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In the Line of Fire

Silver bullet zings
its sling
across - the air
catapulting into
harms way
Aiming horizontally
to pierce
the heart.

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The Nature of an Un-Dead Man

He threw the ball for five miles it reached,
The route to put the shot was black and dark
In the middle of a forest at night, fully dark;
It was perhaps what? It was a sacred instrument

But a silver bullet, one for the masters of least leniency,
He was to spread the monster of an un-dead nature
On the floor of the forest where the wild mushrooms were found;
It may be different, but this man was unfed by dread

And he left his soul to the dead, like a man who fed
The life of evil, and scourges happened from him,
He left the messages of old that were ours;
Just so that he did, he left us for he hated us, and when should he die?

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Pull Out The Pin

Just as we hit the green,
Ive never been so happy to be alive.
Only seven miles behind
You could smell the child,
The smell of the front lines survival.
With my silver buddha
And my silver bullet,
(I pull the pin.)
You learn to ride the earth,
When youre living on your belly and the enemy are city-births.
Who need radar? we use scent.
They stink of the west, stink of sweat.
Stink of cologne and baccy, and all their yankee hash.
With my silver buddha
And my silver bullet,
(Im pulling on the pin,)
Ooh, I pull out, pull out the pin.
(pulling on the pin, oh...)
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
And I love life!
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
And I love life!
I love life!
I love life!
Ive seen the coat for me.
Ill track him til he drops,
Then Ill pop him one he wont see.
Hes big and pink, and not like me.
He sees no light.
He sees no reason for the fighting
With my silver buddha
And my silver bullet.
(Im pulling on the pin,)
Ooh, I pull out, pull out the pin.
(pulling on the pin, oh...)
I had not seen his face,
til Im only feet away
Unbeknown to my prey.
I look in american eyes.
I see little life,
See little wife.
Hes striking violence up in me.
With my silver buddha
And my silver bullet.
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
And I love life!
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
And I love life!
I love life!
I love life!
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
And I love life!
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
And I love life!
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
And I love life!
I love life!
I love life!

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First, I do not think there is any silver bullet to solving the technology side of the security equation.

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Werewolf

Waiting for the silver bullet
howling at the moon.
All his pain in one last cry.
Men with guns and torches
are coming closer now.
In their eyes a savage lust.
Society must always kill
what it cannot understand.

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I Walk In The Morning Light /peace In My Heart

I walk in the morning light
Peace in my heart
Calm in my soul-

But I have so many problems
Major worries-
Why now ‘Peace? ’

Morning light is only
For a certain time of day
It will go away soon
And the world will enter,
And then I can be troubled
And think and think again-

Now just for now
Let me be Quiet.

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There Is The Dark Night Inside Of My Heart

There is the dark night inside of my heart
But I am hopping that God will come this way and bright up my heart With a candle an a lighter so whe can light the candle and bright up my Heart
So the kid that sleeps in my heart doesn't have to sleep in my heart
Because that is the first night and the first time that the kid sleeps Inside my heart and he is afraid of the dark to be honest with you

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The Girl Who Tamed A Poets Heart

Those words which screamed out
From a heart into a silent world
Those passionate dreams once known
Of a love which seem to be a stranger
The lyrics and the verse which sang
To love, to a love they longed to find
All fell silent, all slept sound

She came from such silence
Full beauty body, heart and mind
Her words touched and soothed
The mind of a poet like never before
The wild tempest which once reigned
The heart and the imagination
Each word which built their world
Now spoke softly to a love they knew
Now whispered gently her name

She came as though called
To answer each prayer and wish
She took the heart in her hands
And cradled it in a kiss
She tamed its wild passion
And heard it sing anew
To the girl who tamed a poets heart
I shall forever love you

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The Way We Make A Broken Heart

(john hiatt)
Just a one more kiss
Hell have to miss
This night with you
Now youre guilty of this secret love as I am too
Youll get used to telling lies
And feeling sorry when he cries
Now that the strings are attached
Hell catch on, weve done our part
cause this is the way we make a broken heart
Lesson number one
Weve just begun
To hurt him so
And with lesson two
Hell long for you
When lights are low
Then we get to lesson three
Where he gets down on his knees
And begs you to stop at the door
Just before he comes apart
And this is the way we make a broken heart
Now weve layed a trail of tears
For him to follow
And weve thought of every line
That he might swallow
And with lesson four
Therell be no more
For him to bear
And on some dark night
Well dim the lights
On this affair
Then hell find somebody new
And she will hurt him too
cause there must be millions just like you and me
Practiced in the art
This is the way we make a broken heart
Oh, this is the way we make a broken heart
This is the way we make a broken heart

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I Want To Be The Boy That Warms Your Mothers Heart

I want to be the boy that warms your mothers heart
Im so scared to take you away
I tried to win her over right from the start
But something always got in the way
Weve been sitting in your backyard for hours
But she wont even come out and say hi
While my mother baked a little cake for you
And even dreaded when you said goodbye
What kind of cartwheels do I have to pull?
What kind of joke should I lay on her now?
Im inclined to go finish high school
Just to make her notice that Im around
Well nothing I come up with seems to work
It feels like everything I say is a lie
And never have a felt like such a jerk
Im afraid to even open my eyes
Because I really dont want her to judge me
I want to her really know who I am
And then, and only then she will love me
Well at least that was the plan
If ever a boy needed a holiday
If ever a girl needed someone to hold
I just hope I dont act the same way
By the time that I get old
I never said I was the heir to a fortune
I never claimed to have any looks
But these kind of things must be important
Because somebody ripped out my page
In your telephone book
I want to warm her heart

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The Silver Moon

The silver moon is set;
The Pleiades are gone;
Half the long night is spent, and yet
I lie alone.

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The Silver Moon

The silver moon is up, the sterling silver down,
Lucinda comes down to sup, in elegant evening gown.
Without, in starlit darkness, dreaming is the town,
within, the beams of happiness are streaming from her crown.
Golden chestnut tresses, soft eyes of honey brown,
my prayer's that ne'er her features fair should frame care, wear, wear frown.
Should sorrows wear or grieve her, then groundless life would sound.
Lucinda is dressing for dinner in gossamer evening gown.

(23 March 1975)

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The Silver Treasure

Blessings have depths but no measure
For the hearts benchmark the Silver Treasure
Gatherings of the life that ages earn
Gather on the head with a silvery turn
Children call'em white & learn they are grey
Sparkles of sunlight have smiles on every ray
Skin is like a bed dwelling in viscous oil
Hair we talk of coir wraped in a silver foil
Days which they lived are countless wrinkles
Eyes have fog in hopes & hope in them twinkles
Our breaths have such assets backed by these banks
For this silvery treasure, let us pay golden thanks
Thoughts of every new mile without bliss of the old
Is it possible to live without this treasure being told...

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Where's The Silver?

Colors, colors everywhere
Colors all around

Reds and purples and blues are there
But silver can't be found

I look around, and now I've found some yellows and some greens
I look until my eyes are sore, but silver can't be seen

I look unto the vibrant clouds, but there's no silver lining
Where is all the silver that the miners should be mining?

There are no silver bells a'ringing
The silver songbirds are not singing
The orange sun hangs in the air, but I can't find silver anywhere

I look for hours, look for days, look for silver anyplace
But there always seems to be another color in it's place

I've given up this useless search
There is no silver left to find
I dropp my head and start to cry
When out of my pocket falls a silver dime

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Man On The Silver Mountain (Live)

I'm a wheel,I'm a wheel
I can roll,I can feel
And you can't stop me turning
Cause I'm the sun,I'm the sun
I can move,I can run
But you'll never stop me burning
Come down with fire
Life my spirit higher
Someone's screaming my name
Come and make me holy again
I'm the man on the silver mountain
I'm the man on the silver mountain
I'm the day,I'm the day
I can show you the way
And look I'm right beside you
I'm the night,I'm the night
I'm the dark and the light
With eyes that see inside you
Come down with fire
Life my spirit higher
Someone's screaming my name
Come and make me holy again
I'm the man on the silver mountain
I'm the man on the silver mountain
Come down with fire
Life my spirit higher
Someone's screaming my name
Come and make me holy again
I'm the man on the silver mountain
I'm the man on the silver mountain
Just look at me and listen
I'm the man,the man,give you my hand
Come down with fire
Life my spirit higher
I'm the man on the silver mountain
I'm the man on the silver mountain
I'm the night and the light
I'm the black and the white
The man on the silver mountain

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Man On The Silver Mountain

I'm a wheel, I'm a wheel
I can roll, I can feel
And you can't stop me turning
Cause I'm the sun, I'm the sun
I can move, I can run
But you'll never stop me burning
Come down with fire
Lift my spirit higher
Someone's screaming my name
Come and make me holy again
I'm the man on the silver mountain
I'm the man on the silver mountain
I'm the day, I'm the day
I can show you the way
And look, I'm right beside you
I'm the night, I'm the night
I'm the dark and the light
With eyes that see inside you
Come down with fire
Lift my spirit higher
Someone's screaming my name
Come and make me holy again
I'm the man on the silver mountain
I'm the man on the silver mountain
Come down with fire
And lift my spirit higher
Someone's screaming my name
Come and make me holy again
Well, I can help you, you know I can
I'm the man on the silver mountain
I'm the man on the silver mountain
Just look at me and listen
I'm the man, the man, give you my hand
I'm the man on the silver mountain
Come down with fire
And lift your spirit higher
I'm the man on the mountain
The man on the silver mountain
I'm the night, the light
The black and the white
The man on the silver mountain

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Rick Frishman The Publicity Guru

Bestselling author and speaker is Rick Frishman,
he is an expert on teaching publicity first hand.
He has a great website for writers to boot,
www.rickfrishman.com and he shows writers how to toot.
Toot your own horn to get on radio or t.v.,
he promoted author Barbara De Angelis for all the world to see,
See how helpful her self-help books can really be.
Rick also does a seminar that helps authors go into print,
leading them away from "print on demand" to NYC giants.
Now I went to Las Vegas and met Rick Frishman there,
He is very personable and really does care.
I have couple of his books, "Show me about Book Publishing"
I bought this book last year,
"Author 101 Bestselling Book Publicity", which makes publicity very clear.
Very good resource books that I keep very near
Rick gives a lot of information in all his books I read,
I will reread all of them and take heed.
I now make my "silver bullet" or elevator speech,
to give my books a "hook" and make them succeed.
Thank you Rick Frishman for sharing your knowledge
with all new writers and me.

Written by Suzae Chevalier on August 23,2011
www.purplepoems.com www.christinasunrise.com
www.suzaechevalier.com www.puppetpoems.com

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The One With A Silver Thorn (By Mimi C Mata)

With insubordinate step;
You go looking onward
across your pastures...
Where restless roses
lay their heads.

You see that she is no other
than the rose
with a silver thorn.

You know the one
that frightens you,
when you wish to gather
her magnificence
in your hands...

velvet petals; trembling
rolling off to shiver
in other distances...

Submerging her fragrant fragments
in one of the cold lakes
that drown her merciless dreams
for a voice.

You ponder:
and have lost the peripheral
vision in dire quest
for another soul to touch...

And you ask,
Have I fallen in love
with the one with a silver thorn?

And suddenly your darkness pauses
As all the stars shut their eyes...
Every so often blinking
in thoughtful precaution
for the blinded steps that you make,

Towards the one with a silver thorn...

They are silent
they have no answer
they do not know
they do not understand...

Forget their gestures
of leaving you...

For a single thought
twilights a profound desire
for the drowning muddled fate
that beckons...

She awaits;
the one with the silver thorn...

'Forget about the blood sacrificed
for her soul has already died'...

The stars say...

So you jump with unsteady feet
into the mysterious cold lake
to save the one whose stem
your heart wishes to clench...

The one with the silver thorn

Suddenly your darkness pauses
and all the stars shut their eyes
no longer blinking...

They have left you,

They are silent
they have no answer
they do not know
they do not understand...

How your heart wishes to clench
with desire with love
the stem of the one...

With the silver thorn.

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The Meeting Of The Dryads

IT was not many centuries since,
When, gathered on the moonlit green,
Beneath the Tree of Liberty,
A ring of weeping sprites was seen.

The freshman's lamp had long been dim,
The voice of busy day was mute,
And tortured Melody had ceased
Her sufferings on the evening flute.

They met not as they once had met,
To laugh o'er many a jocund tale
But every pulse was beating low,
And every cheek was cold and pale.

There rose a fair but faded one,
Who oft had cheered them with her song;
She waved a mutilated arm,
And silence held the listening throng.

'Sweet friends,' the gentle nymph began,
'From opening bud to withering leaf,
One common lot has bound us all,
In every change of joy and grief.

'While all around has felt decay,
We rose in ever-living prime,
With broader shade and fresher green,
Beneath the crumbling step of Time.

'When often by our feet has past
Some biped, Nature's walking whim,
Say, have we trimmed one awkward shape,
Or lopped away one crooked limb?

'Go on, fair Science; soon to thee
Shall. Nature yield her idle boast;
Her vulgar fingers formed a tree,
But thou halt trained it to a post.

'Go, paint the birch's silver rind,
And quilt the peach with softer down;
Up with the willow's trailing threads,
Off with the sunflower's radiant crown!

'Go, plant the lily on the shore,
And set the rose among the waves,
And bid the tropic bud unbind
Its silken zone in arctic caves;

'Bring bellows for the panting winds,
Hang up a lantern by the moon,
And give the nightingale a fife,
And lend the eagle a balloon!

'I cannot smile,--the tide of scorn,
That rolled through every bleeding vein,
Comes kindling fiercer as it flows
Back to its burning source again.

'Again in every quivering leaf
That moment's agony I feel,
When limbs, that spurned the northern blast,
Shrunk from the sacrilegious steel.

'A curse upon the wretch who dared
To crop us with his felon saw!
May every fruit his lip shall taste
Lie like a bullet in his maw.

'In every julep that he drinks,
May gout, and bile, and headache be;
And when he strives to calm his pain,
May colic mingle with his tea.

'May nightshade cluster round his path,
And thistles shoot, and brambles cling;
May blistering ivy scorch his veins,
And dogwood burn, and nettles sting.

'On him may never shadow fall,
When fever racks his throbbing brow,
And his last shilling buy a rope
To hang him on my highest bough!'

She spoke;--the morning's herald beam
Sprang from the bosom of the sea,
And every mangled sprite returned
In sadness to her wounded tree.

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The Silver Wedding

The silver Wedding! on some pensive ear
From towers remote as sound the silvery bells,
To-day from one far unforgotten year
A silvery faint memorial music swells.

And silver-pale the dim memorial light
Of musing age on youthful joys is shed,
The golden joys of fancy’s dawning bright,
The golden bliss of, Woo’d, and won, and wed.

Ah, golden then, but silver now! In sooth,
The years that pale the cheek, that dim the eyes,
And silver o’er the golden hairs of youth,
Less prized can make its only priceless prize.

Not so; the voice this silver name that gave
To this, the ripe and unenfeebled date,
For steps together tottering to the grave,
Hath bid the perfect golden title wait.

Rather, if silver this, if that be gold,
From good to better changed on age’s track,
Must it as baser metal be enrolled,
That day of days, a quarter-century back.

Yet ah, its hopes, its joys were golden too,
But golden of the fairy gold of dreams
To feel is but to dream; until we do,
There’s nought that is, and all we see but seems;

What was or seemed it needed cares and tears,
And deeds together done, and trials past,
And all the subtlest alchemy of years,
To change to genuine substance here at last.

Your fairy gold is silver sure to-day;
Your ore by crosses many, many a loss,
As in refiners’ fires, hath purged away
What erst it had of earthy human dross.

Come years as many yet, and as they go,
In human life’s great crucible shall they
Transmute, so potent are the spells they know,.
Into pure gold the silver of to-day.

Strange metallurge is human life! ’Tis true;
And Use and Wont in many a gorgeous case
Full specious fair for casual outward view
Electrotype the sordid and the base.

Nor lack who praise, avowed, the spurious ware,
Who bid young hearts the one true love forego,
Conceit to feed, or fancy light as air,
Or greed of pelf and precedence and show.

True, false, as one to casual eyes appear,
To read men truly men may hardly learn;
Yet doubt it not that wariest glance would here
Faith, Hope and Love, the true Tower-stamp discern.

Come years again! as many yet! and purge
Less precious earthier elements away,
And gently changed at life’s extremest verge,
Bring bright in gold your perfect fiftieth day!

That sight may children see and parents show!
If not—yet earthly chains of metal true,
By love and duty wrought and fixed below,
Elsewhere will shine, transformed, celestial-new;

Will shine of gold, whose essence, heavenly bright,
No doubt-damps tarnish, worldly passions fray;
Gold into gold there mirrored, light in light,
Shall gleam in glories of a deathless day.

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English Eclogues V - The Witch

NATHANIEL.
Father! here father! I have found a horse-shoe!
Faith it was just in time, for t'other night
I laid two straws across at Margery's door,
And afterwards I fear'd that she might do me
A mischief for't. There was the Miller's boy
Who set his dog at that black cat of hers,
I met him upon crutches, and he told me
'Twas all her evil eye.


FATHER.
'Tis rare good luck;
I would have gladly given a crown for one
If t'would have done as well. But where did'st find it?


NATHANIEL.
Down on the Common; I was going a-field
And neighbour Saunders pass'd me on his mare;
He had hardly said 'good day,' before I saw
The shoe drop off; 'twas just upon my tongue
To call him back,--it makes no difference, does it.
Because I know whose 'twas?


FATHER.
Why no, it can't.
The shoe's the same you know, and you 'did find' it.


NATHANIEL.
That mare of his has got a plaguey road
To travel, father, and if he should lame her,
For she is but tender-footed,--


FATHER.
Aye, indeed--
I should not like to see her limping back
Poor beast! but charity begins at home,
And Nat, there's our own horse in such a way
This morning!


NATHANIEL.
Why he ha'nt been rid again!
Last night I hung a pebble by the manger
With a hole thro', and every body says
That 'tis a special charm against the hags.


FATHER.
It could not be a proper natural hole then,
Or 'twas not a right pebble,--for I found him
Smoking with sweat, quaking in every limb,
And panting so! God knows where he had been
When we were all asleep, thro' bush and brake
Up-hill and down-hill all alike, full stretch
At such a deadly rate!--


NATHANIEL.
By land and water,
Over the sea perhaps!--I have heard tell
That 'tis some thousand miles, almost at the end
Of the world, where witches go to meet the Devil.
They used to ride on broomsticks, and to smear
Some ointment over them and then away
Out of the window! but 'tis worse than all
To worry the poor beasts so. Shame upon it
That in a Christian country they should let
Such creatures live!


FATHER.
And when there's such plain proof!
I did but threaten her because she robb'd
Our hedge, and the next night there came a wind
That made me shake to hear it in my bed!
How came it that that storm unroofed my barn,
And only mine in the parish? look at her
And that's enough; she has it in her face--
A pair of large dead eyes, rank in her head,
Just like a corpse, and purs'd with wrinkles round,
A nose and chin that scarce leave room between
For her lean fingers to squeeze in the snuff,
And when she speaks! I'd sooner hear a raven
Croak at my door! she sits there, nose and knees
Smoak-dried and shrivell'd over a starved fire,
With that black cat beside her, whose great eyes
Shine like old Beelzebub's, and to be sure
It must be one of his imps!--aye, nail it hard.


NATHANIEL.
I wish old Margery heard the hammer go!
She'd curse the music.


FATHER.
Here's the Curate coming,
He ought to rid the parish of such vermin;
In the old times they used to hunt them out
And hang them without mercy, but Lord bless us!
The world is grown so wicked!


CURATE.
Good day Farmer!
Nathaniel what art nailing to the threshold?


NATHANIEL.
A horse-shoe Sir, 'tis good to keep off witchcraft,
And we're afraid of Margery.


CURATE.
Poor old woman!
What can you fear from her?


FATHER.
What can we fear?
Who lamed the Miller's boy? who rais'd the wind
That blew my old barn's roof down? who d'ye think
Rides my poor horse a'nights? who mocks the hounds?
But let me catch her at that trick again,
And I've a silver bullet ready for her,
One that shall lame her, double how she will.


NATHANIEL.
What makes her sit there moping by herself,
With no soul near her but that great black cat?
And do but look at her!


CURATE.
Poor wretch! half blind
And crooked with her years, without a child
Or friend in her old age, 'tis hard indeed
To have her very miseries made her crimes!
I met her but last week in that hard frost
That made my young limbs ache, and when I ask'd
What brought her out in the snow, the poor old woman
Told me that she was forced to crawl abroad
And pick the hedges, just to keep herself
From perishing with cold, because no neighbour
Had pity on her age; and then she cried,
And said the children pelted her with snow-balls,
And wish'd that she were dead.


FATHER.
I wish she was!
She has plagued the parish long enough!


CURATE.
Shame farmer!
Is that the charity your bible teaches?


FATHER.
My bible does not teach me to love witches.
I know what's charity; who pays his tithes
And poor-rates readier?


CURATE.
Who can better do it?
You've been a prudent and industrious man,
And God has blest your labour.


FATHER.
Why, thank God Sir,
I've had no reason to complain of fortune.


CURATE.
Complain! why you are wealthy. All the parish
Look up to you.


FATHER.
Perhaps Sir, I could tell
Guinea for guinea with the warmest of them.


CURATE.
You can afford a little to the poor,
And then what's better still, you have the heart
To give from your abundance.


FATHER.
God forbid
I should want charity!


CURATE.
Oh! 'tis a comfort
To think at last of riches well employ'd!
I have been by a death-bed, and know the worth
Of a good deed at that most awful hour
When riches profit not.
Farmer, I'm going
To visit Margery. She is sick I hear--
Old, poor, and sick! a miserable lot,
And death will be a blessing. You might send her
Some little matter, something comfortable,
That she may go down easier to the grave
And bless you when she dies.


FATHER.
What! is she going!
Well God forgive her then! if she has dealt
In the black art. I'll tell my dame of it,
And she shall send her something.


CURATE.
So I'll say;
And take my thanks for her's. ['goes']


FATHER.
That's a good man
That Curate, Nat, of ours, to go and visit
The poor in sickness; but he don't believe
In witchcraft, and that is not like a christian.


NATHANIEL.
And so old Margery's dying!


FATHER.
But you know
She may recover; so drive t'other nail in!

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