Uncategorized

Download e-book Let It Go, Ms. Curves : A Poetry Collection

Free download. Book file PDF easily for everyone and every device. You can download and read online Let It Go, Ms. Curves : A Poetry Collection file PDF Book only if you are registered here. And also you can download or read online all Book PDF file that related with Let It Go, Ms. Curves : A Poetry Collection book. Happy reading Let It Go, Ms. Curves : A Poetry Collection Bookeveryone. Download file Free Book PDF Let It Go, Ms. Curves : A Poetry Collection at Complete PDF Library. This Book have some digital formats such us :paperbook, ebook, kindle, epub, fb2 and another formats. Here is The CompletePDF Book Library. It's free to register here to get Book file PDF Let It Go, Ms. Curves : A Poetry Collection Pocket Guide.

He has published academic work on Native American authors. About Ellen Lytle About Michael Lytle This interest was shared by close musician friends at monthly musical and poetry salons. Diane has featured her poetry at all the major poetry venues in Manhattan, Brooklyn and Long Island.

They have performed at Cornelia St. About Bernard Block Twenty-three poems of his were published in the prestigious on-line European literary journal, Levure Litteraire 8 and 9. About Erica Mapp She is a graduate of Cave Canem, a black writers' group. Smith, Pulitzer prize winning author and poet. She has taken part in many poetry readings both here and abroad and is seeking publication for her two completed poetry manuscripts and an uncompleted book of essays. About Sarah Sarai But poets need to miss something.

Weird times call for poems, friends, and a cocktail. About Jay Chollick His poetry has appeared on-line at Poetz. He has published several chapbooks of his poetry and most recently "Colors" published by Exot books. His music tells stories and paints pictures of aspiration and longing; of love, loss and redemption, and of optimism and hope. He occasionally amuses and sometimes flirts but always strives to touch the heart. He performs in several musical configurations: as a soloist, as part of the Karen Hudson River Trio, and as leader of his own band, The Dirty Dishes.

His first CD, Perfect on Paper, recorded with his band and many musical guests, will have its official release in early He is a graduate of the Hartt School of Music. Please visit his website www. Liz on violin and Suki Rae on flute will take turns playing their beautiful music! This looks to be a lovely night!

Sign up to read your poetry in the open mike About Rebeca Taub Rebeca Taub, another aging hippie, has been writing poetry and creating visual art since high school. A few poems have actually been published. Recently, she is approaching her poetry with increased devotion. She assembled a small and cherished collection that she is willing to share with this group.

She will also bring the collection of her late husband Daniel Polsky's poetry to show this group. About Liz Taub Liz Taub, aka Violizzy, has been playing violin since she was a child. About Suki Rae She has won many awards,been musician in residence in eight locations including Israel and Spain; appeared on Radio and TV;acted,written and directed in Theater and Film. She has released six recordings,five of original music on Reverence for Life Records. Her main website is www. Also there will be poetry presented posthumously of:. About Shirley Freilich Taub Snippets of life in the first half of the 20th century are explored, as well as her intelligent observations re: others' and her own experiences as seen through the lens of religious questioning and romantic sensitivities.

She died May 1, Her writings live on in the book Dancing in Ra'anana her daughters compiled. A second edition will be available shortly. About Daniel Polsky He then served with distinction in Vietnam, doing preventive medicine. He worked in medicine but wrote as an avocation. His lifelong love of writing resulted in a book of poetry, published posthumously in About Leigh Harrison Leigh Harrison is a Brooklyn-born poet, writer, musician, songwriter, parodist, artist, teacher, and political activist, who has lived in Queens most of her life.

She began composing melodies for Robert Louis Stevenson poems at the age of four, and has continued to create music all her life. She wrote her first original poem at the age of eight, and it was published in a local Queens newspaper. This -- and the encouragement of her parents and teachers -- propelled her to keep writing, and in various forms: poetry, short story, prose, songs, journalism, book reviews, parody and the literary essay. She also began her involvement with photography and the visual arts in childhood -- creative work which she still pursues today. About Robert Kramer Robert Kramer is a widely published playwright, poet, and translator of European literature.

Serving in the United States Army, he was trained by the 82nd Airborne, Paratroopers, but became an officer in the Chemical Corps, where he specialized in chemical weaponry and radiation defense. After studying at various universities in the United States and Europe, he became a college professor in the field of European Cultural History. In the early years of the civil rights movement, he accepted a teaching position at Xavier University in New Orleans.

There, in addition to teaching, he played piano in the bars and cafes of the French Quarter, and it was also in New Orleans that his daughter Karen was born. He has since presented many papers and published numerous books and articles on the history of literature and art. He has been a guest professor at various colleges, such as the University of Connecticut, Syracuse University, and Haverford College, and has lectured at such institutions as the Smithsonian, the Whitney Museum of American Art, and the Art Therapist Association.

He has given readings of his poetry and translations on radio and television on both coasts, and at such colleges as New York University, The University of California, and Harvard University. About Larry Littany Litt Larry Litt is a New York City born writer, poet and performer. His shamanically inspired poetic rituals are created to address historical and contemporary spiritual, political and social issues while suggesting how to strengthen the natural world around and within us. His work is documented in video and photography. He has since performed this tribute to fluxus art worldwide.

It tells the story of Korean and fluxus artists who integrated their personal shamanisms into contemporary art. Soon afterwards the Fox TV network began to make big mistakes in their political and corporate fascist news reporting. A photo installation and video accompanied the performance.

Live drumming rhythms awakened the Supernatural Forces of Art that decide who gets what shows. Reusable steel cups are given to participants at art events. They can carry them to openings for the rest of their lives. These films publicly examine everything from September 11th apocalyptic politics to religious hypocrisy and the global oil crisis. The videos were seen on Time-Warner cable television from to It topically and poetically combines art and politics with artistic wit and fun.

About Lorin Roser Lorin Roser is a multimedia artist, composer and animator whose work has the expression of mathematics utilizes algorithms in his compositions and physical simulations in his 3D architectural animations exhibited at Plum Blossoms, Crossing Art, Flushing Town Hall. His recent music is created with realtime manipulation of polynomials began years ago. His animated video and painting series called Mythical Montage, are a "unique interplay Schloss at Remote and Puffin Room.

His architecture works into his drawn sounds as well. About Art Gatti Under the auspices of Dark Light publishers, his next offering is a book of poetry entitled Songs of Mute Eagles, due out in His latest published poem is in the South Florida Poetry Journal, at: www. About Chuck Joy Chuck Joy. A graduate of Fordham University and the University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine , began attending to the voice of poetry already speaking.

More at chuckjoy. Her latest poetry chapbook, Not All Fires Burn the Same has just won the Slipstream chapbook contest and has just been published. About Moe Seager Moe Seager is a writer and performance artist. He has recorded 2 jazz-poetry c. His essays have been broadcast on radio, television, in print and online as Paris Calling.

Seager has had numerous works performed, commissioned for stages in the USA and France. Seager lives in voluntary exile in Paris. Keep the Beat on the Pulse of Life! Bill Considine was born in McKeesport, Pennsylvania. He was first encouraged to write poetry by Diane Middlebrook and first studied writing poetry with Elizabeth Bishop.

His life in poetry includes a lengthy hiatus, but he returned to poetry several years ago. A lawyer, he recently retired after a career in local government and with a non-profit organization. He lives in Brooklyn with his wife, Careen Shannon. Their daughters live in New York and San Francisco. For more, including poems, photos, videos and audio, please see his website, at www. About Ellaraine Lockie Ellaraine Lockie is a widely published and awarded author of poetry, nonfiction books and essays.

Ellaraine teaches poetry workshops, often judges poetry contests and serves as Poetry Editor for the lifestyles magazine, Lilipoh. About Juanita Torrence-Thompson Book 10 is forthcoming. She holds M. Fordham University. About Alexandra Portal Alexandra has been writing poetry for 45 years and has been on the poetry scene for 41 years. Early in the scene she was at a reading which featured the famous Jazz singer, Joe Lee Wilson. In the early 90s she ran a poetry series which met at varying locations around the city including The Algonquin Hotel, home to the Round Table of Dorothy Parker fame.

She edited and wrote a magazine along with the series called Poetry Talk. She has written 4 novels and 1 play. Her poetry favors the mystical in theme and is inspired by birds, travel and the inner spirit in us all. About Angela Kirby Angela Kirby was born in rural Lancashire in but now lives in London. Apart from bringing up five children, she is the author of several books on cooking and gardening and has an M. A in Language, Art and Education, also a D. Phil in Creative Writing, both from Sussex University. In and she was the B. Much of her work is translated into Romanian.

Shoestring Press published her three collections, Mr. About David Francis He is planning a UK tour this fall and working on a film of live performances, which includes one from Saturn Series. About Penelope Maguffin Penelope Maguffin is a native New Yorker who was born in Brooklyn and has been living in Manhattan for 25 years. She has been writing poetry since the age of seven and has been performing it since It has been published in local publications and she has featured at many venues.

She ran poetry workshops for special populations for Volunteers of America, Union Settlement and the Dept. Her diverse career includes positions as a newspaper reporter, magazine editor and advertising copywriter. She is retired from a position as a middle school teaching assistant for special needs children, where she worked for 15 years. Morphine Moonbeams is Deanna's first chapbook. About Robin Greenstein Golden-voiced, skillful instrumentalist Robin Greenstein may be the best-kept secret in the acoustic singer-songwriter world.

With Tears and Laughter, an album of rare emotional depth, her breakout moment is here. Robin is no stranger to folk radio. Martin IV in the US and abroad. Now, with great pride and delight, she returns to her first love, songwriting. Tears and Laughter is a diverse collection of material; a contemplation of the events and relationships that shape our lives. The roots-based folk-pop songs traverse the emotions of hope, love, sadness, optimism and joy. The journey of life is often about love and loss, change, the quest for peace within and the search for answers while trying to accept what is Welcome back a sturdy, mature, glorious voice of reason in these most unsettling times.

About Robert Gibbons Robert grew up in Belle Glade, Florida, the eldest of five children, and earned a B. His latest work is Close to the Tree, poems by Robert Gibbons. In this unique work, Gibbons paints so many different shades of color it becomes an art exhibit, according to author Leokadia Durmaj. It is powerful lyrical, strong and hip. His words paint a heart-wrenching canvas and haunt the reader with deeply emotional truth-telling. His words are eloquent and passionate.

He writes in the tradition of ancient griots. His voice is one of the leading voices of this period. Robert Gibbons words are uncompromising, passionate and authentic. Featured in various books since and published 1st book of poetry, Eyez of the Sister Book of Thoughts Vol. I, in About Lisa Gutkin All along, this consummate musician and sideman has secretly longed to sing her own songs.

From Here On In, Lisa invites you to feel right at home. About Stephen Paul Miller In , he received a grant from Shanghai International Studies and Hunan Universities to give poetry readings and lecture in China. Also in , he was a Fordham U. He is a Professor of English at St. A native New Yorker, Barbara Rosenthal is a prolific, idiosyncratic, highly original Media and Performance artist, referred to in print as a "Media Poet" by The Village Voice and elsewhere since the s.

When the time is right and he is so moved, Zev will strike again. He graduated from the University of Pennsylvania. About Mindy Matijasevic Mindy Matijasevic writes poetry and prose. Her work is in many journals and anthologies. She also teaches, acts, and does stand-up comedy. Mindy blogs weekly at www. Of all the circles she is in, poets might be her favorite as they seem to understand suffering, thinking, feeling, and visualizing a better world.

Mindy is very happy to be part of tonight's reading. About Pete Dolack Pete is an activist, writer, poet and photographer. He is the writer of Systemic Disorder. His degree is in journalism, "so if I can understand economics, so can you. Pete continues to write about the economic crisis, and the political myopia behind it, at the Systemic Disorder blog. The Factsheet Five reviewed my zines, opening my world to outside influences Rebel Productions So much fun!

I wrote for four out of five of the issues before it went belly up. Laverne Cox was one of the interviewed and I was blown away by her intelligence. She became the first transsexual to be on the cover of Time magazine. I was the first Westerner to graduate AU so I'm historically listed at my university. I've lived in NY for 11 years and still feel the excitement and awe of it all. About Linda Kleinbub She is also a painter and organic gardener. About Burt Baroff Burt Baroff had a brief dalliances as a play write.

The play ended up in dry dock. He has a love of poetry and truly enjoys writing and reading his poems, while his feet remain in shallow water. He and Linda Kleinbub, a not nearly appreciated enough source of encouragement, formed Pen Pal Poets a few years ago. They hope to continue reading in the New Year. About Vincent Quatroche His public readings are sometimes described as a cross between an emotional inquisition and cartooning of reality. For more info please visit www. About Michael Schwartz He is currently writing The Invisible Exhibitionist and Other Attractions, a book of short stories, poems, and monologues set in Coney Island, and is performing the pieces all over the city.

He received critical acclaim for writing and directing his play Coney Island Last Stop, and for writing and performing his multi-character one-man play, In The Shadow of The Third Rail. As a teaching-artist Schwartz teaches acting and writing to adults with disabilities, high school students, and patients in hospitals, and directs their productions. I get thoughts. A lot. They crawl slowly through your brain.

They take there sharp fingers and grind them into the flesh of your brain. Whats wrong with me? I cried and cried I'm gonna die. Die this way, There is no cure for my pain, Four new doctors, They're all the same. The X-rays are normal. EMG too. These Fucking Memories. They slip;. She Was There. And when I needed you the most, there you stood with her in my place.

Poems and Quotes

All You Have Left. Silent, Loner. Empty, hollow. Childs Pose. I ignored it. What a terrible word that holds a painful truth. I dread these six letters, as anyone would. Your Requiem. The first thing my mother did, when a boy broke my heart, was open the windows. She said that letting in the air, and erasing his smell. Monday Blues. I could hear the wind, rustling through your veins, when you opened your mouth and the gnarled wings of a hummingbird fell out. I could taste the regret,. Tears of Fear. I slept hard as a bear That eats so much food in a dark cave, What no one notices all the time, My ears can hear, but I have weary tears; Beyond the walls, there is so much fear,.

I love to dance But it's been corrupted And corroded And with every twist and turn I fall deeper into a world Of my own. The Pain I Feel. You're mind is scarred. An Apology. I am sorry that my decisions led you to today. Capable fears. And whilst my voice they won't hear and my face they may not see,. Why pick? Lady of Silver. There is no denying it, she was first I imagine her next to you, your arm wrapped around her As it had once been wrapped around me Sometimes I wish I were a less kind soul. Christmas: a tiny holy thingy blinking strings tie often streetpoles redded hands in boiling coffee not in mates palms smile holds a teeth holes sauced up by dentist.

I'm Fine. I lie awake thinking While staring at my ceiling About so many things To name a few: my day Tomorrow The paint chip on The wall. Let the aroma, the sweet intoxication, of the lilies take you away. Their white petals, beckoning, follow them. Just a reconnection.

Please, it is all I ask. Just one spark could set ablaze our past. We could be something again. Yeh Dil Mera! Dhundhane Ek Hi Pataa.. Shayad Tumhe Dhundte Dhundte.. Zindgi Ki Ye. Cutting a Little Too Deep. I Weakened Myself for You. I weakened myself for you. You heard me crying out for help but you acted like you could not hear. Somewhere before sunrise,before the first bird crows to dawnand the apathetic are yet to uncurlthe grit that gathers like dustbetween the fold of shallow eyes. Thorny Rose Bush. Clock is ticking…mind is wracking…thoughts are racing….

May, The Devil's Apple. And just like the serpent tempted Adam and Eve with the forbidden apple, the burning desire for you to be mine led me into your coils of damnation. Insane, Pain, Strain. I Love You Differently Now. The Lonely Boy. Death says to meCome here my boy,I'll take you away I think, "I can finally flee"I am not playing coyThe pain will go away. I hope nobody trusts you againlike I did you I pray you never hurt another personlike you did me You carved into my soulAnd have taken peicesThey will never grow back. Thy Torn Skin. This letter is me saying goodbye. To Her.

Fragility is the stability of the broken mind Do not confuse the lies that hold the two down To be fragile is the empowerment of the vulnerable To be stable is the advantage of the emotional. Do you bleed? Goodmorning Honey. Goodmorning honey, so they say distant at heart.. Into A Fantasy Inspired by the song. Why Me?

A teenager who is misunderstood by those who think they understand. Disturbed Emotions. Belov'ed Silver.

Let'S Go Camping by Marty Suydam, Paperback | Barnes & Noble®

Precious to me is he who's friendship is geater in value than any metal. He who suffers the pangs of loneliness, self-mutilation of failure, stings of two unrequited loves, labido's growling stomach,. The Broken Spirits. Late at night, the broken spirits sit on barstools, hunched over the counter like question marks They ponder their place in this world They drown their sorrows in bourbon to escape the outer flood attempting to engulf them.

Not A Game. Why is my mind so. Why is my mind so blank? The colors that flash before my eyes, they mean almost nothing to me anymore I used to dance in the soft orange of a sunset wade in the blue waters of the distant ocean. I'll Never Know. I miss the memories I never made and I long for the love. Colors of Pain. There will be times when things between us might not feel so sweet. Those moments we look back on, wishing we could press delete. I might find myself tripping, when I only meant to sweep you off of your feet.

TD Jakes- Let it go ( Poetry Audio ) by Wilson B Nkosi

You want to love me but. You don't love me. You want to love mebut You don't love me. The Alternative. Our Society. Could You. Dreams die at an early age When you would rather support a celebrity, a stranger, other than your own children. When you can't make it to a parent teachers conference, To hear your child's accomplishments. In The Midst Of Night. People are not all that they seem, streams of lowered self-esteem.

Darkness running through and through, constantly running into you. My play-doh set. My brown barrette. My high top shoes. My young views. My dirty shirts. My elbow hurts. My parents yelling. My lips never telling. Flowers Bloom. The water runs clear, and once it reaches bottom, it blooms into a pink flower. The slight sting of the water it welcomed, any pain is welcomed. The scars run deep through this tattooed. The Baltimore I Know. Old roads and new hoes, you know how this essay goes. Crime rampant on the streets. Homeless men, calloused feet. Overdoses, opiates. Young people with too much hate.

Gun violence, death from crime. Because I Because I am a nice person,I will mother and worry over you. Because I am a nice person,I will let you have your way. Because I am a nice person,I will let it slide. Because I am a nice person,. There you go again. Leaving me behind. Take me with you! No, don't take me. Not this time. I yearn, And when you finally offer, I reject.

Because if I accept,. I try to run up it with every ounce of speed but then I trip and then I fall. Gravitating backwards she declines,Liquefying to earth's compression's,Ruined but intertwined,Cannot bypass innocent transgression.

Best Book Writing Software: Word vs. Scrivener

Undescribable pain, Writhing hands and feet, Radiating ove ones self, Yet it feels like nothing. Crying with no tears, Clawing at the flesh, Yet it comes from within,. The Phone Call. Mom- Yes Imani. I- I have something to say. Mom- Yes Imani what is it.

Pain Glennon Doyle Melton. They told you time would heal. That eventually you'd make progress. So you carry on. Sometimes you go days, weeks without crumbling. A year ago Loss turned grief took you from me Today. And then three years later and look at us now.. Man nothing ruins a relationship quicker than doubt.

Used to say you were so confident in what we had. Learning Your Name. You creeped inside my mind, in one instance and over time. You hid inside my brain, and I wore a mussel of your shame. Core workout. My heart and soul cry out These trials bring me strength I will supplement my life With scripture and song Praying God will use this To build empathy and wisdom Instead of jadedness and despair. Prom Night.

MAybe I am made of glass And perhaps I am too reflective And perhaps each time I shatter across the floor in shards of failure I bring us more bad luck. My Pain. Can you feel my pain? Toy Soldier. My sister used a quarter in a machine the other day, one that drops random surprises, mostly worthless but still they are kept, for reasons unbeknownst by most As the claw picked up a ball, stale candy joining the fall. The Carnival Years. The mirror cries long tears to the bus station Her feet draw their mottled shapes on the Pavement It is wet and cold.

In my mouth, there lies elegant blood. A girl with eyes like jewels Thought it would be the coolest thing when she switched schools She was eager to see new faces Because her old school picked on her, belittled her, and was racist. Lo and behold, inside of me in a crooked corner that plays hymns of once spoken words and memories, there lies a prophecy Encased in glass to be broken in bed positioned moments of convincing.

With You, From You. Our Bond. Breathe One, two, three I am a happy daughter Who loves her mother Not a hint of loathing to be found Exhale That was a lie The breeze feels so much nicer Smile so much In My Pocket. I keep a turtle in my pocket, It clinks against a key. Both are deadly weapons, But only when used on me. They took away the darkness,. Sometimes We Search For Answers. Sometimes we search for answers That we can not find So cryptic and puzzling And justifiably unkind Pain and darkness rears its ugly head This is quite the mystery Such confusion and frustration.

Past in the Future. Arsenal of Weapons. My lips are steel as they take heart and turn Heads of luxury and fury, I speak every word. The Cliff. You brought me into the world, So gracefully, You told me you were actually supping soup, Happily. Tippy-Toeing around the Truth and the Reality of the Events. Whatever it may be The person who misses it is not me, But the one who gave it away.

What is Kobo Super Points?

Love prt 2. Across the ocean I sat alone On a petal rested and untold,. As my eyes rain this cold, wet sorrow My heart yearns for a better tomorrow To feel lips brushed against mine Gently pressed, one of a kind. Yes, the cold is trapped in my sweater. Fallen in Love with the Past.


  1. The Atlantic Wall: History and Guide.
  2. The Collected Poems of Alvaro de Campos (1928-1935).
  3. Créatures des ténèbres (French Edition)?
  4. Asleep In The Chapel.

I was in love with you before even knowing your existence. In your eyes I saw the meaning of love when you first looked at me. And I was wondering how? And why Me? When I was a kidI always had this weird obsession with band-aidsThey're as close as I could get to the stickersMy parents wouldn't buy me. Remorseful Me. Wire Veins. For them. It's hard to be told, Something unwanted, By a loved one- Heart and mind daunted. Yet I'd go beyond limits, If that's what they ask. I'd break my heart myself, For them to bask. All this Pain. Emotions are needed, why do I feel like they're stupid.

All this crying, what's the point.


  • pain | Power Poetry;
  • How Scrivener Saved Me 250 Hours Writing a Book.
  • Selected Poems.
  • Why feel pain if it's the past. Why not see the brighter days. Some feel less than others,. Where there's pain, there's Love. Where there's Love there are two, But with two, there's still you. All that's left is just you, And the pain that's in you. The Real Me. I hate the way you look at me. The way you smile and turn away. All I can do is watch aimlessly. I can't escape you. The dark is real. Bleeding Seas.

    Site Information Navigation

    The Meaning of Stillness. There is a stillness. A sense of calm as one takes steps through these grounds. A soft, pitter-patter of steps against soil that resonate with the steps taken by those that came before. Give It Our All. The birth of a dreamer. My hero is invisible. She comes out in the bright colors that cross my mind, The beautiful stories that feed my imagination.

    My role model is the reason why my trees are green,. A love so unconventional. A quarter of years I know you, From day one you showed me your love is true. I feel pain. A crush tells me that he does not like me the same. I get bullied and ostracized on the bus.

    Losing You. I always lose The people I become the closest with. You said You would always be my friend first. Pain is a word that hurts, and there is no grammar class to teach me this. I can't help this mind of mine. I can't tell if this is real or I only will it, I can't tell if this is how it'll be, or if you're just another force for me to assess and ignore, stress and deliver. The tiny spark, the invisible pen, marks all you see but cannot read. That little hope, it still burns faint, the fire burns, always. I tossed it back into your sea and poisoned the wildlife, killed off its resources.

    The water grew toxic so I couldn't swim. A Poem About the Loss of Love. Left a hole in the wood, splinters on my skin, was bleeding from the knuckles, felt the pain set in. Survivor's Guilt. Survivor's guilt sounds like my sister getting beat in the next room for something I know I did. That's the thing-- I did. I did not. Did, did not. Lost Soul. Read it out loud, and listen how stupid you sound Eternally cursed, because a snake that could converse Because of an apple off a tree, how gullible can you be? The Key. Moonlight trickles in through my open window.

    A faint summers breeze sneaks in with the moonlight, and caresses my paper rhythmically. The words on the tip of her tongue are like daggers Gliding through silence, stabbing at past memories, Slicing open old wounds. It hurts - healing. I fight the darkness of the heart The hidden and dangerous part Closed with a bolt, local and key The secret of forgotten past left to be Lost, there is no way I see out, Deepening darkness creates my doubt.

    Blank lines- tell the most Empty vases- tell of vanished flowers- and Empty rings- tell of vanished lovers. You used to be my comforter, Now you are my tormentor. You used to be my guardian, Now you are my warden. You used to be my protector, Now all you do is hover. Poetry to Pain. I was raised to keep my issues bottled I live with a family where communication is a problem Introverted pacifist, avoiding all confrontation When I try to speak, I stutter, failing all articulation.

    Lines of Life. Since the beginning of my teenage years, I was a glass cup under a constant running tap-I was constantly overflowing with emotions. Afraid of falling for you, Could I be your only sun? Sick of playing wicked games, -And sick of playing of the part. Nothing I Can Do. I want to scream till my voice is hoarse. July, 11th, You have a beautiful smile, thats what you said.

    I laughed it off as just pretend. A month then passed and you were there, Right beside me combing my hair. Behind my ear in a loving way,. Bang, Bang. You Shot Me Down. You broke my heart and let me drown. You lost sight of what we had. You didnt care if it hurt so bad. Deepest Thoughts. I wish you would Just tell me you hate me. Regret my existence, Abuse and berate me. Send me away With hatred and Scorn. Hurt me so deep, Down into my core. Curse my conception,. Cries of Our Lives.

    Lives flying, silent cries and teary eyes What more pain could you bring The sweet whispers of lies The passionate song that Death sings The lost hope that soon flies Along with those majestic wings. How to be Free. Poetry reaches the depths of the soul, climbing into the parts that yearn to be whole Tugging on our heart strings, just trying to teach us things I let the words speak to me, Poetry has taught me how to be free!

    Free To Be. Free to be? I hide under this umbrella, ignoring the rain. We all have one. We've all done it. It does not judge,. Poetry, my Home. Bruises of words blue and black Pain, and disregard, and bleeding attacks So I come to Lines of words white on black Ambrosia and nectar for scars Sketched in the mind On the sky, stars. Just Like My Mother. He told me I was becoming my mother. A statement that meant,I could do better. They said I look just like her. I remember your smile, The way it would light up your face.

    How your laugh would sound, And sing throughout my body. I remember your anger, And how it would scare me. The way you'd get sad. Save Me. I'm drowning in a world Where you are the air. I'm starving in a land Where you are the sustenance. I'm dying of thirst Where you are an oasis. I'm left behind From where you had to go. Human: A Lesson.

    Sleeping With A Stranger. Pso Itchy. Loveless Affection. Active War Zone. New friends and beautiful Allegheny sunshine gave the impression things would get better. Momma and I needed to do some healing and wemade sure to make lots of new acquaintances so we'd have "love" and "support". Sing to Me. Sing me to sleepYes sing me a song of painSing me a song of hopeSing me to sleep dearPut hope in my mindHelp me realizeI will be fineYes sing me to sleepSing me a song of grace.

    Not Ready. I come to see you during lunch My heart, in pain to much You open the door and you see Me, in all of my vulnerability But you don't bat an eye, much like the other guy You hug me, But not out of love. The Girl in Love with the Moon. The Voice Of Hope. Poetry has taught me that I have a voice. And that if I want to suffer in silence, that is my choice. It has taught me that everyone is like a walking puzzle piece.

    If we all speak up, we can be complete. It's like a blade that never stops twisting in your heart. When you fall in love, you fear everything about them. Their very existence is your foundation. You love them so madly you're blinded by it. December 7th Full poem … The river is famous to the fish. The loud voice is famous to silence, which knew it would inherit the earth before anybody said so. The boot is famous to the earth, more famous than the dress shoe, which is famous only to floors.

    The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it and not at all famous to the one who is pictured. I want to be famous to shuffling men who smile while crossing streets, sticky children in grocery lines. I want to be famous the way a pulley is famous, or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular, but because it never forgot what it could do.

    The following is a short excerpt:. When the urge rises in the mind To feelings of desire or wrathful hate, Do not act! Be silent, do not speak! And like a log of wood be sure to stay. When the mind is wild with mockery And filled with pride and haughty arrogance, And when you want to show the hidden faults of others, Or bring up old dissensions or to act deceitfully,. Full list …. People who have faith in life are like swimmers who entrust themselves to a rushing river. They neither abandon themselves to its current nor try to resist it.

    Rather, they adjust their every movement to the watercourse, use it with purpose and skill, and enjoy the adventure. Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here, And you must treat it as a powerful stranger, Must ask permission to know it and be known.

    The forest breathes. It answers, I have made this place around you. If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here. No two trees are the same to Raven. No two branches are the same to Wren. If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you, You are surely lost. The forest knows Where you are. You must let it find you.

    You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers.

    Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting — over and over, announcing your place in the family of things. It was what I was born for — to look, to listen,. This is a mistake.

    It would be a delicious moment, without hurry, without locomotives, all of us would be together in a sudden uneasiness. The fishermen in the cold sea would do no harm to the whales and the peasant gathering salt would look at his torn hands. Those who prepare green wars, wars of gas, wars of fire, victories without survivors, would put on clean clothing and would walk alongside their brothers in the shade, without doing a thing. One morning, he sent him to get some salt.

    When the apprentice returned, the master told him to mix a handful of salt in a glass of water and then drink it. The master chuckled and then asked the young man to take another handful of salt and put it in the lake. At this the master sat beside this serious young man, and explained softly,. The amount of pain in life remains exactly the same. However, the amount of bitterness we taste depends on the container we put the pain in.

    So when you are in pain, the only thing you can do is to enlarge your sense of things. Stop being a glass. Become a lake. In monastery darkness by the light of one flashlight the old shrine room waits in silence. And the old monk leads us, bent back nudging blackness prayer beads held in the hand that beckons. We light the butter lamps and bow, eyes blinking in the pungent smoke, look up without a word,. Such love in solid wood! Taken from the hillsides and carved in silence they have the vibrant stillness of those who made them.

    Engulfed by the past they have been neglected, but through smoke and darkness they are like the flowers. If only we knew as the carver knew, how the flaws in the wood led his searching chisel to the very core, we would smile too and not need faces immobilized by fear and the weight of things undone. When we fight with our failing we ignore the entrance to the shrine itself and wrestle with the guardian, fierce figure on the side of good.

    Our faces would fall away until we, growing younger toward death every day, would gather all our flaws in celebration. Try to love everything that gets in your way: the Chinese women in flowered bathing caps murmuring together in Mandarin, doing leg exercises in your lane while you execute thirty-six furious laps, one for every item on your to-do list.

    The heavy-bellied man who goes thrashing through the water like a horse with a harpoon stuck in its side, whose breathless tsunamis rock you from your course. Teachers all. Learn to be small and swim through obstacles like a minnow without grudges or memory. Dart toward your goal, sperm to egg.

    Thinking Obstacle is another obstacle. Try to love the teenage girl idly lounging against the ladder, showing off her new tattoo: Cette vie est la mienne, This life is mine, in thick blue-black letters on her ivory instep. Someday, years from now, this boy who is kicking and flailing in the exact place you want to touch and turn, will be a young man, at a wedding on a boat raising his champagne glass in a toast when a huge wave hits, washing everyone overboard. So your moment of impatience must bow in service to a larger story, because if something is in your way it is going your way, the way of all beings; towards darkness, towards light.

    Hello, sun in my face. Hello, you who make the morning and spread it over the fields and into the faces of the tulips and the nodding morning glories, and into the windows of, even, the miserable and crotchety— best preacher that ever was, dear star, that just happens to be where you are in the universe to keep us from ever-darkness, to ease us with warm touching, to hold us in the great hands of light— good morning, good morning, good morning.

    Watch, now, how I start the day in happiness, in kindness. How grass can be nourishing in the mouths of the lambs. How rivers and stones are forever in allegiance with gravity while we ourselves dream of rising. How two hands touch and the bonds will never be broken. How people come, from delight or the scars of damage, to the comfort of a poem. Love means to learn to look at yourself The way one looks at distant things For you are only one thing among many.

    And whoever sees that way heals his heart, Without knowing it, from various ills A bird and a tree say to him: Friend. Then he wants to use himself and things So that they stand in the glow of ripeness. My work is loving the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird — equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums. Here the clam deep in the speckled sand. Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?