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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2015 6:00:24 GMT -5
This is about a girl I saw in a supermarket while I was shopping. I was a bit younger at the time, and I remembered just being so transfixed by her. She was so beautiful--almost impossibly beautiful! I just stood there staring, unable to look away. It was one of those surreal experiences where you don't know if you're dreaming or not. Thankfully she wasn't a dream, and as soon as I got home I wrote this poem about her. It was sort of a reminder of that experience.
I Could Not Take My Eyes Off Her
I could not take my eyes off her I tried but I couldn't A feeling in me began to stir As my eyes wondered where they shouldn't
Who is this being standing here? This vision of perfection Where did she come from, where!?! A place too beautiful to mention
Beautiful, perfect, gorgeous, angel These all seem appropriate To describe something that fell From a place I wish to associate
I wished the spell not broken I prayed her not a dream For what things God has given men And how beautiful life can sometimes seem.
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Poetry
Jul 19, 2015 6:50:55 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jul 19, 2015 6:50:55 GMT -5
I really like this poem by Edgar Allan Poe. It has an interesting perspective and a beautiful rhyme scheme. I really enjoyed it.
The Lake
In spring of youth it was my lot To haunt of the wide world a spot The which I could not love the less- So lovely was the loneliness Of a wild lake, with black rock bound, And the tall pines that towered around.
But when the Night had thrown her pall Upon that spot, as upon all, And the mystic wind went by Murmuring in melody- Then- ah then I would awake To the terror of the lone lake.
Yet that terror was not fright, But a tremulous delight- A feeling not the jewelled mine Could teach or bribe me to define- Nor Love- although the Love were thine.
Death was in that poisonous wave, And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his lone imagining- Whose solitary soul could make An Eden of that dim lake.
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Post by Ruby on Jul 19, 2015 10:02:09 GMT -5
I really like this poem by Edgar Allan Poe. It has an interesting perspective and a beautiful rhyme scheme. I really enjoyed it. The LakeIn spring of youth it was my lot To haunt of the wide world a spot The which I could not love the less- So lovely was the loneliness Of a wild lake, with black rock bound, And the tall pines that towered around. But when the Night had thrown her pall Upon that spot, as upon all, And the mystic wind went by Murmuring in melody- Then- ah then I would awake To the terror of the lone lake. Yet that terror was not fright, But a tremulous delight- A feeling not the jewelled mine Could teach or bribe me to define- Nor Love- although the Love were thine. Death was in that poisonous wave, And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his lone imagining- Whose solitary soul could make An Eden of that dim lake. @dman24 have you ever heard of the Ghost of Greenwich Village scavengar Hunt in Nyc...they have this cool game n it incorporates all these old writers as ghost giving u clues to find things thriugh their writings. you should totally check it out Sent from my SM-G900T using proboards
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Jul 19, 2015 17:54:57 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jul 19, 2015 17:54:57 GMT -5
I really like this poem by Edgar Allan Poe. It has an interesting perspective and a beautiful rhyme scheme. I really enjoyed it. The LakeIn spring of youth it was my lot To haunt of the wide world a spot The which I could not love the less- So lovely was the loneliness Of a wild lake, with black rock bound, And the tall pines that towered around. But when the Night had thrown her pall Upon that spot, as upon all, And the mystic wind went by Murmuring in melody- Then- ah then I would awake To the terror of the lone lake. Yet that terror was not fright, But a tremulous delight- A feeling not the jewelled mine Could teach or bribe me to define- Nor Love- although the Love were thine. Death was in that poisonous wave, And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his lone imagining- Whose solitary soul could make An Eden of that dim lake. @dman24 have you ever heard of the Ghost of Greenwich Village scavengar Hunt in Nyc...they have this cool game n it incorporates all these old writers as ghost giving u clues to find things thriugh their writings. you should totally check it out Sent from my SM-G900T using proboards Sounds interesting, but it's not really my cup of tea.
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Aug 8, 2015 11:09:57 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Aug 8, 2015 11:09:57 GMT -5
This is such a beautiful poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye. She speaks as though death is a part of life; a transformation of nature that should not be wept upon, but understood and celebrated. It's an interesting perspective I don't think many of us have today.
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.
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Aug 29, 2015 1:56:00 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Aug 29, 2015 1:56:00 GMT -5
I'm a big fan of Edgar Allan Poe, and Annabel Lee is one of my favorite poem of his. Absolutely beautiful!
Annabel Lee
It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of ANNABEL LEE; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love- I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me- Yes! - that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we- Of many far wiser than we- And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.
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Sept 13, 2015 5:03:25 GMT -5
Ruby likes this
Post by Deleted on Sept 13, 2015 5:03:25 GMT -5
This is a really nice poem by Emily Dickinson about something we all cling to. It's sort of the last resort before everything falls apart. Without it we're truly lost.
'Hope' Is The Thing With Feathers
'Hope' is the thing with feathers— That perches in the soul— And sings the tune without the words— And never stops—at all—
And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard— And sore must be the storm— That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm—
I've heard it in the chillest land— And on the strangest Sea— Yet, never, in Extremity, It asked a crumb—of Me.
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Post by Ruby on Sept 13, 2015 18:00:37 GMT -5
This is a really nice poem by Emily Dickinson about something we all cling to. It's sort of the last resort before everything falls apart. Without it we're truly lost. 'Hope' Is The Thing With Feathers'Hope' is the thing with feathers— That perches in the soul— And sings the tune without the words— And never stops—at all— And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard— And sore must be the storm— That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm— I've heard it in the chillest land— And on the strangest Sea— Yet, never, in Extremity, It asked a crumb—of Me. Wow I've never read this poem before. It was really good. Sent from my SM-G900T using proboards
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Sept 13, 2015 18:21:25 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Sept 13, 2015 18:21:25 GMT -5
This is a really nice poem by Emily Dickinson about something we all cling to. It's sort of the last resort before everything falls apart. Without it we're truly lost. 'Hope' Is The Thing With Feathers'Hope' is the thing with feathers— That perches in the soul— And sings the tune without the words— And never stops—at all— And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard— And sore must be the storm— That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm— I've heard it in the chillest land— And on the strangest Sea— Yet, never, in Extremity, It asked a crumb—of Me. Wow I've never read this poem before. It was really good. Sent from my SM-G900T using proboards Thanks. Emily wrote a lot of poems; not all of them are prominent as others.
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Sept 24, 2015 23:59:09 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Sept 24, 2015 23:59:09 GMT -5
No man is an Island. I'm sure you heard that before. Well, John Donne pretty much expands on that statement. Food for thought
No man is an Island
No man is an island, Entire of itself, Every man is a piece of the continent, A part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less. As well as if a promontory were. As well as if a manor of thy friend's Or of thine own were: Any man's death diminishes me, Because I am involved in mankind, And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.
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