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-> The Social Scene
Ruchel
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Sun, Jan 10 2010, 11:29 am
Some wow poetry here, thank you for sharing!
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Zehava
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Wed, Jun 20 2012, 9:51 pm
I'm all confused
I'm all perplexed
I really can't explain
Childish emotions why do they swallow me
Deep inside
I try to hide
My little wounded pride
They can't detect the child within me
I cannot help but wonder why
Why years won’t wash away
Darkness loniness and despair
I know in my mind that the child inside
Has no reason to cry
With all my might I try to fight its fear
No matter how many years go by
How much sunshine fills my days
The child inside me will never die
And when the going gets rough people are tough
The pain too much to bear
The child inside will break down and cry
So when you hurt a little child
And think he will forget
Adult conversation he doesn’t understand
He doesn’t know
Your attitude won't show
Think of what you're doing with your hands
The hurt will linger in his heart
And years won't wash away
Your harsh words saying he's no good
And though he'll know in his mind that he's good inside
He'll struggle all his life
So have compassion please don’t be so rude
No matter how many years go by
And he's already grown
The child inside him will never die
Treat that child with care so in future years
When pain is too much to bear
He will have the strength to survive
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the world's best mom
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Mon, Feb 02 2015, 9:46 pm
I cam across this poem today and fell in love with it.
Read This Poem from the Bottom Up
By: Ruth Porritt
This simple cathedral of praise
How you made, from the bottom up,
Is for you to remember
Of Andromeda. What remains
Until you meet the ancient light
With your sight you can keep ascending
Its final transformation into space.
And uphold
The horizon’s urge to sculpt the sky
Puts into relief
Your family’s mountain land
Upon the rising air. In the distance
A windward falcon is open high and steady
Far above the tallest tree
Just beyond your height.
You see a young pine lifting its green spire
By raising your eyes
Out onto the roof deck.
You pass through sliding glass doors
And up to where the stairway ends.
To the top of the penultimate stanza
Past the second story,
But now you’re going the other way,
Line by line, to the bottom of the page.
A force that usually pulls you down,
Of moving against the gravity of habit,
While trying not to notice the effort
And feel what it’s like to climb stairs
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zaq
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Mon, Feb 02 2015, 10:48 pm
Invictus
William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
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Dandelion1
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Mon, Feb 02 2015, 11:01 pm
Jabberwocky
By Lewis Carroll
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
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Zehava
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Mon, Feb 02 2015, 11:13 pm
They taught me
That you are vengeful
That you hate
Anyone who deviates
Even one step
From their chosen path
The only true path
They said
They said you were to be found
Only in environments
Completely isolated
From what they consider impure
So as I slowly began
Untangling the lies
They wrapped me in
Banishing the guilt
Learning to breathe
To live
To laugh
To love
As I realized
That the rest of society
Aren't the monsters
I was raised to believe they are
And embraced all the ways
We were so much alike
I thought you were gone
That I will never
Feel you
In my heart again
I was wrong
Today
I found you
In an environment
Very unlike
I would have imagined
Nestled
In the space
Where ocean meets sky
In the aqua depths
Where pint sized fish
Build dome shaped homes
In the salty spray
Hitting my exposed skin
That should've never seen daylight
I realized
You are so filled with love
You created this world
That no painting can ever portray
You don't want me
To be confined
You want me to breathe
Live
Laugh
And love
You want me to soak in
The beauty
Of your design
Today
I found truth
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cinnamon
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Mon, Feb 02 2015, 11:53 pm
The Box
Once upon a time, in the land of Hush-A-Bye,
Around about the wondrous days of yore,
They came across a kind of box
Bound up with chains and locked with locks
And labeled 'Kindly do not touch; it's war.'
A decree was issued round about, and all with a flourish and a shout
And a gaily colored mascot tripping lightly on before.
Don't fiddle with this deadly box,Or break the chains, or pick the locks.
And please don't ever play about with war.
The children understood. Children happen to be good
And they were just as good around the time of yore.
They didn't try to pick the locksOr break into that deadly box.
They never tried to play about with war.
Mommies didn't either; sisters, aunts, grannies neither
'Cause they were quiet, and sweet, and pretty
In those wondrous days of yore.
Well, very much the same as now,
And not the ones to blame somehow
For opening up that deadly box of war.
But someone did. Someone battered in the lid
And spilled the insides out across the floor.
A kind of bouncy, bumpy ball made up of guns and flags
And all the tears, and horror, and death that comes with war.
It bounced right out and went bashing all about,
Bumping into everything in store.And what was sad and most unfair
Was that it didn't really seem to care
Much who it bumped, or why, or what, or for.
It bumped the children mainly. And I'll tell you this quite plainly,
It bumps them every day and more, and more,
And leaves them dead, and burned, and dying
Thousands of them sick and crying.
'Cause when it bumps, it's really very sore.
Now there's a way to stop the ball. It isn't difficult at all.
All it takes is wisdom, and I'm absolutely sure
That we can get it back into the box,And bind the chains, and lock the locks.
But no one seems to want to save the children anymore.
Well, that's the way it all appears, 'cause it's been bouncing round
for years and years
In spite of all the wisdom wizzed since those wondrous days of yore
And the time they came across the box,
Bound up with chains and locked with locks,
And labeled 'Kindly do not touch; it's war
****************
I Don't know who the author is and couldn't find a definit answer online. Does anyone know?
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