Some decades past, perhaps two score
Was when my feet first walked in Dorr.
I give that town my due respect
With humbleness, I genuflect.
Yet when I’m asked where I was raised,
I see their eyes, perplexed and dazed.
As I announce, “Was raised in Dorr,”
Their jaws just drop and hit the floor.
And disbelief they cannot hide:
“I did not think you lived OUTSIDE!”
I do not know what could be worse,
Perchance coerce as I converse.
But now I’ve tailored my response,
(With perfect dose of nonchalance)
“I’ve lived in Dorr; it’s verified;
Just like our calves who lived outside.”
In today's world of modern technology,so much battles for your attention.
So much battles for your devotion and your delight.
But it is in your soul to decide for you what is right.
There are so many turns to make each day and night.
Your inner voice putting up such a fight.
Sometimes you make choices just to find out it was wrong.
Draining you of your glorious inner son.
Other times choices energize you all day long.
Sometimes it is a daily battle between right and wrong.
Thus giving way to struggle.
You want to do the right but ending up doing the wrong.
Thus struggle keeps you awake all night long.
Our creator is so glorious and strong.
He wants to restore you to where you belong.
He knocks on the dorr of your heart and soul.
He above wants you victory to know.
If you heed to his call his voice is ever so small.
He will help you become victor over your struggle.
Pansy treads a well-worn path
towards her lover,
his cape flying
in a sudden breeze.
Nearer now,
her eyes upon the cape,
and smiling,
then looking at his face.
She throws herself into his arms
and he covers her
with his scarlet cape.
They set out along their lifelong path.
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8/12/2015
Inspired by this poem by Julia C.R. Dorr,
born 1825, who wrote from
Vermont.
Two Paths
"A path across a meadow fair and sweet,
Where clover blooms the lithesome grasses great,
A path worn smooth by his impetuous feet.
A straight swift path - and at its end, a star
Gleaming behind the lilac's fragrant bar,
And her soft eyes, more luminous by far.
***
A path across a meadow far and sweet,
Still sweet and fair where blooms and grasses meet...
A path worn smooth by his reluctant feet.
A long, straight path - and at its end, a gate
Behind whose bars she doth in silence wait
To keep the tryst, if he came soon or late."
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Contest - No More Masks
Sponsor - Catie Lindsay
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TILT
europe weak china
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Peter Dorr 17th November 2011
I sit here on this rotating place of rest,
my feet firmly planted on the brass rail.
My dear friend polishes his chalice
as he listens intently to the stories
from us all.
Tales of trials and tribulations,
imparting his knowledge when needed.
Here, I spend my days
no where else to go.
Slowly, I empty my coffers
with each mug I finish
trying to ease my soul
with the tarnished foamy juice.
I lose myself in my own thoughts.
I soften the pain with its' effects.
once my pockets are empty,
and my head is full.
I puch away
and head for the dorr.
I wobble down the street to my bed.