Posted on 01/02/2006 7:52:08 AM PST by Soaring Feather
Geek and Judy, I thought you may like to see this. It will be posted here in the Lair only.
Please feel free to visit us ANY time.
http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-chat/1550597/posts?page=517#517
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Excellent chapter, I Corinthians 13. I suspect part of my love of poetry was forged in my youth through reading the Old King James version. To me, it conveys the truth in such beauty.
Psalms is also loaded with beautiful verses.
Also KUDOS on your poem to your husband. To me it conveys that the little things in life are the sweetest.
I suspect a lot of people younger than I am who didn't grow up with the KJV will lose a lot just in how words go together...I prefer to study other versions, but the poetry when it's done right, like in the psalms is outstanding.
Love IS in the little things, day after day, in sickness and health, through crisis and joy, and the commitment and choices we make. IMHO!
Your poem of love was excellent, and so true on so many levels.
Love is the morter amid the stones of life, and what you build is shaped by that love into palaces grand, or cottages snug.
Good Morning.
This is a part of a longer piece on the Passion I am working on:
Waiting
The smell of blood was in the air, the smell of fear, the smell of death
as the slow process of the execution continued,
long after those who came to taunt got bored
and wandered off back into the city, the day's excitement over.
It takes time to die from pain and exposure and the need to breathe,
a tedious process.
The soldiers made themselves as comfortable as possible,
looking up at their charges from time to time, settling down for the long wait.
Dice passed the time, some, and the same stale jokes,
and daydreams about what to do once they left this crazed country,
Some onlookers stayed behind, women mostly.
The soldiers glanced their way from time to time,
occasionally exchanging a comment about this one or that.
These were not the type of women that looked at soldiers, though,
but instead, their eyes and hearts stayed focused on the man from Gallilee.
They held each other close, this knot of women
Chaperoned by a young man, almost a boy, sad and determined,
all bound by love and fear and shock and grief,
the need to pray, the need to mourn, the need to witness.
Swatting a fly, the centurion looked away from the women,
and thought about his mother, and his father's farm,
and wondered, not for the first time, why he became a soldier
Very good Knitting.
Puts one right there at the scene.
GD touching Judy = Physical Orgasmification !!!
GD reading bentfeather = Mental Orgasmification !!!
GD does 'em Simultaneously = Car Dee Yak A Rest !!!
Further Instructions: DNR !!! ;-))
You're so bad Geek!
You don't need further instructions. ;-))
Read later
Hello and Welcome to The Dragonflies' Lair.
Why I Burnt Down Hennesseys Pub Ta Save Me Life!
I woke up wid a head a thick as day old mud,
an breath ta knock the dairy mans orse over.
Me eyes, bloody red they was, like red meat n clover,
hin fer some reason me knuckles is raw wid blood.
now, I was sure me jacket hadnt smell so bad I put it on,
but by mornings light ya notice the vomit, just there.
Hin me pants was a sight, the seat needed patchn wid care,
or me bits might see ta light o day wit me passed out o da lawn.
Me moneys spent, the whiskeys gone, like me mind,
hin Iva bangn ead like ha pounded dustbin lid.
Ta Landlord says pay up, or hell soon be of me rid,
hin Iv na reason to doubt a notice one day ta find.
I lost me motorcar somewhere ta weeks ago,
hin cant remember where hin when I did.
Lost twenty quid ta get me sink unstuck a dat whiskey lid,
hin him telln me he was put off by ta smell ya know!
Me head aches most days now, except when hin a pub,
and then its na too clear then either, blurry, bleery from beer.
Ta barmaid hit me last night, screamn I should be home I fear,
hin den I realized hit were me wife, now dats a scary rub!
I crawed ahome a hurtn, and me clothes dont fit so well,
hin deres five kinds of lipstick scattered here hin dere!
I tionk hit were a party, in some bottle littered lair,
life used ta be so easy, till the pub moved in, hin now its hell,
Mary, Mary, Grieving Mother
O Mary, Mary, grieving mother,
in the shadow of his cross,
How deep the sword cuts in your heart now,
O such love at such a loss.
O Mary, Mary, grieving mother,
Joining prayer and pain with him,
How deep the sword cuts in your heart now,
As the sky grows dark and dim.
O Mary, Mary, grieving mother,
Calm and resolute you pray
Though deep the sword cuts in your heart now
Your eyes on Jesus only stay.
O Mary, Mary, grieving mother,
The Father lends you strength to stand
As deep the sword cuts in your heart now,
Those with you weep and hold your hand.
O Mary, Mary, grieving mother,
Your wounded son cries out with death
As sharp the sword cuts in your heart now,
As he gives up his last breath.
O Mary, Mary, grieving mother,
Holding your poor battered Son,
Embrace the sword within your heart now -
But know the Father's will is done.
O Mary, Mary, grieving mother,
Covering his poor battered head
How deep the sword within your heart now
As you tuck him in his final bed.
O Mary, Mary, grieving mother,
Your sorrow reaches Heaven's height,
Martyred in your sword-pierced heart now -
Angels weeping at the sight.
(My mind is getting ready for Lent, I see...)
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