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Long to See Home

I sit here and listen
to each story told
and hear of tropical island breeze
that make the palm trees
sway in its wake
and white beachs glemming
Where the waves
lap against its shores
I long to see
were I can place my hand
and run sand in my hand
seeing the deep blue lagoons
that hide the oceans life
Taste the fruits
that are abundance galore
to see the colours of rainbows
of flowers that spread
across its shores
I sit and sigh
and think will I see
those wonderful sites
Will I see the beauty
of the home were
my parents use to roam
as children of old
and hear the legends
being told by the camp fire site
Will I ever get to see
the moon shine its light
by the beautiful shores
of my parents home
Will I ever see their home
I sigh with a dreamy eye
thinking one day I just might

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That's How The Story Told, Goes

Why can't we continue to pretend,
None of us have been troubled...
By the existing of the current events?
We had no problem with the knowing,
There were debts to pay.
It seemed yesterday to have been okay!

And ignoring those homeless and hungry,
Being left alone pushing their belongings...
In shopping carts obvious to all on city streets.
Didn't they choose for themselves...
To trade in their dignities,
With a choice to live like they do...
With little to nothing to eat.
That's how the story told, goes.

Why is it 'today'...
Those same delusions we then embraced,
Are from us being chased away?
Is there another chapter in this story,
Unknown yet to be told to unfold?

Something in the midst,
Is not being fair or realistic about this.
Why can't we continue to pretend?
And why is it from those dead,
We seem to learn our lessons?
After the passing of chapters,
Have to us been read?

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Description of a Tropical Island

Behold an Indian isle, reposed
Upon the deep’s enamoured breast,
Even like a royal bride, be-rosed
With passion in her happy rest.
Or, when the morn is there disclosed,
Or eve is robing in the west,
The deep, as by that isle embossed
With central gauds of sumless cost,
And else outspread in circuit—wide
And round as heaven from side to side—
Might figure to a fancy bold
A wide vast shield of fretted gold,
Dropped by some conquer’d elder god,
When on his track, where’er he trod,
Jove’s chasing thunders rolled.
Or in the broad noon domed with heaven,
A world-wide temple’s marble floor
It seemeth, with one alter graven
From the rude mass of things terrene,
By Time inspired with Eden lore;—
An isle-like alter, sculptured o’er
With craggy hills and valleys green,
And heaping forests hung between:
By Time, with an old love enthralled,
Wrought thus in living emerald;—
And after nature’s earliest style
Is shaped that wondrous Indian isle.
Or circling out beneath the moon,
Or sowed with all the stars of night,
And by the lamp-like planets strewn
With long and flame-like tracks of light,
Might seem it to a watcher fond,
Grey Time’s broad seal of diamond,
Enchased by nature, memory-taught,
With one most rich and rare device,
A haunting isolated thought
Of her sin-ruined Paradise.

A summer island! There the trees,
Of glorious forms, unseen elsewhere,
Hang forth in golden congeries
Their fruit through all the purple year;
And flowers of every sunset hue,
And peerless plants of stateliest stem,
Fresh-showered each morn with honey-dew,
Voluptuously impave and gem
The pillary aisles of primal groves
That skirt the sunny sea-board coves,
Or hang in their umbrageous crowds
From coasting slopes like verdant clouds:
While from the craggy midland hills,
Out of their gelid springs, the rills
Leap, as exulting to be free,
And thence in their bright liberty
Through glades and cultured valleys vast,
And many a wide pasture lea,
Come murmurously winding, fast
And flashing to the sea.

There, too, what birds on plain and mountain,
The fairest creatures of the earth,
The deepest dipt in beauty’s fountain,
(The summer’s loveliest birth),
Flock round, and vividly unfold
Their fulgent wings of feathery gold;
Bedropt with gem-like lustres, which
All interbeaming in their flight
Break, as they pass, into a rich
Flame-vision on the sight.
Thus fly they, and with splendours rare
Emblaze the warm and genial air.

Such is the summer wealth and worth
Of that bright isle I’d picture forth:
Nor wants it fields that well afford
The yellow grain and mellow gourd;
With many a cultivated plain
Prolific of the luscious cane
And mealy root: for all things there
Are bounteous in their kind, and fair
And genial; all but the bad mind
Of recreant man! And this hath made
Its very beauty seem designed
To deepen Evil’s deadly shade,
And given its repute to be
Borne far abroad by every wind
That wafts a white sail o’er the sea,
Even like the savour, damp with doom,
Of some o’ergorged though costly tomb.
O learn how, like a Upas-tree,
(Not fabled) his dread cruelty
Can make a scene that else might tell
Of Paradise, a type of hell!


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Island In The Sun

The palm trees sway
under a warm Mediterranean breeze
as we lay on a golden beach somewhere,
dreaming that you and I could be,
castaways on an island in the sun.
Blue waters kissing the beach
beneath our feet
as we walk hand in hand
in the sand at sunset time.
The world a million miles away,
never to bother us anymore.
What a lovely dream,
to be washed up on that shore,
you and I for evermore.

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Surf's Up Tonight On Magic Island

We walk along the distant shoreline
The waves crash upon the shore
The palm trees sway in the breeze
Leaving the magic of the night in the air for the both of us

The waves are just right
So let's grab our boards
Hit the sea
And grab a wave tonight

Surf's up tonight on Magic Island
And we'll smile and laugh
Like we have not a care in the world

We'll just ride the waves
And hope for this time between you and I to be saved

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Mole On My Thigh

Sitting on a sandy beach,
under a tropical sun,
watching the palm trees sway.
While someone with a romantic guitar,
serenades a couple of sweethearts,
locked in a loving embrace there.
I look around at the empty space,
there beside me,
wishing you were here with me.
Instead of a thousand miles away,
in the rain with someone else.

It takes two to start an argument,
both are guilty, not just one.
You walked away from my arms,
straight into his waiting there.
His smile looked more like a callous grin,
he had won and I had lost,
or at least that is what I thought.
Then came the telegram this morning,
to say you were coming here,
that you and he were through.
I can only wonder what went wrong.

So here, I am again sitting on the sand,
and then there along the beach I see you.
I wave and you come running,
straight towards me.
I stand, smile, and stretch out my arms,
all ready to catch you,
but you keep running passed.
I raise an eyebrow and looked around,
as into someone else’s arm you glide.
I scratch my head, get ready to sit down,
a tap on my shoulder,
makes me look around and there is you.

But who is that over there?
My twin sister, you replied.
I closed my eyes and give a grown.
Twins! Identical twins! I stuttered.
But how can I tell you apart?
She smiled, by the mole on my thigh.
All I could say was,
Oh my
OH my
OH my


! 6 June 2007

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Under The Night Sea

By the night sea
The palm trees sway in the breeze

There's an adventure under the night sea
So I jump into the sea
And swim underwater

Though it's hard to see underwater
I can see my friend, the hermit crab
He communicates with me and offers me
a ride

As we walk along the sea's floor
We happen to come across a sunken ship
And we both decide to explore it
Inside, gold coins are here, there,
and everywhere
I pocket a couple of them for souvenier
purposes

As we leave the ship
I communicate in a way of saying goodbye
to my hermit crab friend
I must continue to my journey though
And he knows it
He accepts my decision
But I hope someday I'll see him again

Through the night sea
Reaching places that I can reach
Places that my hermit crab friend can't
reach
Continuing on
Swimming along
A big fish waves its fin at me
And me and him become a team
Riding on this back
He speeds through the night sea
Outswimming the tadpoles
And thinking smartly to get us past
all the traps

Reaching a point where he can't go
any further
I get the message that it's on me to
continue
On my own
And so I get off his back
And we wave to each other
Before he swims away

Climbing out of the night sea
On to a small piece of land
I catch my breath

A frog hops out of the water
And offers me a ride on his back
Wanting to help me reach the end

And so we head back into the night sea
Swimming past all the twisted coral

Reaching the end of the night sea
I get off the frog's back
And on to dry land
I wish him well
As he submerges and quickly swims away

I make my way over to a palm tree
With as much strength as I have left
And sit beside it
Reflecting on my adventure under the night sea
As well as clutching the gold coins from
the sunken ship in my pocket
And being in a dream-like state of mind

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At a Life's End

COME here, rekindle the old fire,
This last night leave no lamp unlit!
In later days we twain shall sit,
Remembering the joys of it,--
The warmth and sweetness of desire.

Here, ere we part, again live o'er
The way we went,--the hour,--the kiss;
Let Love with magic hand of his
Rebuild the mirage of our bliss
In desert days that wend before.

Swart night of August! when we stood
Heart-locked beside the window-pane!
The thunder quickening again
The laggard pulses of the rain,
Wrung a few drops as hot as blood.

Outside we heard the passionate tune
That wooing wind and water keep;
The weft that silence keeps with sleep;
While through the foam-blown silent deep
Sailed the wan shallop of the moon.

Outside, the dark night and the sea!
The sleepy and seductive speech
Of water to the shrinking beach,
The wind that odoured plum and peach,
The white rose that regaled a bee.

Joy through our hand like water runs!
Ah! dearest, could we keep those hours
As some divine unfading flowers,
Renewed by the eternal showers,
And lit by everlasting suns!

But flowers and hours alike must fade;
In the old book of Memory
Seal up these hours for you and me,
As on some page of poetry,
At glowing words a rose is laid.

Let the grape purple in the South,
And let the wild red daisies blow!
I shall not see, I shall not know;
For me, alone the darnels grow,
Only the hemlocks bruise my mouth.

To-night the world is stunned with gloom,
The trees shake in a sudden fright,
Wincing against the hailstones' spite,
And the crape curtains of the night
Hang heavy on the unfinished loom.

Fit hour for parting! Say 'farewell,'
Clasp me no closer, ask no more!
What word can ease--what kiss restore?
The thunder's hearse is on the shore,
And the sea tolls a passing bell.

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Escape

As I lose myself inside of a world of my own-
Perhaps a shadow would pass me by,
Or maybe a fawn would wade in the creek
Along side of the path I walk-
I fear other people, this world’s intruders.
I would break away from reality if only
There was a point of no return and escape towards
A place where I can look down
Upon this path I have walked before-
Far away from all of the people who slight, follow and wish me harm-
Evergreens and maple trees-
Wild rabbits, squirrels and wild geese roam about-
These are the ones I call my true friends-
I would dance in the sky if I could-
Lost inside of a world behind the clouds, as
The sun behind me is casting shadows
Upon the path that I am now walking
Shadows that shall transform to dreams-
Dreams of an eternal life inside this world of my own-
Listen- can you hear the calling of the wild?
Listen- can you hear the gentle breeze rustling the leaves within
The litheness of nature surrounding me?
Listen- can you hear the sound of my heart beating amorously as
My own shadow disappears behind myriads of towering oak trees?
Rain could begin to fall and
A storm could approach and now I can say in all honesty it would not matter-
My mind has finally locked the door to reality and I have tossed the key
To the rapids rushing up the creek beside me-I have finally escaped.
If thousands of people were to approach and cross the path upon which I make my way-
I have lost touch with all that is real and in flight of the imagination
There is no turning back- even if it is only with in a dream;
Nobody needs war, cacophony and disaster,
If one can be in union with nature and fantasy that can be found in
One’s own back yard and a gust of wind can carry away that key to the door of
Pain and misfortune. Follow the shadows cast by the sun, and
Never look back, as this world inside of your dreams could last for an eternity…

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Five Visions Of Captain Cook

I
COOK was a captain of the Admiralty
When sea-captains had the evil eye,
Or should have, what with beating krakens off
And casting nativities of ships;
Cook was a captain of the powder-days
When captains, you might have said, if you had been
Fixed by their glittering stare, half-down the side,
Or gaping at them up companionways,
Were more like warlocks than a humble man—
And men were humble then who gazed at them,
Poor horn-eyed sailors, bullied by devils' fists
Of wind or water, or the want of both,
Childlike and trusting, filled with eager trust—
Cook was a captain of the sailing days
When sea-captains were kings like this,
Not cold executives of company-rules
Cracking their boilers for a dividend
Or bidding their engineers go wink
At bells and telegraphs, so plates would hold
Another pound. Those captains drove their ships
By their own blood, no laws of schoolbook steam,
Till yards were sprung, and masts went overboard—
Daemons in periwigs, doling magic out,
Who read fair alphabets in stars
Where humbler men found but a mess of sparks,
Who steered their crews by mysteries
And strange, half-dreadful sortilege with books,
Used medicines that only gods could know
The sense of, but sailors drank
In simple faith. That was the captain
Cook was when he came to the Coral Sea
And chose a passage into the dark.
How many mariners had made that choice
Paused on the brink of mystery! 'Choose now!'
The winds roared, blowing home, blowing home,
Over the Coral Sea. 'Choose now!' the trades
Cried once to Tasman, throwing him for choice
Their teeth or shoulders, and the Dutchman chose
The wind's way, turning north. 'Choose, Bougainville!'
The wind cried once, and Bougainville had heard
The voice of God, calling him prudently
Out of a dead lee shore, and chose the north.
The wind's way. So, too, Cook made choice,
Over the brink, into the devil's mouth,
With four months' food, and sailors wild with dreams
Of English beer, the smoking barns of home.
So Cook made choice, so Cook sailed westabout,
So men write poems in Australia.
II
FLOWERS turned to stone! Not all the botany
Of Joseph Banks, hung pensive in a porthole,
Could find the Latin for this loveliness,
Could put the Barrier Reef in a glass box
Tagged by the horrid Gorgon squint
Of horticulture. Stone turned to flowers
It seemed—you'd snap a crystal twig,
One petal even of the water-garden,
And have it dying like a cherry-bough.
They'd sailed all day outside a coral hedge,
And half the night. Cook sailed at night,
Let there be reefs a fathom from the keel
And empty charts. The sailors didn't ask,
Nor Joseph Banks. Who cared? It was the spell
Of Cook that lulled them, bade them turn below,
Kick off their sea-boots, puff themselves to sleep,
Though there were more shoals outside
Than teeth in a shark's head. Cook snored loudest himself.
One day, a morning of light airs and calms,
They slid towards a reef that would have knifed
Their boards to mash, and murdered every man.
So close it sucked them, one wave shook their keel.
The next blew past the coral. Three officers,
In gilt and buttons, languidly on deck
Pointed their sextants at the sun. One yawned,
One held a pencil, one put eye to lens:
Three very peaceful English mariners
Taking their sights for longitude.
I've never heard
Of sailors aching for the longitude
Of shipwrecks before or since. It was the spell
Of Cook did this, the phylacteries of Cook.
Men who ride broomsticks with a mesmerist
Mock the typhoon. So, too, it was with Cook.
III
Two chronometers the captain had,
One by Arnold that ran like mad,
One by Kendal in a walnut case,
Poor devoted creature with a hangdog face.
Arnold always hurried with a crazed click-click
Dancing over Greenwich like a lunatic,
Kendal panted faithfully his watch-dog beat,
Climbing out of Yesterday with sticky little feet.
Arnold choked with appetite to wolf up time,
Madly round the numerals his hands would climb,
His cogs rushed over and his wheels ran miles,
Dragging Captain Cook to the Sandwich Isles.
But Kendal dawdled in the tombstoned past,
With a sentimental prejudice to going fast,
And he thought very often of a haberdasher's door
And a yellow-haired boy who would knock no more.
All through the night-time, clock talked to clock,
In the captain's cabin, tock-tock-tock,
One ticked fast and one ticked slow,
And Time went over them a hundred years ago.
IV
SOMETIMES the god would fold his wings
And, stone of Caesars turned to flesh,
Talk of the most important things
That serious-minded midshipmen could wish,
Of plantains, and the lack of rum
Or spearing sea-cows—things like this
That hungry schoolboys, five days dumb,
In jolly-boats are wonted to discuss.
What midshipman would pause to mourn
The sun that beat about his ears,
Or curse the tide, if he could horn
His fists by tugging on those lumbering oars?
Let rum-tanned mariners prefer
To hug the weather-side of yards;
'Cats to catch mice' before they purr,
Those were the captain's enigmatic words.
Here, in this jolly-boat they graced,
Were food and freedom, wind and storm,
While, fowling-piece across his waist,
Cook mapped the coast, with one eye cocked for game.
V
AFTER the candles had gone out, and those
Who listened had gone out, and a last wave
Of chimney-haloes caked their smoky rings
Like fish-scales on the ceiling, a Yellow Sea
Of swimming circles, the old man,
Old Captain-in-the-Corner, drank his rum
With friendly gestures to four chairs. They stood
Empty, still warm from haunches, with rubbed nails
And leather glazed, like agèd serving-men
Feeding a king's delight, the sticky, drugged
Sweet agony of habitual anecdotes.
But these, his chairs, could bear an old man's tongue,
Sleep when he slept, be flattering when he woke,
And wink to hear the same eternal name
From lips new-dipped in rum.
'Then Captain Cook,
I heard him, told them they could go
If so they chose, but he would get them back,
Dead or alive, he'd have them,'
The old man screeched, half-thinking to hear 'Cook!
Cook again! Cook! It's other cooks he'll need,
Cooks who can bake a dinner out of pence,
That's what he lives on, talks on, half-a-crown
A day, and sits there full of Cook.
Who'd do your cooking now, I'd like to ask,
If someone didn't grind her bones away?
But that's the truth, six children and half-a-crown
A day, and a man gone daft with Cook.'
That was his wife,
Elizabeth, a noble wife but brisk,
Who lived in a present full of kitchen-fumes
And had no past. He had not seen her
For seven years, being blind, and that of course
Was why he'd had to strike a deal with chairs,
Not knowing when those who chafed them had gone to sleep
Or stolen away. Darkness and empty chairs,
This was the port that Alexander Home
Had come to with his useless cutlass-wounds
And tales of Cook, and half-a-crown a day
This was the creek he'd run his timbers to,
Where grateful countrymen repaid his wounds
At half-a-crown a day. Too good, too good,
This eloquent offering of birdcages
To gulls, and Greenwich Hospital to Cook,
Britannia's mission to the sea-fowl.
It was not blindness picked his flesh away,
Nor want of sight made penny-blank the eyes
Of Captain Home, but that he lived like this
In one place, and gazed elsewhere. His body moved
In Scotland, but his eyes were dazzle-full
Of skies and water farther round the world—
Air soaked with blue, so thick it dripped like snow
On spice-tree boughs, and water diamond-green,
Beaches wind-glittering with crumbs of gilt,
And birds more scarlet than a duchy's seal
That had come whistling long ago, and far
Away. His body had gone back,
Here it sat drinking rum in Berwickshire,
But not his eyes—they were left floating there
Half-round the earth, blinking at beaches milked
By suck-mouth tides, foaming with ropes of bubbles
And huge half-moons of surf. Thus it had been
When Cook was carried on a sailor's back,
Vengeance in a cocked hat, to claim his price,
A prince in barter for a longboat.
And then the trumpery springs of fate—a stone,
A musket-shot, a round of gunpowder,
And puzzled animals, killing they knew not what
Or why, but killing . . . the surge of goatish flanks
Armoured in feathers, like cruel birds:
Wild, childish faces, killing; a moment seen,
Marines with crimson coats and puffs of smoke
Toppling face-down; and a knife of English iron,
Forged aboard ship, that had been changed for pigs,
Given back to Cook between the shoulder-blades.
There he had dropped, and the old floundering sea,
The old, fumbling, witless lover-enemy,
Had taken his breath, last office of salt water.
Cook died. The body of Alexander Home
Flowed round the world and back again, with eyes
Marooned already, and came to English coasts,
The vague ancestral darkness of home,
Seeing them faintly through a glass of gold,
Dim fog-shapes, ghosted like the ribs of trees
Against his blazing waters and blue air.
But soon they faded, and there was nothing left,
Only the sugar-cane and the wild granaries
Of sand, and palm-trees and the flying blood
Of cardinal-birds; and putting out one hand
Tremulously in the direction of the beach,
He felt a chair in Scotland. And sat down.

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In remembrance of a friend…

Another anniversary, birthday or just a day
celebrated with an empty chair
And a silent tear shed
For those no longer there

Be they brother, lover or just a friend
Their memory lives on with every story told
And every tear dropp shed

So dry your tears and hold your head with pride
Even though the hurt you feel so deep inside
My never end, It will soften with time
And the comfort of a friend

JPM © 1/6/10

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White Christmas

The sun is shining; the grass is green
The orange and palm trees sway
Theres never been such a day in beverly hills l. a.
But its december the 24th and Im longing to be up north
Im dreaming of a white christmas
Just like the ones I used to know
Where the tree tops glisten and children listen
To hear sleigh bells in the snow
Im dreaming of a white christmas
With every christmas card I write
May your days be merry and bright
And my all your christmases be white

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Holy Night

Everything sighs with moonlight
Who owns the sun and stars?
Prayer sails outside of mortal time
My soul lives in another dimension

Gentle palm trees sway in shadows
The sea shines in wake of the moon
Waves role and ebb on quiet shores
Sacred moment swells with eternity

The universe is a friend to sojourners
Stars of Holy portent glow with awe
Gentle night along this white sand
Mystic soft light on kelp and shells

Lights from the small mountain village
They fish the sea like centuries before
I sit on an old rock of ancient lava
The glimmer of the stars is hypnotic

Dreams mingle with beauty true
Fellowship with wonder and peace
Assurance that all will be well
Spirit in the sweet breeze and tide

Gratitude ascends on this Holy Night

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I am in full dream

Long long miles away from you
Under the open deep blue sky
Besides the ever flowing river
I stand alone, and feel very lonely

My heart and mind is open to listen
The mystic music of nature deeply

the sound of the cricket seems to me
is the best, sweeter of the sweetest
Blowing of the wind is very soothing
The firefly dances with the singing
Of the birds, and the golden sun adds
Some colours, the call of the fox is like
Beating of the drums, the occasional sound
Of the frogs in the water is thrilling enough,
the his his sound of leaves raises my hairs
the queen, night, comes in along with moon light
I swallow the beauty with delight.

I wanted to share with you, ah! I miss you very much,
The worries of my life crowded out but your memories crowded in
now I am in full dream along with your memories mingled
with the beauty of the moon.

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A Fine Frenzy

Your fingertips across my skin
the palm trees swaying in the wind
images...

well i never wanna see you unhappy
i thought you want the same for me

goodbye my almost lover
goodbye my hopeless dream
im tryin not to think about you
cant you jus let me be

so long my luckless romance
my back is turned on you

shouldve known you'd bring me heartache
almost lovers always do....

we walked along a crowded street
you took my hand and danced with me
images............

and when you left you kissed my lips
you told me you would never never forget these images.....

no......

i never wanna see you unhappy
i'd thought you want the same 4 me...

goodbye my almost lover
goodbye my hopeless dream
im tryin not to think about you
cant you jus let me be

so long my luckless romance
my back is turned on you

should've known you'd bring me heartache
almost lovers always do.......

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Sweet Music

Hear the choir
On the wind.
Soothe you
Like a rolling cloud.
Background,
To the migrant crowd
On the wing.
Sweet music
Echoes in everything.

Sunlight dancing
On blue bay.
Hula hula
Palm trees sway.
Garlands
Of a tuneful sky.
Spill their scented notes
On high.
Dripping into
Orchestras of the ocean.
Sweet music tango
In marine motion.

Muted trumpets
Greet the gladdened morn.
Golden ballet
Of sunflowers born.
Like Heaven's harp
Of gossamer string.
Sweet music
Echoes in everything.

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New revelations

Glory or no glory but bright future with delightful story
No label but recognized as fact with absolutely no worry
What have we not given to the world to feel shame or sorry?
Everything done in good faith not to malign with good name and glory

Given sense of life and means to lead honorable ways
All our ancestors lived full life with golden days
Architecture, science, mythology and religion
Spread across the globe covering all regions

No force or abduction in the name of religion?
No preaching of violence to form a legion
Adherence to peaceful existence and spread of love message
Absorbing all visitors with welcome and good passage
* Bharat is India*

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Hearts First Word. II

And all her soft dark hair
Breathed for him like a prayer,
And her white lost face
Was prisoned to sonie far place.
Love was not denied-
Love's ends would hide,
And Hower and fruit and tree
Were under its sea.
Yea, its abundance knelt
Where the nerves felt
The springs of feeling flow
And made pain grow !
There seemed no root or sky,
But a pent infinity
Where apparitions dim
Sculptured each whim
In dame and wandering mist
Of kisses to be kist.

LADY, YOU ARE MY GOD

Lady, you are my God-
Lady, you are my Heaven.

If I am your God
Labour for your Heaven.

Lady, you are my God,
And shall not love win Heaven ?

If love made me God
Deeds must win my Heaven.

If my love made you God,
What more can 1 for Heaven ?

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Sail Away

By dickey betts
(c) 1979 emi blackwood music inc.
Sunset colors, all across the bay.
Finds me here alone at the end of one more day.
Skipping stones across the water.
Wonder why I ever thought youd stay.
Palm trees sway in the evening breeze.
Sing a lullabye of sweet love to me.
Sailboat, sail away into the amber sky.
And I wonder why I ever thought youd stay.
Sail on, sail away.
May all your dreams come true one day.
Sail on, sail away.
I wonder why I ever thought youd stay.
Sail on, sail away.
May all your dreams come true one day.
Sail on, sail away.
I wonder why I ever thought youd stay.
I wonder why I ever thought youd stay.
Sail on, sail away.
Sail on, sail away.
Sail on, sail away.
Sail on, sail away.

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The Dogs Of Drangonchester

The dogs of Dragonchester is a condo that sits by the Sea,
surounded by sand, tropical plants and palm trees.
Happy Dogs live at the Dragonchester for I have seen,
these dogs are special to their owners, they make them happy.
Inside this book is a collection of Dragonchester Dog poems,
you can read them at your leisure at night in your home.
Some poems might make you laugh, some poems might make you cry,
that is the observation of me the poet whose words I do scribe.
These poems you can pass along to your dear friends,
you can frame them if you like so you can read their words again.
Many wishes to the dog owners and a cheer to their pets,
many more stories to make into Dragonchester Dog poems still yet.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on December 22,2011

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The Dogs Of Drangonchester

THE DOGS OF DRANGONCHESTER
The dogs of Dragonchester is a condo that sits by the Sea,
surounded by sand, tropical plants and palm trees.
Happy Dogs live at the Dragonchester for I have seen,
these dogs are special to their owners, they make them happy.
Inside this book is a collection of Dragonchester Dog poems,
you can read them at your leisure at night in your home.
Some poems might make you laugh, some poems might make you cry,
that is the observation of me the poet whose words I do scribe.
These poems you can pass along to your dear friends,
you can frame them if you like so you can read their words again.
Many wishes to the dog owners and a cheer to their pets,
many more stories to make into Dragonchester Dog poems still yet.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on December 22,2011

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