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I am sure that if you plant the trees back again, it will do nothing but good.

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You Got The Strength Back To Live Your Life Again

You got the strength
Back to live your
Life again
Thanks
God
Because
Now
You can
Look after
The house
That you live in
And that is a bonus

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The Truth That Sets You Free!

the worth of truth lies not
in whether Buddha said it,
Jesus said it, or even one of
the great thinkers or poets
said it...
the worth of truth lies in
whether you've experienced it,
felt it, lived it, whether it
is exuded through the pores of
your very being...
this is the truth that sets
you free... the truth that changes,
breathes, and lives!

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The Magic That Surrounds You

The magic hats around you
The magic that surrounds you
Is the kind of magic
Youre the very heart of
Its the magic in the trees
The magic on a breeze
Its the magic of the world
Which youre a part of.
Open your eyes boy
Open your heart and soul
Let the world embrace you
And youre on your way
Open your eyes boy
Open your mind and body
The world is filled with magic everyday
The magic thats around you
The magic that surrounds you
Is a magic that is yours
If you believe it
Its the magic in the air
The magic everywhere
If youre open to its power
Youll receive it
Look at your life boy
Look at that road ahead
Starting from this moment
You must find your way
Look at your mind boy
Every path leads to adventure
Life is what you make it everyday
Everyday

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You are the poet

Poet is a journalist
Watches the feelings
Watches the emotions
Watches the world
Watches the light and
Watches the dark
He thinks everywhere
Others can’t imagine

-o-

Chasing the thoughts
Searching the words
Forming the sentences
To give the expression
To put the life in it

-o-

Poet is like a cook
Collecting good ingredients
Cooking the feelings to
Present in better way

-o-

Poet is like a soldier
Fighting in the war and
Fighting with the self
Feeling the pain and
Bleeding the emotions
Making room for self
To express the story
To save the people

-o-

Poet is like mother
Cooking the soft food
Feeding smoothly
Treating the readers like his own kids
Reader’s happiness is poet’s happiness
If you can’t praise, no problem
But don’t forget to acknowledge
-o-

Poet is the center of universe
Editors, Music directors,
Composers, singers, musicians,
Media everybody is rotating around

-o-

Poet writes to quench intellectuals
Poet writes to entertain good listeners
Poet writes to move hearts
Poet writes for a cause
Poet write for entertainment
Poets write to express themselves
Poets write to share their feelings

-o-

When time is running
Poem is the history
In present it reflects the story
Poem gives the hope in future

-o-

Poet is the planter
Plants seeds into your hearts
Make sure that it sprouts
Brings the thoughts into actions

-o-

Poet is the director behind your actions
Poet is the motivator behind your feelings
Poet is the coach who puts you on track
Poet is person whom your heart likes

-o-

Poet is the soldier when he uses poem as bullet
Poet is the coach when his poem moves your heart
Poet is the love, when he gives poem as flower
Poet is the parent, when he consoles you in your troubles
Poet is the healer who heals souls
Poet enters different roles
To justify the poem and to justify the people

-o-

Poem is the form of literature
We can find in holy books
Poem is the feelings
Poem touches the hearts

-o-

Sun can be seen in day
Moon can be seen in night
But poem is there day and night
Poem is powerful than nature
Poem don’t have life and death
Just it flows from heart to heart
Poet is the instrument
In the hands of the poem

-o-

If you drink a cup of alcohol
It may stay there just for hours
If you read a good poem
Nobody knows how long it gives the kick

-o-

When you have time, read a good poem
When you have time, write some poetry
When you have time, share a poem

-o-

You will be the poet, when you read a poem
You will be the poet, when you put on paper

You can be the poet to change your self
You can be the poet to change the world

You must be a poet, to enjoy this life
Waiting for you, to listen to your poem

-o-

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Watch That Which You Do Too

watch what you say
the spirits of the trees may be hurt
and soon
you shall suffer the consequences

of a bloated stomach
and chilling and vomiting

but watch more
that which you do
the people around you
are noting

and they may not believe you
soon
when what you do does not jibe
with what you say

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Watch That Which You Do Too And Say

watch what you say
the spirits of the trees may be hurt
and soon
you shall suffer the consequences
of a bloated stomach
and chilling and vomiting

but watch more
that which you do
the people around you are noting

and they may not believe you soon
when what you do
does not jibe with what you say

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I Know For Sure

i know for sure
that when
you see
the sun directly
you close
your eyes
and see
everything
red inside
you

you do not
want to
be hurt
again

i know for sure
that when
you close
your eyes
you see
what you
want to see


will it be
me?

or will it
be him?

or will
it just
be yourself?

in pain
alone

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You are the most beatiful person I will ever know

You are the most beatiful person I know. And not just you have ta wonderful sense of humor.And a gift of lovr. You have always given too others. When you just had something to shoe, Go I will love you and express to me that you are my mother. That I will love you forever. written 8/8/08 Posted 5/21/09 In the memory of my mother Esther Ferber Klayton

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You and The Roses

A red rose is red flower,
A lavender is purple blue

All that is good,
All that is true.

Sky of colour blue,
The skies that are blue

When I feel blue
Give me a rose that's blue.

And these beautiful roses blue
They're coloured in red and blue
Only and only for you.

The sweetest flowers that blows,
I give you as we feel blue.

For you, it's a rose blue,
For me, it's my heart.

Give you a rose a day,
It makes me feel blue.

That's You and
The roses which are blue.

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The Gordon Back Step (Fun Poem 102)

Lets all do the Gordon back step.
We will make a decision
and when that falls flat
we will all step back
and apologize for that
and do the Gordon back step
like our Prime Minister likes to do.
I am sure it would make
a great dance to do.
First, make a decision
as daft as the last one you made.
Step forward with a proposal
and watch out for the no’s to the left.
Then step back and apologize for that
and do the Gordon back step.
It is so easy to do
or at least our Prime Minister
makes it look that way.

1May 2009

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Patrick White

You Were The Intimacy

You were the intimacy
of the things I loved
that were so impossibly far away
I could never reach out and touch them
except by touching you.
In the long silence of these past thirty-seven years
I have never been able to look at people again
the way I used to see them before I met you.
There's a fear in the way I love them
that I learned
from living your absence.
A deep black wounded space within
that has sadly outgrown the stars
like October outlives its fireflies.
And every threshold I've crossed ever since
has turned into a long road
with a precipice at the end of my spinal cord
swaying like the first night I met you
on the Capilano Suspension Bridge
and you said
the only way
to overcome your fear of falling
is to have the courage to jump.
And I laughed and said
staring into the gorge
and the thin silver water down below
what's to fear
if you know how to fall toward paradise?
And you knew right away
I was your kind of challenge.
And I knew you wanted
to sword-dance with razorblades
you laid out like the Tarot
later back at your place
as if you wanted to convince yourself
you were still silly enough to believe in tomorrow.
The candle beside the cards on the floor
didn't turn out to be
enough of a lighthouse
to warn us of the approaching storm.
We were sincere in the darkness
for a little while
astounded by the expert innocence
of our mindless flesh.
You shone like the sun at midnight
and I came undone like Icarus
to prove I was falling
without regrets
like a spent star
into the singularity
of a whole new universe
where everything that didn't happen in this one
came uncannily true in the next
for both of us
as if we were at last worthy
in each others' arms
of our own happiness.
When happiness is brave
it's bliss.
And when it's afraid
there's nothing sadder
than a gift that was never opened.
Joy is a warrior that risked hoping
there was nothing left dying for.
Sorrow comes up with a million reasons.
The only way of life
is not making a way of life.
Nor making
not making a way of life
a way.
One day you just get off the road
and start taking the long way home through the starfields.
You stop looking in the mirror
to see if you still have eyes.
For years after your death
no matter what I looked at
I always saw the same thing.
The black clarity
of your existential absence
staring me in the face
without turning me into stone
because that would have been mercy.
Try how I might
I could never quite
shut the lid on your coffin
or accept
that you were buried in me for good
or that my blood burned
like the infernal red
of an emergency exit
to show me the way out
of heaven and hell
by falling on them both
like a two-edged sword
that killed me deeper into life
than your death ever did.
Either life's unfair
or I'm not man enough
to live up to your suicide
but I remember how I used to love
feeling the weight
of the nightstream of your hair
as it poured through my hand
like a landscape that could feel
for the first time in a long time
water running in the dry creekbeds of its lifelines.
Things woke up.
And I saw the flowers
among the thorns
that had been guarding them
like the secret names of God
you had to know
to get past the burning angels
through the gates
of your sad return to Eden alone.
The eloquence of your flesh
when you walked on the earth
as if your heart danced to your blood
like an old song we both knew
now a broken harp of bone,
a wounded guitar,
someone laid down for good.
A prophetic skull
without a future
anyone can foretell.
The full moon going down
like a spare penny
into a dry wishing well.
Me looking at the dark hills
like the contours of your corpse laid out
under a collapsed tent
as they wheeled you into the ambulance
to spend your first vast impossibly long night in the morgue
among the dead
who don't catch their breath
or break their bodies like bread
alone in the stillness
that can't distinguish one death from another.
However I wept for you
all the hard bitter baffled tears
all the sweet radiant wellsprings
that washed the dust like stars
off the wings of the birds
that had laboured to carry the souls of the dead
far to the west
when I remembered
how blessed I really was
that things had been
so beautifully dangerous for awhile.
And all the dark fathomless watersheds of lucidity
I drowned in like a eye in a grail
looking for butterflies in a suicide note.
All the black pearls
the diamond skulls
the eclipsed chalices
all the precious jewels of my grieving
that death hoarded underground
nothing in the end
but nameless water
frozen between the cracks
of a gravestone as old as the moon.
I remember how I loved your ice-blue eyes
and how they burned with an Arctic clarity
you had to dress warmly for
if you didn't want to suffer from frost-bite
but there's more nightshade in them now
than chicory
when I look into them like tundral flowers
and the light turns hurtful and eerie
when I recall how the melting snow
washed itself clean of itself
all those years ago
when we didn't know
what all this meant.
It's of little relevance
that we once loved each other
the way we did
and once you've exhausted
the meaning of signs
like galaxies expanding
ever more deeply into space
less significance.
What does it look like from Mars?
Your death was a koan
not a fortune-cookie
and the koan broke me
like a man it couldn't understand
rationally.
There is no scar for you.
You will always be
this open wound inside of me.
When I look at the stars
I can't dissociate beauty from absurdity.
I cherish their clarity
as something that can't be
contaminated by my eyes
when they're nothing
but two black holes in space
a snake-bite of the light
in the middle of my face
like a colon without the following:
the kind of faith
that makes what little is left
so incommensurably greater than what's been lost.
I can see the blue morning glory in the garden
as if moonlight had turned to skin
just to feel what it's like to flower
but I can't forget the frost
that fell like your death over all of it
when I went so numb
space turned into glass
and time pulled the blind down on the window.
I closed my eyes like a mirror
content to let the stars make sense
of their own reflections.
I gave up on directions
and burned my starmaps
and followed who I was
without caring what I became.
Absolutes of ice
spread like cataracts
over the relativities of the river
that went on flowing
as if nothing had changed
and my life was still a dream without eyelids.
A ghost would be easier to deal with
than the fact
that you don't exist anymore
except as bare bones
denuded of the world
like yarrow sticks
thrown before the Book of Changes.
But then I expect
you'd exorcise yourself
at a suggestion of the night
that the stars would be so much brighter
if you only blew out the candleflame.
You'd do it just to see
if things got better.
You'd leave me in the dark again
staring at the stars
like white ink
on a black loveletter
you left unsigned
as you disappeared into death
like your last breath on a cold windowpane.
I've long since forgiven you my solitude.
I've long since forgiven you
the severity of the wisdom
that hardened my eyes
like diamonds in the darkness
that could cut through anything
except my attachment to you.
I have forgiven you
for the way I have grown through suffering
to realize
how much I owe your death
and the terrible eyeless abyss that followed it
like an enlightened insight
into the impersonal nature of compassion.
I have forgiven you
the way I am spontaneously compelled
to love a world that is so estranged from me
I feel like water on the moon
trying to imagine what it must be like
to fall like rain on the intimate earth
with a reasonable expectation
of coming up flowers
that weren't destined
to be laid on your grave.
I've gone grey gathering them up
and bringing them to you
like bouquets of paints and brushes
that are ready at hand
should you ever wish
to pick them up again
and show me what the world looks like
without a body for a picture-frame
as you play the part of the upstart genius
who lived the black farce of creative pain
like the agony of the wick
burning at the stake like a heretic
between the flesh of the wax
and the spiritual aspirations of the candleflame
thrusting spears into space at the stars
as if the only way you could ever know God
if you ever met up
was by the scars.

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A Picture Of You On The First Day Of Autumn

wearing a blue sweater
black pair of pants &
a white undershirt

you smile standing upon a
road of asphalt

behind you are the trees
letting go
their leaves of yellow

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Life and The Trees

when you sit upon a
rattan rocking chair by your window
and you see the trees that you have planted years back
it comes into your mind that
they all need the required
pruning and trimming,

after-which you reflect upon your life
and too they are some kind of trees that needs precisely what you think
is right, though it requires
pain.

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Lovely Dream

Wonderful, Fabulous, Lovely dream,
Too fixed in the awe of life of another world.
The dream is so collectible,
Much like a bird of flapping wings
That manages height and weight.
The Time is of words that leave a plant to die
And then animals will also perish for good.
The greatest good is in shedding of skin,
So that your dreams are transmitted
To a honest person, a person like you
Who is bold and comical.
The dreams realised will aid the other personality.

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Before The Roses Bloom Again

You said goodbye,
said that we would not see
each other again.
You said that love had departed,
a long, long time ago,
and now our world, was nothing but make-believe.
A routine fantasy,
for others to believe,
that we were happy.

So before the roses bloom again,
we are saying our goodbyes,
and discarding our fakes disguises,
we have worn so long.
If we move away,
no one will ever know
we are both starting over,
in worlds far apart.
So before the roses bloom again,
we will have found new love to start again.

26 May 2007

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When The Roses Bloom Again

When the roses bloom again,
I know that spring is here.
When the roses bloom again,
love will fill the air;
hearts will start to flutter
like a small bird on the wing.
Voices from the rooftops
will once again begin to sing.

When the roses bloom again,
to my loving arms you will come.
I will feel the warmth and tenderness
of your loving embrace.
When the roses bloom again,
everything will be as it always was.
The perfumes of a new day
will fill my world with love,
and all this will happen
when the roses bloom again.

26 June 2008

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I Heard The Night Whisper Again

I HEARD THE NIGHT WHISPER AGAIN

I heard the night whisper again
I waited for words.
The darkness came
And the words with them.

Night is now the poem
And darkness the destiny.
I hear silence
And a deep calling from another distant world.

Outside all white light denies night its meaning
Inside- the changes of life mean-
Abstraction no longer makes sense.

I hunger to hear my words spoken
But they are blank as dust as dust as the fallen page as the night that never stops happening- the infinite darkness

I hear and I hear but where are you who hear also?

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The Way We Used To Be

(eric carmen)
We used to laugh
We used to cry
We used to talk about forever you and i
And love was all we seemed to need
I still recall sometimes
The way we used to be
When did we change
Where has love gone
We cant explain it
But we know theres something wrong
And all thats left of you and me
Is just a memory of
The way we used to be
I can remember when
We used to be the best of friends
Now suddenly we dont know what to say
If theres a chance that we
Can bring the feeling back again
Ive got to try
Why dont you stay
cause in my heart
I think you know
I tried to hide it but I just cant let you go
Its not too late
For you and me
To be in love again
The way we used to be
Its not too late
For you and me
To be in love again
The way we used to be

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White Flag

I know you think that I shouldn't still love you
Or tell you that
But if I didn't say it
Well, I'd still have felt it
Where's the sense in that?
I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were but
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
I know I left too much mess
And destruction to come back again
And I caused nothing but trouble
I understand if you can't talk to me again
And if you live by the rules of "It's over"
Then I'm sure that that makes sense
But I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
And when we meet
Which I'm sure we will
all that was there
Will be there still
I'll let it pass
And hold my tongue
And you will think
That I've moved on
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be

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Keep It Clean

Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.

Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.

So hard they've tried to reflect perfection.
A wholesome outlook,
With good deeds done they do!
They want to project a godlike self righteousness.
With wings adorned and hymns sung!
Angelic voices from everyone,
Harmonizing,
In collective united bliss.
But the truth about this...
There is BS that sits within their midst,
And not one of them can resist
An addicting sniff!
Since they are all full of it!

Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.

Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.

Something kept stinking...
From fat greasy meat.
Suited and smoking cigars,
Chartering planes with high profiled stars.
And posing with those who piloted...
The sucking up of all resources.
As admirers rejoiced!
Thinking they heard 'voices' from beyond...
'You too could live like this!
We'll make sure of it! '

Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.

Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.

Screwing fools!

'Keep it clean! '

That's what they do best!

'Keep the scene serene.
Deodorize the stench that leaks.
Protect that image.
And hide the blood left...
To leave as expected on urban streets! '

Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.

Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.

By the time it surfaces...
There will be nothing left to squander.
And the fools we duped with treason,
Will have nothing left to value...
And very little to say!

Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.

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