~The Dragon Flies Lair III~

October 18, 2003 | bentfeather

[Soaring Feather]

WOW WOW
SWOON!!!
Catching my breath here. That's Sublimely EXQUISITE

Thank you Triker.

[Trikebuilder]

Been away for a while, and thought you might like a poem for the ladies.

Hugs 'feather
Trike

[Trikebuilder]

Been away for a while, and thought you might like a poem for the ladies.

Hugs 'feather
Trike

[Trikebuilder]

Hey look, my computer hiccupped! Neat!!!

[Soaring Feather]

LOL! That happened to me yesterday!! hiccupped!! LOL
I am so pleased when you do stop by and leave we ladies a fabulous poem.

Thank you so much.

[Trikebuilder]

A poem for the Ladies of the Dragon Flies Lair is always a pleasure! Now for a change, you ladies can write some for us poorboys, (guys need appreciation too you know, otherwise we mop around a lot, and try manfully to hold back the tears of sadness. Really!) we're SCUM, (thats Sensitive Urban Males here yu know!)

Trike

[Soaring Feather]

Okay deal Triker. Next one I write will be a knock out guy poem.

*HUGS*

But remember when you see it, it may well be (well let's say steamy) at best!!

:-)

[Soaring Feather]

A Living Dream

In dark of night
my dream of dreams
I reach for you...
Look for you on the
edge of the stars
drifting lightly
on gossamer wings
the closer you seem
a distant gap
grows greater
hurrying dreams
across chasms
in galactic
realms.... I find
I cannot reach you...
You’re frozen hanging
in mid air out of reach
why are you elusive to me?

bentfeather
12/04/02

[Soaring Feather]

Wolf Call to Vincent

Times when the poetry flows and I drift along not aimlessly, but naturally—
a part of everything around me times when my
stubborness keeps me out of tune and I cannot hear
the harps softly plucking in the air, cause myself is the care.

Times when the healing rains become torrents of icy cold sleet,
when I’m alone against the world,
and I listen for the wolf to call and scream obscenities in my head times when alone is alone.

Vincent must have heard the cry—
perhaps when starry night was born—
and felt the healings rains when Sunflowers was born-

We’re alike he and I, a part of, yet not a part of- when sounds echo,
colors kaleidoscope on merry-go- rounds of life.

bentfeather
a/k/a LMH
Copyright ©1984
All Rights Reserved

This poem has been published many times.

[Soaring Feather]

Click on ms feather, radu.
Phil Collins is waiting for you.
"You'll Be In My Heart"

[radu]

AAAAAAAAAH!!!
Thank you for the dose of Phil Colins, ms. feather. Just what the doctor ordered after a crummy day. I'll sleep much better now.....very calming, Phil's voice is.
Love that new doll!!! The glitters really add pizazz!!

[radu]

The expensive Pecans arrived. Thank you every so much.

Glad to know the pecans made it. I hope you enjoy them.
Only cost me a little time on my hands and knees while gathering them. LOL! BUT....people around here who buy them in stores are paying an arm and a leg! They're going for $5 a pound!!!! Guess that's because the trees here had NO nuts last year. Supply and demand.
Maybe I should sell some of these "gold nuggets", huh? LOL!

Off to bed. Got here late tonight (hubby wouldn't surrender the 'puter) and I have to get up early. The car club is doing a last-minute cruise-in tomorrow.....we learned about it tonight. That's ok. They're fun and the weather's gorgeous these days.

[Soaring Feather]

Good morning everyone!
Happy Sunday to all.

[Soaring Feather]

My favourite bird.

Stepping Stones

The Lord came to me like a dream one day and asked, "why do you sorrow?"I answered, "Lord my life is so full of pain, I can't face one more tomorrow."

The Lord sat down beside me, and gently took my hand. He said, "Let Me explain to you, and then you'll understand.

Each sorrow is a stepping stone you must surmount each day....and every stepping stone you climb is a sorrow that's passed away.

The road of life is a mountainside, with crevices in which to be caught, But as you struggle on your way, I, the Rock, will lend support.

Every stepping stone you climb, makes spirit and heart grow strong. Exercising character and faith, this road seems painful and long.

The way is paved with stepping stones, to uplift your heart and soul, Though difficult, they aid your way, to a City paved with gold.

I know that you are tired, for I too have walked this way, My sorrows did they multiply, but I cleared many stones away.

I left My Rock to lift you up, I left behind My story. To give you strength to make your climb, to that special place in glory.

And never fear, the Rock is here, you'll never climb this mountain alone Surmount life's sorrows, continue on, for they are but stepping stones.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not to your own understanding. In all ways, acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths." Proverbs 3:5-6

[Soaring Feather]

From This Woman's Heart

I love you with all my breath
my heart... my soul...
I cherish you in every
waking moment
in dream land you're
there walking lightly
the inside of my mind...
reminding me...
it's you... it's you
how can you know
do you want to know?

Silently watching you
wanting you near me
to gently touch your face
hear your voice
see the smile of you melting my
strong reserve of resistence
to putty in your hands

Promise me the trip to stars
the stars of silence and glamour
of shooting arrows... comets tail
say yes, accept this gift
it's free...when you decide
you can handle my love for you
it will stop the pain racked days
away from you...
the ceremonies at midnight and dawn

We will be free to move toward one
another safely...
you have my heart, smile your smile...
I am your love...

feather (c)
01/24/03

[snippy_about_it]

Good morning feather. Another excellent poem.

[Soaring Feather]

Thank you snippy.

[SAMWolf]

Good Morning Everybody.

You Know The Drill
Click the Pics

Coffee & Donuts

[SAMWolf]

Trees



I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks to God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

Joyce Kilmer

[snippy_about_it]

That's some old music you have today SAM.