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I think there's a far more general audience now because I've done more populist stuff on telly.

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Far More Effective

The lies and dirt
And hearing things untrue.
The gossip and innuendos...
Done by those with limited minds too!
There is nothing else I would rather do,
Than to pull these thoughts
Out of my memory...
With the pain I felt!
And the scars that healed with much attitude!
It hurts...
To know others find feelings of mine,
Worthless.
It hurts...
When lies and dirt
And hearing things untrue said
To ruin my happiness...
And to mess up my head!
It hurts!
But not as much as being on the other end
Of retaliation!
Even forgiveness doesn't seem to control it,
When that times comes...
To payback what others have done!
I am not of the 'turn-the-other-cheek' kind!
I pray everyday that God removes the players...
And the bitterness I've been holding for years,
In my mind for some time!
Doesn't make sense repeating the ignorance.
Especially since those deeds done
Have already been repaid with my approval and delight...
By my Father!
And I thank God throughout every hour,
He has allowed me to overcome my taste for retribution!
Knowing that a 'higher power' does that
Much better than I can!
And far more effective.

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There Are, They Say, More Writers Of Poetry

THERE ARE, THEY SAY, MORE WRITERS OF POETRY

There are, they say, more writers of poetry
Than readers-

So we write and write and write,
Another poem and another poem-

And the world goes on without us.

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There Should Have Been More Poems Of Gratitude And Joy

There should have been more poems of Gratitude and Joy
Too much has been Sadness and Despair-
There should have been more poems of other people
And not so much of myself -
There should have been more metaphor
And less one- dimensional statement-

There should have been more Poetry in my Poetry
And more Inspiration and Blessing and Love-
Small worry and anxiety have been too much-
Oh the Beauty and the Goodness
I have been given in Life,
And how I have not known how to write it well enough.

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Far More Satisfying

The moment expectations become,
More important than a relationship...
One is led to believe,
Is shared with someone...
And a lack of feeling,
Verifies something is missing...
And has gone.
Those expectations,
Become less important to fulfill...
Than talking on the telephone,
With an obscene caller.
And far more satisfying,
Each time those obscenities are placed.

'I'm busy right now.
But...
Is it possible you can call back,
At eight thirty?
I'm sure my mate and I will not be speaking,
At that time.'

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Far More Pretty Than The Flowers Hanging On The Branches

Far more pretty than the flowers hanging on the branches,
more glamorous than the sun in the blue sky,
much closer than the birds in their flight
you come into my life by your own will,

you bring comfort to the daily longing
and constantly return from work.
Far more pretty than the flowers hanging on the branches,
more glamorous than the sun in the blue sky,

the depth of our love sometimes scares me;
for getting hurt these feelings are sometimes renowned
but our love makes my humanity lustrous
and constantly you are
far more pretty than the flowers hanging on the branches,
more glamorous than the sun in the blue sky.

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If You Think There's Something

If you think there's something
If you think there's something
If you think there's something
I don't care what I look like
I don't care what you think
Because I know these things are not important
They're just material and ink
I like things comfortable
And I like things that look real good
I don't care about the cut, it is enough
If it's smooth and not too rough
If you think there's something
Could it be that there's not?
If you think there's something
Is there or is there not?
If you think there's something
It can be that there's not
So if you think there is something
Something that there is not
Ooh-ooh, perhaps a pair of trousers
Or a band that plays rock
If you think there's something
Could it be that there's not?
If you think there's something
Is there or is there not?
If you think there's something
If you think there's something
If you think there's something
Dodgy instrumental break....
That fine physique, that pretty face
Lights up his fantasies - puts them in place
Oh what's his stance, where is he coming from?
We try to follow but he's gone
If you think there's something
Could it be that there's not?
If you think there's something
Is there or is there not?
If you think there's something
It can be that there's not
If you think there's something
If you think there's something
If you think there's something
If you think there's something
Perhaps and maybe not
If you think there's something
Can we agree there's not?
If you think there's something
And we say that there's not
If you think there's something...

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Far More

Far More
Ooh
Ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh
La-la-la
La-la-la
Mansions, hills and acres
Women, drinks and caterers
I will toast until the break of dawn
Swimming pools and strippers
Conversation six figures
Never crossed my mind to call home
Theres a note on the bathroom mirror
Tellin me that youve had enough
It took, you leavin me
For my, blind eyes to see
That you mean
(Far more) than this planet to me
(Far more) than the air I breathe
(Far more) from here to overseas
(Far more) girl youre all I need
(Far more) than the mountains and trees
(Far more) you mean more than the birds and bees
(Far more) honey take it from me
(Far more) you are all I need
Hangin out with friends
Never calling to check in
Neglecting you in every way
Taking the home front for granted
What was straight is now slanted
And I dont know what to do about this love
Theres a note on the bathroom mirror (ohh)
Tellin me that youve had enough
It took, you leavin me
For my, blind eyes to see
That you mean
(Far more) more than this planet to me
(Far more) more than the air I breathe
(Far more) from here to overseas
(Far more) girl youre all I need
(Far more) than the mountains and trees
(Far more) than the birds and bees
(Far more) honey take it from me
(Far more) youre all I need
Shoo-op, shoo-op
Skiddlily-be-bop, hip-hop (ohh)
Shoo-op, shoo-op
Skiddlily-be-bop, hip-hop (ohh)
Shoo-op, shoo-op
Skiddlily-be-bop, hip-hop
Far more, far more
Shoo-op, shoo-op
Skiddlily-be-bop, hip-hop
Shoo-op, shoo-op
Skiddlily-be-bop, hip-hop (hip-hop)
Shoo-op, shoo-op
Skiddlily-be-bop, hip-hop (skiddily-be-bop)
Far more t

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I think there are a lot more relationship scenes in my movies that people tend to overlook. A lot of scenes really feel real and are about the characters.

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I don't think there is any franchise more powerful than ours around securing the consumer experience and we will not concede that to anyone including Microsoft.

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Slavery is not the only question which comes up in this controversy. There is a far more important one to you, and that is, what shall be done with the free negro?

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Wayfarers, The

Is it the hour? We leave this resting-place
Made fair by one another for a while.
Now, for a god-speed, one last mad embrace;
The long road then, unlit by your faint smile.
Ah! the long road! and you so far away!
Oh, I'll remember! but . . . each crawling day
Will pale a little your scarlet lips, each mile
Dull the dear pain of your remembered face.

. . . Do you think there's a far border town, somewhere,
The desert's edge, last of the lands we know,
Some gaunt eventual limit of our light,
In which I'll find you waiting; and we'll go
Together, hand in hand again, out there,
Into the waste we know not, into the night?

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The Wayfarers

Is it the hour? We leave this resting-place
Made fair by one another for a while.
Now, for a god-speed, one last mad embrace;
The long road then, unlit by your faint smile.
Ah! the long road! and you so far away!
Oh, I'll remember! but . . . each crawling day
Will pale a little your scarlet lips, each mile
Dull the dear pain of your remembered face.

. . . Do you think there's a far border town, somewhere,
The desert's edge, last of the lands we know,
Some gaunt eventual limit of our light,
In which I'll find you waiting; and we'll go
Together, hand in hand again, out there,
Into the waste we know not, into the night?

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You Show Me

By harry garfield and michael mcdonald
Not every hope is a dream come true
Not every heart is made of steel
Not all love sees the end of time
And more hearts than not will be broken tryin'
But i believe that love is enough
In the healing of your touch
Because you show me
What it's all about
I would never find out
Unless you showed me
How easily we complicate the simple things
And one mistake we make along the way
Is to think there's so much more we need
Of things that time only takes away
Here all that we have is now
We learn to believe somehow
It's enough we have today
All i know is time changes everything
Whatever tomorrow brings
I will believe

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A Canadian's Poem (2)

O! canada!
30 some million
supremely

arrogant souls
who know best
what is best
for the rest of us

all 7,000+ million or so.
o i know

interest rates,
the tax regime,
health care costs
come first-

are we ready to admit
our riches are embarrassment

in world that's slum
and poverty norm?

in such a global village
the very concept of culture
is a belly-jolting joke!
so

gullible reader
curled up in comfy chair
waiting

for poetry's affable spirit
to enwrap and awe you-

i'm sorry. you've stumbled
on wrong word-magician here.

now look me square in eye
i've something to whisper-

(give up the ghost)

there are fates far more final
than physical death; of that
let this be proof-

search your heart.

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At Least Pretend We Are Aware

Aching to close the shutters.
The view outside holds less surprises.
Although the Sun is shining bright...
The faces reflect,
A lost appetite for joy!
They seem to have no cheer on them...
Without the appearance of new 'things'
Near!
Or something quick...
To surround themselves to begin,
Then set aside and forget!

And it has not been made clear,
To them at all.
It was never what they had,
But who they were with it.
And without those 'things'...
Isn't the Sun still going to shine?
If 'it' did not...
We would also stop existing!
I 'think' there is 'something' far greater,
We should be thankful for!
Or at least 'pretend' we are aware of IT!
Since I 'sense' IT feels ignored!
AND...
IT has the power to close 'all' doors,
Permanently!
Like giving 'that' a forever status!

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Paradox

I'm on fire
Burning with the question in my mind
Strange desire
Seems there's nothing else for me to find
'Cause I've been here, and I've been there,
Seems like I've been everywhere before
I've seen it all a hundred times
Still I think there surely must be more
I've been livin', I had to take my time and change my style
Now I wonder is something gonna make it all worthwhile
I know there's more than meets the eye
Like to see it 'fore I die f or sure.
Something tells me it's all right
Only one step farther to the door
There ain't no feelin', feels the same as findin' out the key
Now I'm reelin', thinking of the things that I might see
I'm not afraid to face the light
I'm not afraid to think that I might fall
I was going nowhere fast
I was needing something that would last

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One Find

One (...) going down,
And then you slipped away,
One stop at a time (out of town),
We'll meet again someday.
Cause I,
I believe in love,
I still wish on,
Stars above,
I believe in love songs,
Yes, I think that they are real,
All you have to do is feel.
A chance missed for getting kissed,
I think there's so much more than this,
I will,
Guess I'll have to hold my breath and say..
That I,
I believe in fate,
I believe in good things coming to those who wait,
Although I'm anticipating late,
And all my hopes were beginning to fade,
When you will me,
How will we be,
This is only one,
Temporary find,
I'm sure before too long,
You will change your mind,
One find,
And this is only one of a many find,
I'm sure before too long,
You're gonna make up your mind.
I know all about it,
Well, I thought I did,
So I wrote a song about it,
And it goes a little something like this.
See now I,
I believe in love songs,
Yes, I think that they are real,
All you have to do, do, do,
You tell me,
All I have to do,
Say,
All we have to do,
Is feel,
Is feel,
Feel, so right,
Is feel,
Feel, so nice,
And this is so nice,
And this is so right,
And this is so right,
Right, find, and fine by me.

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Circulation

And all at length are gathered in.
--LOUISE BOGAN

By the time I came around to feeling pain
and woke up, moonlight
flooded the room. My arm lay paralyzed,
propped up like an old anchor under
your back. You were in a dream,
you said later, where you'd arrived
early for the dance. But after
a moment's anxiety you were okay
because it was really a sidewalk
sale, and the shoes you were wearing,
or not wearing, were fine for that.



"Help me," I said. And tried to hoist
my arm. But it just lay there, aching,
unable to rise on its own. Even after
you said, "What is it? What's wrong?"
it stayed put -- deaf, unmoved
by any expression of fear or amazement.
We shouted at it, and grew afraid
when it didn't answer. "It's gone to sleep,"
I said, and hearing those words
knew how absurd this was. But
I couldn't laugh. Somehow,
between the two of us, we managed
to raise it. This can't be my arm
is what I kept thinking as
we thumped it, squeezed it, and
prodded it back to life. Shook it
until that stinging went away.

We said a few words to each other.
I don't remember what. Whatever
reassuring things people
who love each other say to each other
given the hour and such odd
circumstance. I do remember
you remarked how it was light
enough in the room that you could see
circles under my eyes.
You said I needed more regular sleep,
and I agreed. Each of us went
to the bathroom, and climbed back into bed
on our respective sides.
Pulled the covers up. "Good night,"
you said, for the second time that night.
And fell asleep. Maybe
into that same dream, or else another.



I lay until daybreak, holding
both arms fast across my chest.
Working my fingers now and then.
While my thoughts kept circling
around and around, but always going back
where they'd started from.
That one inescapable fact: even while
we undertake this trip,
there's another, far more bizarre,
we still have to make.


Anonymous submission.

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Chocolate In Chaco

They’ve been drinking chocolate in
the canyons of the southwest. Chaco
is where the ritual would begin,
enhanced by peace-pipes of tobacco.
It used to give the Indians highs
in 600 BCE,
before they came to compromise
with coffee. Chocolate makes you free
of any hang-ups you have got,
and makes you want to plight your troth
to girls who drink it with you hot
with frenzied fervor for its froth.

It is the aphrodisiac
I always use when I am trying
to get a girl into the sack.
The greatest chocolate is for dying,
and it is comforting to know,
when giving it to your companion,
that it was used as quid pro quo
for sex, I think, in Chaco Canyon,
far more convenient than wine,
which is, of course, a diuretic,
and though they thought cocaine was fine,
they used it an anesthetic.

Champagne works best for me, but choc-
lates’ great as runner-up: though cocoa
is thought by some to be baroque,
the girls who like it are rococo.
Precisely what that means I do
not know, but does it really matter
if in this broadside for a brew
called chocolate I add silly patter?

Michael Haederle (Mystery of Ancient Pueblo Jars is Solved, ” NYT, February 4,2009) , writes about the identification by W. Jeffrey Hurst, a senior bioanalytical chemist for the Hershey Company, of chocolate in ceramic jars dating to 600 BCE, found in Chaco Canyon:
For years Patricia Crown puzzled over the cylindrical clay jars found in the ruins at Chaco Canyon, the great complex of multistory masonry dwellings set amid the arid mesas of northwestern New Mexico. They were utterly unlike other pots and pitchers she had seen. Some scholars believed that Chaco’s inhabitants, ancestors of the modern Pueblo people of the Southwest, had stretched skins across the cylinders and used them for drums, while others thought they held sacred objects. But the answer is simpler, though no less intriguing, Ms. Crown asserts in a paper published Tuesday in The Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences: the jars were used for drinking liquid chocolate. Her findings offer the first proof of chocolate use in North America north of the Mexican border. How did the ancient Pueblos come to have cacao beans in the desert, more than 1,200 miles from the nearest cacao trees? ...Dorie Reents-Budet, a curator at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston and a Smithsonian Institution research associate specializing in Mayan cylinder vases, said that a sophisticated Mesoamerican trade network extended to Chaco in the north and as far south as Ecuador and Colombia. The Mayan vessels, decorated with court scenes and hieroglyphics, were used to ceremonially consume chocolate at sumptuous feasts, Ms. Reents-Budet said. An expensive luxury, the cacao beans were fermented, roasted and ground up, then mixed with water and flavorings before being whipped into froth. It made sense to present the beverage in a special vessel, she said. “It’s as if you were having a dinner party and serving Champagne, ” said Ms. Reents-Budet. “You serve Champagne in really nice glasses.”
The final quatrain is a response to a comment by Linda: “Rhymes, but sense? ”


2/4/09

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Are There Words For The Discontent I Feel Now?

ARE THERE WORDS FOR THE DISCONTENT I FEEL NOW?

Are there words for the discontent I feel now?
Is there a way of saying each and every minor and major irritation?
The human being lives and dies
With so much ugliness unsaid
Even in himself.
Why am I complaining now
When I have so much to be grateful for?
Why is the sun suddenly shining now
While the pain of the cold rain still shakes my bones with endless madness?

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