The cradle of the human race,
The birthplace of human speech,
The mother of history,
The grandmother of legend and
The great grandmother of tradition."
This, indeed, is my country
Where I was born -
An Indian at heart,
An American in spirit!
Khuda Hafiz, Jai Ramji Ki,
OM Radhe Shyam, Sat Sri Akal,
Copyright © Abdul Malik | Year Posted 2013
Memory Quilt “ For Auction contest “
Welcome all to today’s prestige event
Let us start the day ladies and gentlefolk
We have this wonderful memory quilt
For your deliberation and delectation today
It was made by two elderly spinster sisters
When they decided to do this quilt they decided a pattern
And they thought they would use pieces from dresses
The one they wore in their younger years
There are pieces from a day dresses, morning, and evening
Each one holding a special memory for them both
As they had worn them to many events when young
Each section of cloth has been cut very precise and sew with loving care
A selection of shapes are involved in this,
The principle ones, lozenge and triangle shape to form the main squares
This then makes up the size large enough to be used on the bed
They embellished it with heart and circles and lovely flowers
These being the decorations from the dresses themselves
This work took the sister six years to lovingly to complete
And it is all hand stitched onto a pale blue linen cloth to hold it complete
This wonderful piece comes with a description of each dress
Also on which occasion it was worn by either of them
It became an item beyond price to them when it was finished
I hope ladies and gentlemen that this will give some idea
Of the memories, work and heart ache involved
In the making of this superb memory quilt
I know that this quilt will reach a very high price today
Myself I would place a bid of fifteen thousand
But it will not be enough I fear
Copyright © MARY GRACE | Year Posted 2016
Have written a number of love poems
never one with so much meaning
As I near the end of my seventy-nineth year
My love is more melancholy leaning
Been lovestruck for quite a number of years
But now with my advancing age
Our union is even more precious than ever
Our love has turned a new page
Tinged with a kind of quiet contentment
Like a favourite easy chair
Just to feel the presence of your soul mate
And the love the two of you share
No other feeling can even come close
It defies conventional description
It's the culmination of a lifetime of love
In the purest form, no restrictions
Why is it we only discover real love
When the leaves on the trees start to fall
We spend a lifetime in search of that moment
When it was right beside us after all
© Jack Ellison 2014
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014