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When You Think About Love

I smile to myself
as I read each poem
and each word and think
oh what wonder this brings
for loved ones and friends
the expression of love
is so rare to find
and to be able to put
them in words evermore
are a true sign of love
that will endure evermore

when you think about love
is it a sunbeam that reflects of the seas
or a star that bursts and shatters to earth
is it the time as it passes with each loving step
you share with your love now and evermore
is it his laughter his humor
that makes you feel warm inside
is it his talent of wonder
that makes you burst with pride
you smile and cry with laughter and joy
and know that he is yours evermore

my heart is his when he mended it back
together from pieces he found on the floor
with love and affection he brought back to life
my heart my soul my love evermore
he knows who he is my hero my friend
the man of my dreams
now and evermore

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Read poem write poem and poem

Read poem write poem and poem
I know poem is the best
Poem has emotion poem has life
Through poem we can reach
Where we want to reach.

I express myself through poem
Truth is in the poem
And truth is my expression.

Know truth live with truth
Truth is in the poem.
Read poem write poem and poem.

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An Ordinary Day?

I awake with no pain to a rain of sunrays.
Then greet my beloved whose radiant ways
Start everyday with a kiss and that smile,
Reminding me again that this day is worthwhile.

With family and friends time passes warp speed.
As sunset approaches I feel the need
To humbly thank God and gratefully say,
I’ve never had just an ordinary day.”

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Happiness

I was born with so much love I burst each time the sun rises
I reserved the hurt I feel to make happy suprises
In my heaven here on earth I found my paradise
All the laughter in my heart I credit to your smile
Happiness is seeing all the stars in your eyes
Happiness is knowing you are loved
I berode the fears I had and sorted them all out
Took a love offered me and pushed away the dark
In my heaven here on earth I found my paradise
What a satisfying feeling reaching for the skies
Happiness is seeing all the stars in your eyes
Happiness is knowing you are loved
(instrumental break)
Oh oh oh, in my heaven here on earth I found my paradise
What a satisfying feeling reaching for the skies
Happiness is seeing all the stars in your eyes
Happiness is knowing you are loved
I berode the fears I had and sorted them all out
Took a love offered me and pushed away the dark
In my heaven here on earth I found my paradise
What a satisfying feeling reaching for the skies
Happiness is seeing all the stars in your eyes
My happiness is knowing you are loved
(instrumental part until end)

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I am fully dressed

Hey Important Here Read This: warning, this poem is sexually explicit! I'm fairly sure it doesn't actually break any particular rules, but its edgy enough so if your under age or offended by the implications below, or have any kind of qualm about this, please don't say I didn't give a fore word of warning. If someone can point out to me that this piece in some way DOES break some kind of rule, please let me know so that I can remove it without trouble (might take some time.)

Alright than... This poem is pretty much just a written account with some, but surprisingly little, poetic licence taken to depict a good memory of mine. I think it also conveys a bit about who I can be at times, but the poem itself is rather raw and unedited, which is the way I've always preferred them to be. I'd rather this to be read as a narrative poem that Happens to be sexual, and not a sex story that happens to be a poem. (Note that sex doesn't actually occur) ...I'm rambling again... Read, consider, comment please.


I am fully dressed
as we brush each others legs
any painter would conclude
scene of the artful passion nude

My hand rolls across her skin
Like glaciers caress the earth
Just as slowly, I torment her
Patient, I observe.

She mentions her protectives, and their purpose.
I decline, no cherry popped.

The moon keeps its eye open
jealously it listens to her sigh
the arch of her back, her pressing need
My fingers feel warm skin, and pride.

Her fabric lifts, my touch awakens
sleeping curves, restive muscles
winding across and under, I scout her navel
My hands may wander off like a rainstorm in the night
My tongue remains, tasting, twisting.

She is enthralled, her pleasure is mine
Despite my greed she sees the divine
But still I press on slowly
no touch untouched, no kiss not pressed.

Kneading, teasing through the softening bra
She must hate me for this tectonic pace
But I will move her world just as certainly
Her breathing quickens. I do not.

I am silent. The wind does not interrupt.
Her moans are musical.
She moves in tandem with desire
pressing into me, I am stoic.

Now the areolae glisten
She is Pavlov's dog
but it is I who somewhat slavers
Though I be her enslaver.

She pounces, coiled snake
striking for my lips with hers
Her aggressive need envenoms me
It spreads, stirring my blood,
By my will restrained, and no other.

Reciprocate the kisses with force
Tongues joust, Shining night,
there will be no darkness veiled, no armour
That will guard her against ecstasy.

I am grateful to have two hands.

Independent, coordinated, they set out to conquer her
She gasps in pleasure when I pinch, she pushes more
Her heart thrums the beats of passion and of war.

I move. With all my senses I bend down.
She thrusts her hips, they shake and will not settle.
As if I would not circle first.
She is incensed, as am I.

Where her mind went off to,
what she saw with those rolling eyes
I don't know.
With the dipping, curling of my fingers
she cried out to the skies.

My hands are pressing, groping, shifting.
The bristles of her mons, my unshaven chin,
scratch one another.
Panting, Shaking, volatile once more
As unrelenting as the seasons, I drive her on again.

With bare-breasted confidence and grace
she rides out those waves
She comes down from the clouds,
turning a sultry eye to me.

She aches to peel my clothes
I concur.
Her small hands, small mouth, perch atop my frame.
I feel her enthusiasm, but
nonetheless I can't ignite.

In the end, I lend to her tongue the helping hand
I am master of her pleasure
And so restrained, I am
bound and gagged by my control, the burden of command.

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One Word More

To E. B. B.

I

There they are, my fifty men and women
Naming me the fifty poems finished!
Take them, Love, the book and me together:
Where the heart lies, let the brain lie also.

II

Rafael made a century of sonnets,
Made and wrote them in a certain volume
Dinted with the silver-pointed pencil
Else he only used to draw Madonnas:
These, the world might view—but one, the volume.
Who that one, you ask? Your heart instructs you.
Did she live and love it all her life-time?
Did she drop, his lady of the sonnets,
Die, and let it drop beside her pillow
Where it lay in place of Rafael's glory,
Rafael's cheek so duteous and so loving
Cheek, the world was wont to hail a painter's,
Rafael's cheek, her love had turned a poet's?

III

You and I would rather read that volume,
(Taken to his beating bosom by it)
Lean and list the bosom-beats of Rafael,
Would we not? than wonder at Madonnas—
Her, San Sisto names, and Her, Foligno,
Her, that visits Florence in a vision,
Her, that's left with lilies in the Louvre—
Seen by us and all the world in circle.

IV

You and I will never read that volume.
Guido Reni, like his own eye's apple
Guarded long the treasure-book and loved it.
Guido Reni dying, all Bologna
Cried, and the world cried too, "Ours, the treasure!"
Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished.

V

Dante once prepared to paint an angel:
Whom to please? You whisper "Beatrice."
While he mused and traced it and retraced it,
(Peradventure with a pen corroded
Still by drops of that hot ink he dipped for,
When, his left-hand i' the hair o' the wicked,
Back he held the brow and pricked its stigma,
Bit into the live man's flesh, for parchment,
Loosed him, laughed to see the writing rankle,
Let the wretch go festering through Florence)—
Dante, who loved well because he hated,
Hated wickedness that hinders loving,
Dante standing, studying his angel—
In there broke the folk of his Inferno.
Says he—"Certain people of importance"
Such he gave his daily dreadful line to)
"Entered and would seize, forsooth, the poet."
Says the poet—"Then I stopped my painting."

VI

You and I would rather see that angel,
Painted by the tenderness of Dante,
Would we not?—than read a fresh Inferno.

VII

You and I will never see that picture.
While he mused on love and Beatrice,
While he softened o'er his outlined angel,
In they broke, those "people of importance;"
We and Bice bear the loss forever.

VIII

What of Rafael's sonnets, Dante's picture?
This: no artist lives and loves, that longs not
Once, and only once, and for one only,
(Ah, the prize !) to find his love a language
Fit and fair and simple and sufficient—
Using nature that's an art to others,
Not, this one time, art that's turned his nature.
Ay, of all the artists living, loving,
None but would forego his proper dowry—
Does he paint? he fain would write a poem
Does he write? he fain would paint a picture,
Put to proof art alien to the artist's,
Once, and only once, and for one only,
So to be the man and leave the artist,
Gain the man's joy, miss the artist's sorrow.

IX

Wherefore? Heaven's gift takes earth's abatement!
He who smites the rock and spreads the water,
Bidding drink and live a crowd beneath him,
Even he, the minute makes immortal,
Proves, perchance, but mortal in the minute,
Desecrates, belike, the deed in doing.
While he smites, how can he but remember,
So he smote before, in such a peril,
When they stood and mocked—"Shall smiting help us?"
When they drank and sneered—"A stroke is easy!"
When they wiped their mouths and went their journey,
Throwing him for thanks—"But drought was pleasant."
Thus old memories mar the actual triumph;
Thus the doing savors of disrelish;
Thus achievement lacks a gracious somewhat;
O'er-importuned brows becloud the mandate,
Carelessness or consciousness—the gesture.
For he bears an ancient wrong about him,
Sees and knows again those phalanxed faces,
Hears, yet one time more, the 'customed prelude—
"How shouldst thou, of all men, smite, and save us?"
Guesses what is like to prove the sequel—
"Egypt's flesh-pots-nay, the drought was better."

X

Oh, the crowd must have emphatic warrant!
Theirs, the Sinai-forehead's cloven brilliance,
Right-arm's rod-sweep, tongue's imperial fiat.
Never dares the man put off the prophet.

XI

Did he love one face from out the thousands,
(Were she Jethro's daughter, white and wifely,
Were she but the Ethiopian bondslave),
He would envy yon dumb patient camel,
Keeping a reserve of scanty water
Meant to save his own life in the desert;
Ready in the desert to deliver
(Kneeling down to let his breast be opened)
Hoard and life together for his mistress.

XII

I shall never, in the years remaining,
Paint you pictures, no, nor carve you statues,
Make you music that should all-express me;
So it seems: I stand on my attainment.
This of verse alone, one life allows me;
Verse and nothing else have I to give you.
Other heights in other lives, God willing;
All the gifts from all the heights, your own, Love!

XIII

Yet a semblance of resource avails us—
Shade so finely touched, love's sense must seize it.
Take these lines, look lovingly and nearly,
Lines I write the first time and the last time.
He who works in fresco, steals a hair brush,
Curbs the liberal hand, subservient proudly,
Cramps his spirit, crowds its all in little,
Makes a strange art of an art familiar,
Fills his lady's missal-marge with flowerets.
He who blows thro' bronze, may breathe thro' silver,
Fitly serenade a slumbrous princess.
He who writes, may write for once as I do.

XIV

Love, you saw me gather men and women,
Live or dead or fashioned by my fancy,
Enter each and all, and use their service,
Speak from every mouth—the speech, a poem.
Hardly shall I tell my joys and sorrows,
Hopes and tears, belief and disbelieving:
I am mine and yoursthe rest be all men's,
Karshish, Cleon, Norbert and the fifty.
Let me speak this once in my true person,
Not as Lippo, Roland or Andrea,
Though the fruit of speech be just this sentence;
Pray you, look on these my men and women,
Take and keep my fifty poems finished;
Where my heart lies, let my brain lie also!
Poor the speech; be how I speak, for all things.

XV

Not but that you know me! Lo, the moon's self!
Here in London, yonder late in Florence,
Still we find her face, the thrice-transfigured.
Curving on a sky imbrued with color,
Drifted over Fiesole by twilight,
Came she, our new crescent of a hair's-breadth.
Full she flared it, lamping Samminiato,
Rounder 'twixt the cypresses and rounder,
Perfect till the nightingales applauded.
Now, a piece of her old self, impoverished,
Hard to greet, she traverses the houseroofs,
Hurries with unhandsome thrift of silver,
Goes dispiritedly, glad to finish.

XVI

What, there's nothing in the moon noteworthy?
Nay: for if that moon could love a mortal,
Use, to charm him (so to fit a fancy),
All her magic ('tis the old sweet mythos),
She would turn a new side to her mortal,
Side unseen of herdsman, huntsman, steersman—
Blank to Zoroaster on his terrace,
Blind to Galileo on his turret,
Dumb to Homer, dumb to Keats—him, even!
Think, the wonder of the moonstruck mortal—
When she turns round, comes again in heaven,
Opens out anew for worse or better!
Proves she like some portent of an iceberg
Swimming full upon the ship it founders,
Hungry with huge teeth of splintered crystals?
Proves she as the paved work of a sapphire
Seen by Moses when he climbed the mountain?
Moses, Aaron, Nadab and Abihu
Climbed and saw the very God, the Highest,
Stand upon the paved work of a sapphire.
Like the bodied heaven in his clearness
Shone the stone, the sapphire of that paved work,
When they ate and drank and saw God also!

XVII

What were seen? None knows, none ever shall know.
Only this is sure—the sight were other,
Not the moon's same side, born late in Florence,
Dying now impoverished here in London.
God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures
Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with,
One to show a woman when he loves her!

XVIII

This I say of me, but think of you, Love!
This to you—yourself my moon of poets!
Ah, but that's the world's side, there's the wonder,
Thus they see you, praise you, think they know you!
There, in turn I stand with them and praise you
Out of my own self, I dare to phrase it.
But the best is when I glide from out them,
Cross a step or two of dubious twilight,
Come out on the other side, the novel
Silent silver lights and darks undreamed of,
Where I hush and bless myself with silence.

XIX

Oh, their Rafael of the dear Madonnas,
Oh, their Dante of the dread Inferno,
Wrote one song—and in my brain I sing it,
Drew one angel—borne, see, on my bosom!

R. B.

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The music brings me back

The music brings me back
The music brings me back

Back to a time
Back to a time


I feel the lights all around me
Feeling all the energy on the dance floor..
I am wanting more!


The music brings me back
The music brings me back

Back to a time
When I knew you were mine


I feel the lights all around me
Feeling all the energy on the dance floor..
I am wanting more!

Back to a time
when I knew were mine

The music brings me back to a time
The music brings me back to a time

You got love on the mind
The music brings me back.......
Back into time...........

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George Mullen's Confession

For the sake of guilty conscience, and the heart that ticks the
time
Of the clockworks of my nature, I desire to say that I'm
A weak and sinful creature, as regards my daily walk
The last five years and better. It ain't worth while to talk--

I've been too mean to tell it! I've been so hard, you see,
And full of pride, and--onry--now there's the word for me--
Just onry--and to show you, I'll give my history
With vital points in question, and I think you'll all agree.

I was always stiff and stubborn since I could recollect,
And had an awful temper, and never would reflect;
And always into trouble--I remember once at school
The teacher tried to flog me, and I reversed that rule.

O I was bad I tell you! And it's a funny move
That a fellow wild as I was could ever fall in love;
And it's a funny notion that an animal like me,
Under a girl's weak fingers was as tame as tame could be!

But it's so, and sets me thinking of the easy way she had
Of cooling down my temper--though I'd be fighting mad.
'My Lion Queen' I called her--when a spell of mine occurred
She'd come in a den of feelings and quell them with a word.

I'll tell you how she loved me--and what her people thought:
When I asked to marry Annie they said 'they reckoned not--
That I cut too many didoes and monkey-shines to suit
Their idea of a son-in-law, and I could go, to boot!'

I tell you that thing riled me! Why, I felt my face turn white,
And my teeth shut like a steel trap, and the fingers of my right
Hand pained me with their pressure--all the rest's a mystery
Till I heard my Annie saying--'I'm going, too, you see.'

We were coming through the gateway, and she wavered for a spell
When she heard her mother crying and her raving father yell
That she wa'n't no child of his'n--like an actor in a play
We saw at Independence, coming through the other day.

Well! that's the way we started. And for days and weeks and
months
And even years we journeyed on, regretting never once
Of starting out together upon the path of life--
Akind o' sort o' husband, but a mighty loving wife,--

And the cutest little baby--little Grace--I see her now
A-standin' on the pig-pen as her mother milked the cow--
And I can hear her shouting--as I stood unloading straw,--
'I'm ain't as big as papa, but I'm biggerest'n ma.'

Now folks that never married don't seem to understand
That a little baby's language is the sweetest ever planned--
Why, I tell you it's pure music, and I'll just go on to say
That I sometimes have a notion that the angels talk that way!

There's a chapter in this story I'd be happy to destroy;
I could burn it up before you with a mighty sight of joy;
But I'll go ahead and give it--not in detail, no, my friend,
For it takes five years of reading before you find the end.

My Annie's folks relented--at least, in some degree;
They sent one time for Annie, but they didn't send for me.
The old man wrote the message with a heart as hot and dry
As a furnace--'Annie Mullen, come and see your mother die.'

I saw the slur intended--why I fancied I could see
The old man shoot the insult like a poison dart at me;
And in that heat of passion I swore an inward oath
That if Annie pleased her father she could never please us both.

I watched her--dark and sullen--as she hurried on her shawl;
I watched her--calm and cruel, though I saw her tear-drops fall;
I watched her--cold and heartless, though I heard her moaning,
call
For mercy from high Heaven--and I smiled throughout it all.

Why even when she kissed me, and her tears were on my brow,
As she murmured, 'George, forgive me--I must go to mother now!'
Such hate there was within me that I answered not at all,
But calm, and cold and cruel, I smiled throughout it all.

But a shadow in the doorway caught my eye, and then the face
Full of innocence and sunshine of little baby Grace.
And I snatched her up and kissed her, and I softened through and
through
For a minute when she told me 'I must kiss her muvver too.'

I remember, at the starting, how I tried to freeze again
As I watched them slowly driving down the little crooked lane--
When Annie shouted something that ended in a cry,
And how I tried to whistle and it fizzled in a sigh.

I remember running after, with a glimmer in my sight--
Pretending I'd discovered that the traces wasn't right;
And the last that I remember, as they disappeared from view,
Was little Grace a-calling, 'I see papa! Howdy-do!'

And left alone to ponder, I again took up my hate
For the old man who would chuckle that I was desolate;
And I mouthed my wrongs in mutters till my pride called up the
pain
His last insult had given me--until I smiled again

Till the wild beast in my nature was raging in the den--
With no one now to quell it, and I wrote a letter then
Full of hissing things, and heated with so hot a heat of hate
That my pen flashed out black lightning at a most terrific rate.

I wrote that 'she had wronged me when she went away from me--
Though to see her dying mother 'twas her father's victory,
And a woman that could waver when her husband's pride was rent
Was no longer worthy of it.' And I shut the house and went.

To tell of my long exile would be of little good--
Though I couldn't half-way tell it, and I wouldn't if I could!
I could tell of California--of a wild and vicious life;
Of trackless plains, and mountains, and the Indian's
scalping-knife.

I could tell of gloomy forests howling wild with threats of
death;
I could tell of fiery deserts that have scorched me with their
breath;
I could tell of wretched outcasts by the hundreds, great and
small,
And could claim the nasty honor of the greatest of them all.

I could tell of toil and hardship; and of sickness and disease,
And hollow-eyed starvation, but I tell you, friend, that these
Are trifles in comparison with what a fellow feels
With that bloodhound, Remorsefulness, forever at his heels.

I remember--worn and weary of the long, long years of care,
When the frost of time was making early harvest of my hair--
I remember, wrecked and hopeless of a rest beneath the sky,
My resolve to quit the country, and to seek the East, and die.

I remember my long journey, like a dull, oppressive dream,
Across the empty prairies till I caught the distant gleam
Of a city in the beauty of its broad and shining stream
On whose bosom, flocked together, float the mighty swans of
steam.

I remember drifting with them till I found myself again
In the rush and roar and rattle of the engine and the train;
And when from my surroundings something spoke of child and wife,
It seemed the train was rumbling through a tunnel in my life.

Then I remember something--like a sudden burst of light--
That don't exactly tell it, but I couldn't tell it right--
A something clinging to me with its arms around my neck--
A little girl, for instance--or an angel, I expect--

For she kissed me, cried and called me 'her dear papa,' and I
felt
My heart was pure virgin gold, and just about to melt--
And so it did--it melted in a mist of gleaming rain
When she took my hand and whispered, 'My mama's on the train.'

There's some things I can dwell on, and get off pretty well,
But the balance of this story I know I couldn't tell;
So I ain't going to try it, for to tell the reason why--
I'm so chicken-hearted lately I'd be certain 'most to cry.

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I Weep I Weep - For The Lost Poem!

I weep I weep - for the lost poem!
I wrote it in the night
I wrote it in despair
When to my beating mind
There was no light.

I lament for the lost poem!
Was it torn? If no, where lies it?
I wrote it in despair
And now like a lost sheep
I fetch it.

How time passes!
How the black hair
To more graying hair
Will turn!

And in the meantime
My poem my lost poem
I rue.

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I loved all the love away

I loved all the love away
Left with mine prodigal hand
Mine heart through my fingers play
To soft white sensual sand
In a desert of sheer famine
Bereft of love and love's sea
I scavenge the ground and examine
The desert of what's left of me
Nothing but white sand and shore
Where the moon tide's waves
move rippled sand of desert galore
to taunt and with will depraves
The love I need, but shows the love I had
Lost in the desert delusional I'm utterly mad…

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The heart travels safe

Dear Lady! Give me your heart,
Or, at least, a part. Don’t be tart.
Lend me your palm, not the red lips.
Enough, it can give me much kicks.

You may like reaching my two arms
So as, from the cold, to feel warm.
Hapless soul I’m; helpless you are.
See. Lending heart is risk-free.

Dear Lady! Give me your heart.
To win over it’s my apple cart.
Others’ notice can be at naught.
Without fear can sail your heart.

I do crave you; it is a fact.
You can’t desist, nor can accept.
It is safe to lend me your heart,
If not hand, the stake being least.
28.12.2000, Pmdi

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Lie To Me

Lie to me. Tell me what I want to hear
'cause the truth just hurts too much.
Lie to me. Give me words insincere,
like you love me and my touch.

And even if I feel that they're not true
without these words what will I do?
I've heard them for so long a time from you
and still they make me feel brand new.

When I hear them whispered in my ear
I can pretend they're not lies that I hear.
So lie to me. Tell me lies.
I do not need to sympathize
and make myself come undone.
I just pretend that you still care
and strip my pride, strip it bare
and believe all the lies,
every last one.

So lie to me, my love.

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I Still...

Who are you now?
Are you still the same
Or did you change somehow?
What do you do
At this very moment when I think of you?
And when I'm looking back
How we were young and stupid
Do you remember that?
Baby
No matter how I fight it
Can't deny it
Just can't let you go
I still need you
I still care about you
Though everything's been said and done
I still feel you
Like I'm right beside you
But still no word from you
Now that you're gone
Instead of moving on, I refuse to see
And I keep coming back
And I'm stuck in a moment
That wasn't meant to last (to last)
I try to fight it
Can't deny it
You don't even know
That I still need you
I still care about you
Though everything's been said and done
I still feel you
Like I'm right beside you
But still no word from you
Ohhhh
Wish I could find you
Just like I found you then
Ohhhhh (can't live without you)
Though everything's been said and done (yeah)
I still feel you (I still feel you)
Like I'm right beside you (like I'm right beside you)
But still no (still no word) word from you

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Why Does My Faith...

I sang in the choir when I was young,
In surplice, ruff, and gown,
I bent my head to the cherubim
And cast my eyes to the ground,
I read your word in the Holy Book
And swore to be good and true
While living in fear of an Awe-ful God,
A life spent, looking for you.

My mind was full of heaven and hell
And the things that I shouldn’t do,
But the world seemed bent on a wayward course
All done in the name of You
For ‘Christ Almighty’ I heard on lips
That shouldn’t have breathed their sin,
And ‘Jesus Christ’ is a dirty word
But why does my faith grow thin?

The world has turned to greed and lust,
To hate, to me for mine,
And life is cheap on the empty streets
Where drugs are the bottom line,
Where children murder their parents
And the parents murder their young,
Where everyone has a mobile phone
But none with your number on.

It’s long since I tossed heaven and hell
To rot in a garbage bin
But still maintained my faith in you,
Your pain in an earthly skin;
I still believe in an afterlife,
And I know that you’ll see us in,
I’m closer to you than I’ve ever been
So why does my faith grow thin?

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In The End

In the end

I find out whose my

True friend.

For they can't

Pretend

To be

Something other

then real to me.

They consider

how I would feel,

and not lie, or steal.

For I will always find out

without a doubt.

They are not real friend,

when all I see

is jealousy,

or stupidity of my things,

and my feelings that are dear to me.

Written on April 22,2011 by Christina Sunrise

www.christinasunrise.com and www.purplepoems.com

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Licia Sonnets 37

I speak, fair Licia, what my torments be,
But then my speech too partial do I find;
For hardly words can with those thoughts agree,
Those thoughts that swarm in such a troubled mind.
Then do I vow my tongue shall never speak
Nor tell my grief that in my heart doth lie;
But cannon-like, I then surcharged do break,
And so my silence worse than speech I try.
Thus speech or none, they both do breed my care;
I live dismayed, and kill my heart with grief;
In all respects my case alike doth fare
To him that wants, and dare not ask relief.
Then you, fair Licia, sovereign of my heart,
Read to yourself my anguish and my smart.

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Red Chair Fade Away

Red chair fade away
bring back memories

Think of something nice
Fragrant lemon trees
I can feel the speaking sky
I don't want to know
It's filling up the air
Grandpa's fairy tale
Red chair round the fire
Rainbows all the time
We're all going higher
I can feel the speaking sky
I don't want to know
It's filling up the air
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Bring back memories

Think of something nice
Fragrant lemon trees
I can feel the speaking sky
I don't want to know
It's filling up the air
Red chair fade away....
Red chair fade away....

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Im So Bad

Cant seem to find my way
Someone tell me what to say
Where am I going
Where did I come from
I dont know, I dont know
Almost got to paradise
But the smoke always gets
In my eyes
Everything I do is wrong
Im so bad . . . so bad
Late at night, theyre asleep
Im awake, get the urge
Hit the street, jump a curb
Alleyway, dark and wet
Set the trap, I forget
Who I am. but I know
Ill get you . . Im so bad
I was born inside a cage
Never knew anything but rage
Although I tried so hard to adjust
Love is something I dont understand
Take what I need and I get what I can
Oh . . . Im so bad
I wake up in the morning so tired
Dreamt that I was walking through fire
The fire didnt hurt me though
Were old friends
Cant seem to find my way
Someone tell me what to say
Everything I do is wrong
Pass the time, lie in bed
Hotel room, t.v. set
Got to move, might be dead
Catch a ride, Im awake
Join a crowd, hidden blade
Buy a drink, you better pray
I dont get you
Im so bad . . . so bad

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Adopted

i was adopted at my birth, they paid my mother
what they thought it was worth. (medical bills)
she said that she could not care for me
she was too young and wanted to be free.

i was raised by two adoptive parents
who had loved me from the start.
and swore they would never break my heart.
they gave me all that i could want or desire
and their love grew like a flaming fire.

they were always honest with me
and they told me about my mothers plight
and with her parents, she did fight.

in her mind:
she knew that her mother had to give her away
but in her heart, she did pray.

mother! why did'nt you fight to keep me?
everyone is struggling in this economy.

you left without a sign or trace
and i want so much to see your face.

my loving adoptive parents told me from the start
that you had left, but with a broken heart.
every night i have a vision of you in my mind
and you're crying and asking why.

i've gotten permission to finally meet you
i'm so scared, i don't know what to do.
how will i react? what will i say?
so to the LORD i will pray.

when we finally met, we both broke down.
but they were tears of joy and happiness
that a mother and daughter share.
she kissed me and wiped away my tear.
she told me that it was the smartest move she made
for your adoptive parents, love you
more than words can say.

now i have two mothers with whom
i could share my love, and it was given
to me from the LORD up above.

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For The Love Of You (Part 1 & 2)

Yeah well-well-well-yeah-hey
Yeah hey-hey ooo!
Driftin' on a memory
Ain't no place I'd rather be
Then with you yeah
Loving you well-well-well
Day will make a way for night
I'll we'll need is candle lights
And a song yeah
Soft and long
Well-ooo!
Glad to be here alone
With a lover unlike no other
Sad to see-he a new horizon
Slowly comin' into view yeah
I wanna be living for the love of you
Ah yes I am
All that I'm giving is for the love of you
Alright now yes
Ooo! lovely as a ray of sun
That touches me when the mornin' comes
Feels good to me yeah
My love and me well
Smoother than a gentle breeze
Flowin' through my mind with ease
Soft as can be well
When you're lovin' me
When you're lovin' me
Ooo!
Love to be right in the waves
Of your love enchanted with
A touch and
It seems to me
We could sail together
In and out of mystery
Well I wanna be living
For the love of you
Alright now
All that I'm giving
Is for the love of you
You got me girl
I wanna be living
For the love of you
Alright now
All that I'm giving-giving
Is for the love of you
Oh yes I am
Paradise I have within
Can't feel insecure again
You're the key
Well and this I see
Oh I see
Now and then I lose my way
Using words that try to say
What I feel yeah
Love is real
Oh love is real ooo!
I might as well sign my name
On a card which could say it better
Time will tell cause it seems
That I done just about all that I can do
I know that I'm livin'
For the love of you
Oh yes

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Creative Perceptions

Artist appropriate palette prepares
as poet intuitive channels and shares -
perceptions highlighted in paint or in rhyme,
on screen, paper, canvas, [b]rushed, touched outside Time.
Each reaches out writing, foresighting, prepares
stalls [f]rigid for music of spirit sublime.
But few can interpret the talent they praise
in the style of an artist in true paraphrase.

(24 September 2005 robi03_1306)

Bridgework
Artists palette, paints, prepare,
poets channel insight rare.
One canvas fills, one paper inks,
imagination interlinks.

Each respective stream compares
perceptions, self-respecting, thinks
perspectives sensitively, shares
intuitive fruition, links
symphonic patterns, well aware
individuals everywhere
sense beauty way beyond time's brink -
horizons widen, never shrink.

Images accompany
free originality.

(7 May 2008 variant of As Artist, Poet robi03_1396_robi03_0986 16 February 2002 robi03_0986 and also variant of Creative Perceptions
24 September 2005 robi03_1306_robi03_0986)

As Artist, Poet
As artists palette, paints, prepare
so poets channel insight rare.
One canvas fills, one paper inks,
the foremost and the least of links.

Both tune respective streams, compare
perspective, sensitively share
where, true to self there neither sinks
as each through intuitions thinks
the way to harmony, aware
that perfect strangers anywhere
may beauty sense beyond time's brink -
horizons widen, never shrink.

Both pictures form, accompany
creative thrust with spirit free.

(16 February 2002 robi03_0986)

for previous version see below
As Artist, Poet
As artists palette, paints, prepare
so poets insight channel, air: -
one canvas fills, one paper inks,
the foremost and the least of links.
Both tune respective streams with rare
sensitive perspective, care.
When true to self then neither sinks
as each through intuitions thinks
the way to harmony, to share
with perfect strangers anywhere
how beauty may beyond the brink
horizons widen, never shrink.
Both pictures form, accompany
creative thrust with spirit free...

(16 February 2002)

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