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Posted on 10/17/2005 9:03:55 PM PDT by Soaring Feather
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Shall we then
meet
when the darkness sweeps us up
like the scattering of leaves
on a long autumn's night
dancing in the wind,
meeting as one year
progresses into the next,
excitement in our hearts,
transition the hope
of new birth?
Shall we wander
along the dark paths,
wander watching the prodigal stars
scatter their dust upon an unknowing landscape,
atom by atom,
with that crystalline call
that makes us yearn to eternity?
Shall we wait, instead,
hovering like snowflakes
on boughs of blue-green spruce,
white purity
twinkling in the winter sun,
Dangling like the last drop
of a crystal icecle,
poised to fall
soon as the weather warms?
Or shall we instead,
walk together this morning,
our words hovering about us
perhaps like a protective halo,
guarding us
from who knows what,
perhaps a soon forgotten moment of innocence
glimmering in our unquenched hopes,
or perhaps, instead,
our words might become the doorway to a truth
we hadn't seen before.
Who would have thought we could
have this time together,
You and I?
Good morning!!
Oh my goodness, this is wonderful. Thank You.
Dear Feather
I would indeed love to tell you of caverns deep, and pots of gold, amid the elfin glens, but due to the grinch, I will be off line for a while. Know I will return when I can, and until then have a happy holiday, and thanks for sharing this warm lair with all of us wonderful, (and I think, slightly crazy) people!
Dear Johnn,
Know you add so much to The Lair.
Please know you will be missed. I look forward to your return very soon.
Happy New Year, dear friend.
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Beautiful poem and presentation. Thank You.
LOL -- I sort of cheated and used the same frames as on the Dante's prayer one -- sorry I'm too lazy! He he he!
Never noticed that to be honest. I think that frame is good to go for lots of poetry.
The poem is really so true, our troops want only to do their job and walk meekly in the crowds.
Today it was snowfall
under a sky growing blue,
a moment that makes you wonder
where
such a contrast could come from.
Too warm to snow,
I was feeding the birds
with no coat on,
the sparrows and chickadees
impatient.
But there it was.
I poured birdseed,
looked up at the blue sky,
and thought about God's sense of humour.
Good afternoon, KAC.
Lovely. Great images. And what a sense of humor you have as well. ;)
Watching the transformation
has been such a painful thing,
from curious, open, clever child,
tow haired and bright eyed,
to sullen adult
who has done everything just right
to be unhappy,
sad,
miserable,
looking everywhere but where he should
to fill that gap in his heart.
Remembering my youth
so long ago,
I have hopes
he will choose the light.
I fear
he will not last long enough to reach that point,
or get caught in the snares of his own hand.
My golden haired boy,
I weep for you,
not in anger
for the little wrongs you have done,
the small thefts,
the stupid decisions,
the drinking,
the lies,
but for the child who stole my heart
so long ago,
motherless and so in need,
little boy lost
who I will never see again.
Like David weeping for Absalom,
I kneel on the ground,
keening.
O Lord,
Hold him in your hands,
send your angels to watch over his steps,
and in the end,
may he find his way to you,
as surely as you led me.
Beautiful prayer. Thank You.
Honour's Martyr
by Emily Jane Brontë
The moon is full this winter night;
The stars are clear, though few;
And every window glistens bright,
With leaves of frozen dew.
The sweet moon through your lattice gleams
And lights your room like day;
And there you pass, in happy dreams,
The peaceful hours away!
While I, with effort hardly quelling
The anguish in my breast,
Wander about the silent dwelling,
And cannot think of rest.
The old clock in the gloomy hall
Ticks on, from hour to hour;
And every time its measured call
Seems lingering slow and slower:
And oh, how slow that keen-eyed star
Has tracked the chilly grey!
What, watching yet! how very far
The morning lies away!
Without your chamber door I stand;
Love, are you slumbering still?
My cold heart, underneath my hand,
Has almost ceased to thrill.
Bleak, bleak the east wind sobs and sighs,
And drowns the turret bell,
Whose sad note, undistinguished, dies
Unheard, like my farewell!
To-morrow, Scorn will blight my name,
And Hate will trample me,
Will load me with a coward's shame?
A traitor's perjury.
False friends will launch their covert sneers;
True friends will wish me dead;
And I shall cause the bitterest tears
That you have ever shed.
The dark deeds of my outlawed race
Will then like virtues shine;
And men will pardon their disgrace,
Beside the guilt of mine.
For, who forgives the accursed crime
Of dastard treachery?
Rebellion, in its chosen time,
May Freedom's champion be;
Revenge may stain a righteous sword,
It may be just to slay;
But, traitor, traitor, from that word
All true breasts shrink away!
Oh, I would give my heart to death,
To keep my honour fair;
Yet, I'll not give my inward faith
My honour's name to spare!
Not even to keep your priceless love,
Dare I, Beloved, deceive;
This treason should the future prove,
Then, only then, believe!
I know the path I ought to go;
I follow fearlessly,
Inquiring not what deeper woe
Stern duty stores for me.
So foes pursue, and cold allies
Mistrust me, every one:
Let me be false in others' eyes,
If faithful in my own.
A Prayer
by Sara Teasdale
Until I lose my soul and lie
Blind to the beauty of the earth,
Deaf though shouting wind goes by,
Dumb in a storm of mirth;
Until my heart is quenched at length
And I have left the land of men,
Oh, let me love with all my strength
Careless if I am loved again.
This day,
like so many others,
dawned,
and I awoke,
filled with the normal aches and stiffness,
and stumbled out of bed
my usual disheveled self
and yet,
this day which seems like so many others,
with the business of getting breakfast started
and making sure everybody is up
it is a day like no other,
another gift from you, O Lord,
God-breathed with the chance
to feel the touch of your hand on my life,
to taste the joy that comes from having these times alone with you,
for having the gift of children and husband to care for
and any one else you send my way,
for knowing that life is not a walk in the darkness,
but a marvelous journey,
sweet, sad,
frightening, exciting,
a gift of discovery
where, if we choose,
we can walk it with you,
and in the end, come home to you at last.
Teach me Lord,
to know that you are always with me,
even when the road is rough,
or busy,
or noisy,
or sad,
or happy,
and never to forget my final goal
to rest in your loving arms at last.
Beautiful prayer for today.
“Substance Over Symbolism”
Quote by Rush Limbaugh
Poetry by bentfeather
I put on my red dress today
It shows I support the troops
This symbolism like the peace sign
are works that are dead.
So shallow, so thinly veneered
so pleading for attention
the sadness under the red dress syndrome
a hollow empty action.
How hard it is to put a red dress on
this question I would ask.
It’s better to reach deep down
the purse and donate some money
to an injured service man or woman.
It’s action done without the brag
that holds the greater meaning
Who will remember a red dress worn
to show support of troops
When Cindy Sheehan trashed her dead son
touting her well spent grief.
A media harpy is her bag
look at me, look at me, and my grief
when so many others have the same plight
and move quietly through the days
to bury their loved ones ne’er to forget
the price their loved one paid.
A cold grave on homeland soil
the families, wrapped in tears
going home with folded flags
from the heroes grave.
No symbolism here
the agony deep inside
a hero from the country side
the ultimate price they paid.
Shake a hand, thank a vet
go the parades, let your support
be genuine without the bragging to masses
Silence runs deep it’s been told
which I believe to keep.
Drop the red dress symbolism
and show some substance instead.
12/30/05
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