Writer's & Poet'sThe Home Of Great Writers&PoetsPoet's Of The Week ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ What If... By Rhonda~2006 A Cloudy Day The rain falls on a cloudy, dreary day. I dream of you and the sun shines in my heart. Your smile lights the sky; your eyes bright like the sun. Your kiss warms my heart and melts my very soul. It was a cloudy day, until you came along filling my heart with music; my spirit with sweet delights. What a blessing you are, you enrich my life; keep me safe from harm and satisfy my every longing. Copyright ©2005 Tammy L Lundgren ********************************* A Song Princeofdreams (Durl) Inspiration isn't to be denied. It's due to the creative time. As wine mellows, So do the words of the poet. Life is a song......a rhythimical flow of energy, resounding (Rezounding) from eternity past to eternity present. Each chord in life is struck by different notes. Each note, whether a high note or a low note. Adds to the melody of life. To hear the song of life....you need only to listen to the heart. A poets heart has many songs. Songs of loneliness, of love, beauty, and despair. He shares his songs with all who will listen. And those who listen can feel his words And will know what the poet felt when he penned his song. ******************************* hello (c)opyright2005ljohnston i gave you my number and you never called it's not like we were under some kinna thing that said we balled i was reaching out to a voice i felt was making a shout out to anyone who could understand what's under that belt i dont look at sparkles and bling they dont mean a thing i just heard you crying in the deep of night that's why i did that thing |
None to Mourn the Loss by: (c) Stansbury 2005 Is death was nothing more than an escape from life's pain? If the desert was just a brief respite from a torrential rain. Life is hard, or so it seems, when all the joy has gone away Dull, the life when, denied, are all requests to go out to play When comes the point where you have to make a choice, Be silent, and, understand that you've never had a voice, Scream with all your might hoping someone will hear your cry, Realizing there will be none to mourn the loss when you die. Writers&Poet'sIn Memory By: 06/25/05 WordFaery Wish you were here-- we didn't get enough of your laughs, your eyes, zest, highs and the lows you shared with us. You answered the call from beyond the clouds and went willingly to the place of many mansions. We will remember you in the colors of the rainbow, the setting sun, hand-made afghans-- moments of fun. And I wonder Mom, what would you think of your daughter's dream? Would you reach out with that Bible, preach a sermon of caution about the use of many words? Or, would you be privately proud? Other Voices If you would like a poem of your own, considered for a weekly viewing, please contact Bonnie at:  mom i'm not a baby anymore By Trish Hargis someone appeared out of nowhere declaring ....................independence a baby girl was born 13 years ago and clinged to my every move my every word relying on me for comforts and hugs as this girl got older advice from her mother was given and embraced then somehow someway somewhere there was a declaration made "mom i'm not a baby anymore" my ears listened but my heart didnot "I forbid you to grow up i said!' "you will not grow breast (and clevages) you will not ovulate and you will embrace my advice and my decisions to mold your life" she has become all that i wanted her to be independent self nurturing outgoing but please dear baby dont grow up just yet let me love on you and brush your hair and humor me .............if it comes to that I'm not quite willing to let you go ..................yet you are still "my baby" The Final Dawn By Elliott (William Haynes) The sun upon the meadow rose with fourteen at the keep Our arrows spent, Our armor worn We rode to face the dawn King Randal's men stood twenty leagues From Cornwell to the seas For three straight days our swords did clash That Ireland be free The sons of Cusack spilled their blood Upon those verdant plains And for every tear a mother wept We recalled a fallen name The drums of Randal's army pound Upon the treasured gates of home We look to God but fear our doom For fourteen stand alone The bagpipes sing a tale of war Our bloodied swords all rise Fourteen men, the final dawn For our brothers who have died We charge into the mists of hell That stand two hundred strong Our swords greet death neath Irish skies Fourteen men who stood alone M'lady weeps now o'er the graves Where the sons of Cusack lie For fourteen rode against the tide That Ireland be free ***************************** |
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