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Best Enclosed Rhyme Poems | Poetry

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Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Ruby Spires


There, among the Ruby Spires,
   Stood I, a-gazing toward the mist,
      Red winds cut skin, heaven-kissed,
         Far too cold for Hades' fires ...

Worlds and eons 'hind me, then,
   The joys of youth were swallowed, thus,
      By wormholes, ranged and turned to dust,
         All, the sake of gloried men.

Such an odyssey, we crossed
   Three galaxies and matter, dark,
      To find this rare and conscious spark
         Of Life, (yet life is what it cost).

Tho' I, their peerless proxy, was,
   I felt no debt to human kind,
      And thru that conflict there, did bind,
         A pact of ancient alien cause.

My own, a naught-but-violent race,
   Had found these beings far from home,
      And sought to then rewrite their tome,
        With our corrupt and vain disgrace.

Yet 'fore we could our ruin, spread,
   This planet's unseen chaperones,
      Wreaked mortal plague on us alone,
         'Til naught but I was cold and dead.

Then, those sentient souls and I,
   Did journey up from mountain's base,
      Until we met that jagged face,
         With ruby columns to the sky ...

To every side but one, we saw,
   For endless breadth, the crimson sphere,
      Vermilion glows, both far and near,
         That wondrous planet's crystal maw.

The sparkling slopes of gemstone red,
   That slanted down and out of sight,
      Were being swallowed by the night,
         And yet, no trail had shown ahead.

Far too late to turn around,
   We gave our final fate its due,
      That stunning red, exquisite view,
         That few blessed eyes had ever found.

Astounding visions we beheld,
   That far exceeded all we knew,
      That held us, transfixed, to that view,
         With yearning that could not be quelled.

The colors challenged conscious thought,
   With light at angles inconceived,
      An iridescence not believed,
         Were we not witness, on that spot.

The misty opalescent glow,
   Refracting hues beyond compare,
      Prismatic sparkles here-and-there,
         That danced with flakes of scarlet snow.

Rainbow shafts of glistening light,
   Swirling phosphorescent sprays,
      Shimmering hues in broad displays,
         That flashed, then faded out of sight.

Palette shades we'd never known,
   Reflected beams from crystal shards,
      The wondrous muse of godly bards,
         Presented there for us alone.

A vista words can ne'er construe,
   Such beauty, language can't appease,
      That brought us, weeping, to our knees,
         And left us shaken, thru-and-thru.

The breathless joy that view inspired,
   Was known to only us who'd trade
      Our lives to see that covenant made
         There ... among the Ruby Spires.




~ 2nd Place ~  in the "Ancient Aliens" Poetry Contest, Anthony Slausen, Sponsor.

~ 2nd Place ~  in the "Mountains" Poetry Contest, Julie Leigh Rodeheaver, Sponsor.

~ 3rd Place ~  in the "Fable" Poetry Contest, Nayda Ivette Negron, Sponsor.

~ 4th Place ~  in the "OK Toss Another One In" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.

~ 6th Place ~  in the "I Cannot Believe I Wrote That" Poetry Contest, Nina Parmenter, Judge & Sponsor.



Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017


Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My Waning Years

My Waning Years

As my waning years return me to reverie
I dream about the days we spent with sylvan trees
As sunset casts its golden glow on canopies
And you and I thought our love would last eternally.

Love had us mesmerized under its magic spell 
Our youth's enchanted vision of what life would be
Innocent intentions that let our lives feel free 
Enraptured in each others arms as twilight fell.
 
As we lay amidst colored leaves that autumn day,
Those sweet memories still so vivid in my mind;
Your handsome face, your softest lips that I would find
When pressed against my lips caused me to pray.

Grateful, I thanked the Lord for serendipity.
That we would find each other in a world so great
And feel electric sparks at first glance to be fate
Two souls with similar affinity.

I thought that we would forever have binding ties.
You hid a fearsome temper you could not rein.
With my fear of violence I could not contain,
We sadly parted ways with heartbreakng goodbyes.

As my waning years return me to reverie
I dream about the days we spent with sylvan trees
As sunset casts its golden glow on canopies
And you and I thought our love would last eternally.

9-18-18

Enclosed Rhyme - September, 2018 Poetry Contest
Sponsor Dear Heart~Fourth Place~


Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2018


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Alana Dulcita

Once in a forest, a long time ago, there dwelt a young maiden, bright, sweet and fair. Flowers she wore in her long wavy hair, and each day she’d vanish into gloaming’s glow. Alana Dulcita was this young maid’s name, a name that fell sweetly from everyone’s tongue. The townspeople loved her -both old and young, yet nobody knew from where the girl came. They only knew that, at the end of each day, with sun dipping downward into the west and sky splashed with colors Alana liked best, was when, as if magically, she’d slip away! “Where does she go?” all the villagers asked, “And how does she leave us so quietly that not even one of us ever can see? Has some kind of spell on our dear girl been cast?” Spell or no spell, the young maid had powers as into the woodland she fled and then donned a gossamer gown, hidden well near a pond surrounded by beautiful flowers. She peered into water after she’d kneel as a lovely face gazed back at her. In this perfect moment, what should occur but, like magic, the girl became real! Her filmy silk gown would blend with her skin, shrinking into a stem, and her face changed into petals till soon not a trace remained of the form that a human lives in. Alana Dulcita, her real self again, breathing lilacs’ and lilies’ sweet scent, would bow her fair face, a flower content, to repose by the pond with her kin. Awaking at dawn, renewed, she’d return to the town where they loved her so well, keeping the secret she never could tell of youth’s beauty for which humans yearn. She’d never grow old as long as she had a place of seclusion where she might go to water around which bright flowers could grow, for this is what kept the soul of hers glad! Never to marry and never to stay too long in one place, she’d always move on. Beloved she would be till the day she was gone. This, for Alana, was the only way. Alana Dulcita, where did she go when forests grew small and lake beds grew dry? Did the fair maid eventually die or is she still sleeping where bright blossoms grow?
Note: The name Alana means "the bright fair one" in Gaelic or "precious; awakening" in Hawaiian & "Beautiful dear child" in Irish/ the name Dulcita is Latin for "sweet." Written by Andrea Dietrich & Inspired by the "Reflections" Contest Sponsored by Constance La France ~A Rambling Poet~


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011


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Where Lilacs Bloomed

Where lilacs bloomed, I spied a brown-haired child. She, riveted by what was in her book, did not see me! She wore a wistful look. I guessed her to be somewhat shy and mild. The girl at last looked up and showed surprise to see me standing there to study her. What happened after that is now a blur, but I recall she had my same light eyes. Where lilacs bloomed, I’d sat against that tree while reading. Was I then inside a dream? A woman startled me. Why does it seem the woman who appeared that day was me? Sept. 15, 2018 for Dear Heart's Enclosed Rhyme - September, 2018 Poetry Contest


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2018


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Heart Of A Poet

It jumps not to the thought of riches or the prospect of gold
For common treasures are not what it seeks
But rather it responds to that probable possibility
That it may have touched the depths of someone else's soul

It hearkens not to sparkling gems or lusts after a lifetime of wealth
For inside jewels lies the hearts of thieves
But rather it stirs at giving a word someone needs
For inspiration to even the smallest person is a diamond in itself

It doesn't ache for dollar bills or lurch at the sight of green
For nowadays money comes in many different forms
But rather it longs to patch up another heart that may have been torn
And once again to give that person's life meaning

It is a place where the world dare not or otherwise cannot go
A safe haven for valuables other than currency
A hidden trail where treasure means finding creativity 
A path that only the hearts of poets know


Copyright © Lakisha Williams | Year Posted 2008


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Mama Dog's Gratitude

Oh, fireman, by your saving grace,
my babies remain now with me,
so I give kisses thankfully
all over your sweet dearest face.

And please do not think that I’m rude.
Though my kisses be rough and wet,
there's no bigger love you can get
then this mama dog’s gratitude.


In honor of Joyce Johnson's first contest ever:
"Doggy Gratitude"


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011


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Her Belly Dance

(Inspired by dance steps from a belly dancing class I once took!)

She rolls her pretty head from side to side
while, raised above her face, are slim curved arms.
Brief pose. . . . She’s readied to expose her charms.
Wrists twist, and serpentine, arms downward glide. 

Her undulating silk-draped hips move round.
She churns them slowly, flashing bright green eyes;
then minces “Camel Walk” to tantalize
as ankle bracelets make a tinkling sound.

With bills in hand, men beckon with a glance.
She shimmies, jingling toward them in dim light;
then spins and thrusts her pelvis right, left, right.
Seduction of delight - her belly dance.

For Barbara Gorelick's "May I Have This Dance?" Contest


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011


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Bye Yesterday, Hello Today

Bring a cup and fetch my Tears, Because tomorrow has been for Years. Life challenges, my favorite Seat, As my fear dances to my Heartbeat. Day and night, I don't Care, As poverty, the cloth i Wear. Happiness travels in Dreams, Yet with hope,possible it Seems. Drunk, a way to Forget. Yet once awake, it's time to Regret. Questions, i ask Myself, Even though no answers on my Shelve. Here i am slowly Sinking, In that ocean called Thinking. As a new day keeps Wishing, Maybe Faith is what's Missing. After all is said and Done Like the rise of a new Sun, The hope for a better Tomorrow, Is the path i have chosen to Follow.


Copyright © Philips Aje | Year Posted 2016


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my ticket

this is not just a poem
this is my ticket out of here
these are not just words
there steps taking me somewhere
this isn't just a page in a book
it's a society taking a second look
and taking me up another level
rescuing me from a devil
that held me down for so so long

this is not just a poem
this is someones dream
a picture of heaven
a wonderous scene
this is a heart filled with love
words that tell the meaning of
to a society taking a second look
this is not just a page in a book
it's something to ponder
bidding take a deeper look

this is not just a poem
this is a call to arms
on the lips of our heroes
in the hearts of our sons
join in the battle for freedom
join in the battle of love
join in the name of the Father
and the Son
this is not just a verse in a song
it's a universal call to make right
what is wrong

this is not just a poem
this is a child to a barren man
a tombstone a monument
i inscribe with my own hand
my institution my revolution
my way to move on
my dedication for your education
and encouragement to be strong
these are my words
that i hope i used well
in hope that this poem
is my ticket out of hell


Copyright © The Situation | Year Posted 2012


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The Goddess

With brilliance, clad in white, in an enchanted world,
a vision most inviting stands before my very eyes.
She treads a grassy hill beyond which mountains rise
to heaven's heights where fluffs of clouds, as if in pink, are swirled.

Her golden locks are streaming in a gentle breeze. 
Her lovely face is beaming. It's a woman-child I see.
My steps are quickening. She seems to beckon me.
But suddenly the sun is streaming; soon the maiden flees!

Who was she? Can you guess? And where has she now gone?
A little hint - she'll come again, but not till night has passed. 
Wake up bright and early; she comes and goes so fast!
Look to the sky and watch for her. She is the Goddess Dawn.



For Brian Strand's Poulter Measure (in quatrain form)


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010


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Mocha Parfait

When I wake up, you'll be there
Warm mocha eyes, café au lait
On cold days. On warm: parfait
On rippling breeze of wind, air claire
                               In gliding streams of sundust words
                               I see inside the one you are
                               The one so near, so very far
                               Smithereens of you, carried by birds
      Perfection, it does not exist
      You are, I am, nous sommes
      Each other's imperfection balm:
      Completing what the other's misses
                       Each time I sleep, you're with me
                       I revel in your familiar wheeze
                       I add mine too, one wheezing breeze
                       Lovely and (im)parfait, across the sea

***

March 24, 2017 
Copyright © Darren White


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017


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Exquisite Anguish

(The sad sea greets me, ebb and flow)

Why do I fancy heartache so?
It isn't pleasant, sweet or fun
It carries not, a buoyed charm
No sullied mirth to e'er disarm
Assigns no blessing when it's done
Still I contend to leave it go
(And feign aversion, lest it show)

Perhaps I've reached my own accord
Accepting as the status-quo
This melancholy gag reflex
To all that dimmer deeds can vex
And while the urge still pushes so
It's shadows that I'm pushing toward
(Salvation's scabbard, short a sword)

Perchance love's residue still stains
When love is lost, the breathing soul
Seeks refuge in a heavy heart
To savor grief with joy apart
Losing that which made it whole
Instills the worth of passion's pains
(Left to embracing what remains)

I doubt I'll come to understand
Why now-and-then a heart can break
Yet prove to flood you, bittersweet
With joy and sorrow mixed, replete
Such sad delight, this blessed ache
Left with what our hearts remand
True love sifting through our hand

(I scratch "I miss you" in the sand)


Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017


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Watan - homeland

I never saw my home land,
when I see it on TV,
a strange ache is inside me,
I do not understand.

I was born in (censored),
a country far away,
from where I currently stay.
That's where my parents fled.

How can I long for Egypt,
a country in turmoil,
with only foreign soil,
while my heart was ripped

by that very man from there,
who stole me and abused,
and tortured, sold and used;
who made me say 'grand-père'.

I never saw my home land.
I need to know my roots.
one day I will set foot,
and I will hold the hand

of my family who missed me,
so many years, and yearned,
until they finally learned
I was still alive, and free.

Until that day it's exile.
Trying hard to survive,
write, heal, study, thrive,
wanting to see the Nile.

I am hiding where I'm staying,
sometimes it drives me mad.
My past makes me so sad,
I almost give up, aching.

My watan, you won't save me,
I just want to understand
why this foreign land
sounds like healing, being free.

***


October 01, 2017
Copyright © Darren White


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017


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Rambling Indiangrass Long



Rambling Indiangrass long, skirt folds hide shy pale knees, untied hair flies flirty breeze - asters in basket throng with purity of wild white in wicker natural, petals pressing tactual absorbed in beauty quite spectacular. With my hand I brush the sways of gold, towheaded seedpods add bold plumed flourish to the land. Feathered heads rising to peek ‘bove teal blades turned yellow graceful in ripened mellow, silky Autumn mystique. Susan Ashley September 23, 2018 _________________________ ~ Eighth Place ~ Contest: Enclosed Rhyme - September, 2018 Sponsor: Dear Heart *Rambling: to walk aimlessly or idly over or through. To wander around in a leisurely manner.*


Copyright © Susan Ashley | Year Posted 2018


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I Am The Mother

I am the mother - a fabulous creature in aquamarine, I am the giver - capricious and loving and angry and free, I am the spinner who carries you wheeling and reeling so dizzyingly, I am the jewel that you spy in the dark in a wandering dream. You are my child who grew gruesome and huge in my delicate womb, You were my joy; now you’re bloated, obsessed with such meaningless things, You are disease - you hang cancerous filth from my glorious butterfly wings, You are the shame who would bury us both in a feculent tomb. This is the kiss of a warning to teach you, my ruinous child, This is a shock to blast open your eyes and compel you think, This is a fiery caress that could kill us, or haul us both back from the brink, These are the desperate deeds of a mother you loved then defiled. I am the mother - a beacon of life in the meaningless void, I am a treasure, exotic and precious, to prize and respect, I am the balance so filigree-fine you betrayed with your heartless neglect, Though I am your mother, I swear I’ll excise you... before I am dead and destroyed.
8 September 2018 For Enclosed Rhyme September 2018 Poetry Contest Sponsored by Dear Heart


Copyright © Nina Parmenter | Year Posted 2018


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Thankful

for my daughter, Lily Belle

Having crawled through a crack in my third-story window,
I drift, this night, to a familiar place
in search of age in a more youthful face,
far from cathemeral carnage below;

Though adrift, I drift unlike a drifter drifts, but drift as snow:
weightless in winter, like holiday lace.
I travel ‘til sunrise; day’s first rays erase
the darkness behind me I made myself know;

And then, in a meadow where Lilies grow,
I land and wrap myself in love’s embrace.
I am thankful then, now, for all my daughter’s grace,
for loving the father who once let her go.


11/14/2018


Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2018


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NOVEMBER'S BRAVE ROSE



       Brave  is the rose caught in November’s thorn
As she endures a nightfall  of chill and snow
Awaiting sunray’s warmth to overflow---
Tattered is her  hem…a nape drooped, forlorn

        Gently, new moon peeps into kohl  of eve 
While  its luster  reflects on this bud , soft
Like a pubescent ovule held aloft 
By elms guarding her round shape NOT to cleave.

       Though one kind-hearted owl perches  nearby
Mutely disapproving  this ghastly tread…
An obscure fog sprays crystals  overhead
Instead, wings lock against nip of the sky.

         How unwavering…in her innocence
Morning rises, its lucent gleam so young
That frozen dusk pales    with wheezes unsung…
Oh,  grit of a rose saved by providence!



Written 9/10/2018
Contest of Broken Dream
Enclosed Rhyme - September, 2018


Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2018


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Of Summer's Glow

As affection of summer’s glow expires 
    Winds bear upon us announcing autumn chill
I wonder the memories laid upon me still
           Before each thought of golden sun retires 

A breezy lush of fertile bloom still lingers
               As aqua mornings greet me with a sigh
With hummingbirds inviting me to fly
            And butterflies to dance upon my fingers

I long to hear the song of carefree chatter
                 On never ending sandy shores of pink
Continue through the harvest with a wink
                     As hopes of giddy reverie do flatter

I count the waves while salty air caresses
                        The sea to chant a lullaby in blue
To soothe the fears of autumn’s rendezvous	 
  My heart, while still in summer’s glow, confesses





Copyright © Mike Gentile | Year Posted 2018


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Envy

I have come here to confess my deepest shame
Your wit, I admit, I more than admire-
It wakes me, it shakes, me, sets my brain on fire
I long to claim your fame, under my name

Your indelible intricacy I yearn to master
I strive for your heights in increasing pain
But all futile, this folly of inferior gain
No matter how fast I write, you write faster

Now you skip away as I struggle for breath
My purse is empty; you haven't spent a penny
Where is the end of this contemptible envy?
When my best is bested - what is left?

10/17/18

NOT for 'Seven Deadly Sins' contest.



Copyright © Michelle Faulkner | Year Posted 2018


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Heartfelt Thanks


Heartfelt are my thanks for all the blessings ever flowing in, out and through my life. I feel fortunate for each go-round with strife that arrived to design my soul’s truth dressings. My humbled breath streams awe when I feel His touch upon my grateful soul, heart, thoughts and actions. With love, He guides my steps to divine traction and lifts fear-based, stinking thinking from my clutch. I am delighted when harmony fills my home where family memories grow, glow and unfold. My simple life prospers me more than bars of gold. My soul greets days with heart-praise wherever I roam.
B. Strand #525 November 10, 2018


Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2018


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Time My Enemy

Time has become my greatest enemy
It drags on, an infernal grating on the nerve
Like a broken muffler, dragging around the curve 
While my love and I starve for each other’s company

Until time surrenders, I wait my love with baited breath
Watching time, which I have confounded for going by so slowly
For that hour, that minute, that second, when you will be mine only
When I shall pledge my love to you forever, until death




For: Barbara Gorelick’s contest
Once Upon A “Time”





Copyright © Joy Wellington | Year Posted 2010


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WHISPERS OF YOUR SOUL

WHISPERS OF YOUR SOUL Gentle voice within-- murmurs to shake my thoughts carrying me to a lair of lavenders and roses as the wind sways choir with an echo painting poses it matches the twinkling stars in their bright tons of shots I shut my eyes from around to listen in silence Hugging myself in surrender to ardent breeze of remember tender are the words seeping slow in my heart's chamber freeing me from dangling touches of conflict and shyness Candy wrapped around these whispers permits me to move for like a laughing water, it's lapping, caresses my ears. ah! how it melt my tangled threads of salad fears! Arising above to display an open jolly groove, I breathe an ounce to utter a single prayer to forever beget these nectarine whispers where to timeless counts of thorns, I may not shiver instead-- before despair, I will stand for I'm spared. Upon twin trial pools of impossibles, embrace my heart; oh! embrace my soul Answer my yearning; fill me whole for if I twine with you, I am unstoppable... ! ©O. E. Guillermo 10:24 pm, December 14, 2014 Sponsor: Gail Angel Doyle Contest Name: Whispers Of Your Soul Placed 1st


Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2014


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Andrea

I’ve always loved the name Mom gave to me -
a name she’d heard and wanted to bestow
on her first girl; she got it from a show
on radio. She thought it was so pretty!

While not a name for girls in Italy,
my name has got a version masculine.
From Greece comes “Andrew,” meant for manly men!
The female version, though, means “womanly.”

In Spain, one girl in fourteen has my name.
However, in the USA, the year
that I was born, you’d hardly ever hear
this name which now enjoys a greater fame.

And since my name was not too common when
I came into this world, it helped me grow
to treasure things unique and lovely, so
perhaps for that, I use a poet’s pen!

I also found, in numerology,
the letters of my first name add up to
a thoughtful Seven’s destiny so true  -
inventiveness and eccentricity!

I’m glad the name of "Andrea" is mine.
My middle name is even rarer still.
Its likeness to my first name I’ll not reveal,
but all my names together brightly shine!




Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011


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I am a Child- Poem written for Restore a Child Organization

I am a child
Like the one you tuck in bed
The one you kiss on the head
The one who gets loved instead
The one who is so well fed
I am a child

I am a child
Like the one who gives you joy
Your pretty girl and fine boy
The one who gets every toy
The one who none dares annoy
I am a child

I am a child
With no home to call my own
The cold reaching to my bone
Hunger pangs, all that I’ve known
In tattered clothes, I have grown
I am a child

I am a child
The pavement my only bed
Dreaming of a piece of bread
With a small heart full of dread
My life hanging from a thread
I am a child

I am a child
With no gifts beneath the tree
With no hope to be set free
Wanting like YOUR child to be
Why, oh, why, can’t you love ME?

I am a child
I am YOUR child
I am GOD’s child
Remember me this Christmas….

Eileen Manassian Ghali

I'm privileged that Norma Nashid, founder of Restore a Child, has asked me to be an ambassador for the organization to help raise awareness of the plight of less fortunate children around the world. She asked me to write a poem for their newsletter, and I am sharing her FB post regarding it here with you.

(The poem below was written by Eileen Manassian Ghali, a professor of English at Middle East University in Beirut, Lebanon. She dedicated her poem this Christmas to Restore a Child. Her mother, Angel Dikran Manassian was my favorite teacher and my first teacher in school. Now I get the honor of enjoying the beautiful writing of her daughter, Eileen.--Norma Nashed)


If you are interested in finding out more about this humanitarian organization, please look them up on FB. I will be writing an article soon to highlight the plight of Syrian Refugee children in Lebanon. I hope my Mama would be proud of me!

restoreachild.org
http://ymlp.com/zMiueR (latest newsletter)
https://www.facebook.com/RestoreAChild

My poem will be published in the next edition


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013


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Life is

Life is..
Life is beautiful and amazing with you. Looking back with no regrets only grateful for memories shared. Life together has shaped us into what we are today.
Life is like a room filled with sunshine on the coldest winter morning, as our love flows freely warming every inch. Only together could our love warm as the sun.
Life is you and me together sharing and caring. To me, this is what life is!
Debbie K.
06/12/2013


Copyright © Debbie Knapp | Year Posted 2013