Amy's Place ... Poetry and Potpourri ... February, 2011

2-1-2011 | JustAmy; St.Louie1; MamaBear; Billie; Meg33

[JustAmy]

Welcome To....


'Amy's Place' welcomes all poets
and those who enjoy poetry.
'Amy's Place' is more than just about poetry.
Come in, relax, and share with fellow FReepers
your thoughts about any of the things on the *Menu*.

Enjoy! :)











Never Forget!





Bad Penny



Amy's personal guardian ~
the ever charming, lovable, huggable,
LouieWolf




Many thanks for stopping by. : )

[ConorMacNessa]

Hi, Tiapam! Sorry, I don't know the breed.

Lamh Foistenach Abu!

[MEG33]

That’s great!
I love having the drapes open without turning my room into a refrigerator..That was the longest coldest spell I can remember here!

[MEG33]

Of An Irish Night Long Ago
By WayzataJOHNN

Hear it, that so soft whisper
like the wind in the hair of her
the woman you still dream of, even now
Her cascades of titan joy falling somehow
to shade her face with love’s mystery
through which you ached to see

Was she Elven magic or not
a mortal, or of some eternal lot
she was, and that was enough for me
Her eyes danced with the light you see
part mischief, and love, and time
as complex as any mortal’s rhyme

[MEG33]

Cat’s are Sooooo talented..LOL

[Dubya]

Thank you the sun is out here and I sure am glad.

[Dubya]

Yes very sad deal. I have a soft heart for animals.

[Dubya]

We need more Judges like him. :^)

[tiapam]

Me,too!

[tiapam]

:)

[Dubya]

The following poem was written by an anonymous soldier in Northern Ireland who foresaw his impending death.

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there; I did not die.

Like many elegies, the poem transforms a natural lament over death into a birth, a celebration of immortality. In fact, mutability, the inevitability and power of change, is at the heart of a form that so deeply meditates on death. Everything dies, the poet begins, and I am staggeringly saddened by it. I miss my departed loved ones so much I don’t know how I can go on. So I sing to death, to the departed who are still somehow a part of me. In my song, if I am lucky, death blossoms, becoming another necessary, beautiful part of the experience of life itself. I celebrate the departed. I honor the times we had. I celebrate, and I pass it on, preserving history and helping those who come after me to better understand the rituals that define and deepen human existence. And that is poetry as spiritual practice.

[Dubya]

Teams to Search Cambodia for Vietnam War MIAs

[WayzataJOHNN]

Meg,
Your picture dances so close to the truth it is breathtaking,once again you pick a winner with your usual grace. Thanks

[Dubya]

It's good to have a friend when you need one!

[tiapam]

Isn’t that the truth!! Very cute!!

[tiapam]

WOW! What a wonderful poem and graphic! Thank you!!

[tiapam]

WOW! Didn’t know 1,702 soldiers are still missing.

[tiapam]

Thank you so much for this!!

[Dubya]

Brady Rusk, 12, gets a somber kiss from Eli, a bomb-sniffing military working dog, during a retirement and adoption ceremony at Lackland Air Force Base, Texas, Feb. 3, 2011. The Labrador retriever was assigned to Brady's older brother, Marine Corps Pfc. Colton Rusk, who was killed in Afghanistan.
U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Bennie J. Davis III
click here for story

[MEG33]

Thank you, pam!

Getting ready for the Big Game

http://animal.discovery.com/tv/puppy-bowl/

;o)

[MEG33]

Sweet Dreams Everyone
I'll see you tomorrow