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The Bride of the Sea

Black loom the crags of the uplands behind me, Dark are the sands of the far-stretching shore. Dim are the pathways and rocks that remind me Sadly of years in the lost Nevermore.

Soft laps the ocean on wave-polish'd boulder, Sweet is the sound and familiar to me; Here, with her head gently bent to my shoulder, Walk'd I with Unda, the Bride of the Sea.

Bright was the morn of my youth when I met her, Sweet as the breeze that blew o'er the brine. Swift was I captur'd in Love's strongest fetter, Glad to be here, and she glad to be mine.

Never a question ask'd I where she wander'd, Never a question ask'd she of my birth: Happy as children, we thought not nor ponder'd, Glad of the bounty of ocean and earth.

Once when the moonlight play'd soft 'mid the billows, High on the cliff o'er the waters we stood, Bound was her hair with a garland of willows, Pluck'd by the fount in the bird-haunted wood.

Strangely she gaz'd on the surges beneath her, Charm'd with the sound or entranc'd by the light: Then did the waves a wild aspect bequeath her, Stern as the ocean and weird as the night.

Coldly she left me, astonish'd and weeping, Standing alone 'mid the legions she bless'd: Down, ever downward, half gliding, half creeping, Stole the sweet Unda in oceanward quest.

Calm grew the sea, and tumultuous beating Turn'd to a ripple as Unda the fair Trod the wet sands in affectionate greeting, Beckon'd to me, and no longer was there!

Long did I pace by the banks where she vanish'd, High climb'd the moon and descended again. Grey broke the dawn till the sad night was banish'd, Still ach'd my soul with its infinite pain.

All the wide world have I search'd for my darling; Scour'd the far desert and sail'd distant seas. Once on the wave while the tempest was snarling, Flash'd a fair face that brought quiet and ease.

Ever in restlessness onward I stumble Seeking and pining scarce heeding my way. Now have I stray'd where the wide waters rumble, Back to the scene of the lost yesterday.

Lo! the red moon from the ocean's low hazes Rises in ominous grandeur to view; Strange is its face as my tortur'd eye gazes O'er the vast reaches of sparkle and blue.

Straight from the moon to the shore where I'm sighing Grows a bright bridge made of wavelets and beams. Frail it may be, yet how simple the trying, Wand'ring from earth to the orb of sweet dreams.

What is yon face in the moonlight appearing; Have I at last found the maiden that fled? Out on the beam-bridge my footsteps are nearing Her whose sweet beckoning hastens my tread.

Current's surround me, and drowsily swaying, Far on the moon-path I seek the sweet face. Eagerly, hasting, half panting, half praying, Forward I reach for the vision of grace.

Murmuring waters about me are closing, Soft the sweet vision advances to me. Done are my trials; my heart is reposing Safe with my Unda, the Bride of the Sea.

Little Tiger

Little Tiger, burning bright With a subtle Blakeish light, Tell what visions have their home In those eyes of flame and chrome! Children vex thee - thoughtless, gay - Holding when thou wouldst away: What dark lore is that which thou, Spitting, mixest with thy meow?  

Sunset

The cloudless day is richer at its close; A golden glory settles on the lea; Soft, stealing shadows hint of cool repose To mellowing landscape, and to calming sea.

And in that nobler, gentler, lovelier light, The soul to sweeter, loftier bliss inclines; Freed form the noonday glare, the favour'd sight Increasing grace in earth and sky divines.

But ere the purest radiance crowns the green, Or fairest lustre fills th' expectant grove, The twilight thickens, and the fleeting scene Leaves but a hallow'd memory of love!

"From You Have I Been Absent..."

(From “Sonnets”, XCVIII)

From you have I been absent in the spring,

When proud-pied April , dressed in all his trim,

Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,

That heavy Saturn lough’d and leap’d with him.

Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell

Of different flowers in odour and in hue,

Could make me any summer’s story tell,

Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:

Nor did I wonder at the lilies white,

Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;

They were but sweet, but figures of delight,

Drawn after you, you pattern of all those,

Yet seem’d it winter still, and you, away,

As with your shadow I with these did play:

The Bells

                         I
          Hear the sledges with the bells-
                   Silver bells!
   What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
          How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
              In the icy air of night!
          While the stars that oversprinkle
          All the heavens, seem to twinkle
             With a crystalline delight;
                Keeping time, time, time,
             In a sort of Runic rhyme,
   To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
             From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
                   Bells, bells, bells-
   From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
                        II
          Hear the mellow wedding bells,
                   Golden bells!
   What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
          Through the balmy air of night
          How they ring out their delight!
            From the molten-golden notes,
                   And an in tune,
            What a liquid ditty floats
   To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
                   On the moon!
          Oh, from out the sounding cells,
   What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
                   How it swells!
                   How it dwells
            On the Future! how it tells
            Of the rapture that impels
          To the swinging and the ringing
            Of the bells, bells, bells,
          Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
                   Bells, bells, bells-
   To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
                        III
          Hear the loud alarum bells-
                   Brazen bells!
   What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
          In the startled ear of night
        How they scream out their affright!
          Too much horrified to speak,
          They can only shriek, shriek,
                   Out of tune,
   In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
   In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
          Leaping higher, higher, higher,
            With a desperate desire,
          And a resolute endeavor,
          Now- now to sit or never,
        By the side of the pale-faced moon.
           Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
           What a tale their terror tells
                   Of Despair!
         How they clang, and clash, and roar!
         What a horror they outpour
       On the bosom of the palpitating air!
           Yet the ear it fully knows,
                   By the twanging,
                   And the clanging,
           How the danger ebbs and flows:
           Yet the ear distinctly tells,
                   In the jangling,
                   And the wrangling,
           How the danger sinks and swells,
   By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-
                   Of the bells-
           Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
                 Bells, bells, bells-
      In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
                        IV
          Hear the tolling of the bells-
                   Iron Bells!
   What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
          In the silence of the night,
          How we shiver with affright
     At the melancholy menace of their tone!
          For every sound that floats
          From the rust within their throats
                    Is a groan.
          And the people- ah, the people-
          They that dwell up in the steeple,
                   All Alone
          And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
            In that muffled monotone,
          Feel a glory in so rolling
            On the human heart a stone-
          They are neither man nor woman-
          They are neither brute nor human-
                   They are Ghouls:
            And their king it is who tolls;
            And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
                   Rolls
     A paean from the bells!
          And his merry bosom swells
            With the paean of the bells!
        And he dances, and he yells;
          Keeping time, time, time,
      In a sort of Runic rhyme,
            To the paean of the bells-
                   Of the bells:
          Keeping time, time, time,
          In a sort of Runic rhyme,
            To the throbbing of the bells-
          Of the bells, bells, bells-
            To the sobbing of the bells;
      Keeping time, time, time,
            As he knells, knells, knells,
          In a happy Runic rhyme,
     To the rolling of the bells-
          Of the bells, bells, bells:   To the tolling of the bells,
          Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
        Bells, bells, bells-
    To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

An old silent pond...

A frog jumps into the pond,

splash! Silence again.


Autumn moonlight—

a worm digs silently

into the chestnut.


A summer river being crossed

how pleasing

with sandals in my hands!

Light of the moon

Moves west, flowers' shadows

Creep eastward.

In the moonlight,

The color and scent of the wisteria

Seems far away.


Over the wintry

forest, winds howl in  rage

with no leaves to blow.

The crow has flown away:

swaying in the evening sun,

a leafless tree.  

After Apple-Picking

by Robert Frost

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree

Toward heaven still,

And there's a barrel that I didn't fill

Beside it, and there may be two or three

Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.

But I am done with apple-picking now.

Essence of winter sleep is on the night,

The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.

I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight

I got from looking through a pane of glass

I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough

And held against the world of hoary grass.

It melted, and I let it fall and break.

But I was well

Upon my way to sleep before it fell,

And I could tell

What form my dreaming was about to take.

Magnified apples appear and disappear,

Stem end and blossom end,

And every fleck of russet showing dear.

My instep arch not only keeps the ache,

It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.

I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.

And I keep hearing from the cellar bin

The rumbling sound

Of load on load of apples coming in.

For I have had too much

Of apple-picking: I am overtired

Of the great harvest I myself desired.

There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,

Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.

For all

That struck the earth,

No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,

Went surely to the cider-apple heap

As of no worth.

One can see what will trouble

This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.

Were he not gone,

The woodchuck could say whether it's like his

Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,

Or just some human sleep.   

The Story – an Easter Poem

About 2,000 years ago God sent His only Son To live a life exemplary of how it should be done.

He loved, He healed, He lived the truth, They found no fault in Him, But darkness schemed for His demise In a battle it would not win.

This Man who came to save the world Was betrayed and crucified. He endured excruciating pain On an old rugged cross where He died.

But the story doesn’t end there For in 3 days He rose again, Fulfilling all the prophecies Of how He would conquer sin.

He’s still alive and living In the world today, And His grace is sufficient for all our needs As we travel along life’s way.

If just by faith you’ll accept Him, He’ll never leave you alone. You see, it was for you He died, Your sins He did atone.

Now He’s preparing a place for you And thru Him your salvation is sure, Just give your heart to Jesus Christ And Heaven will be yours.

Tell Them of His Love

What can we teach our children? What words of wisdom can we impart? We must teach them about our Father. It is the only place to start.

If we can help our children to understand, can plant the knowledge seed, that the Bible is the most important Book that they will ever read.

If we can tell them to take every problem, no matter how great or how small, and lift them up in earnest prayers to the loving Lord Who hears them all.

And while they know our love for them is strong, not even a parent’s love can compare. The Lord has more than enough to offer. Every person on earth will have their share.

If we can show them the Father Who loves them, impart His legacy of love, so they will make wise choices and decisions, seeking His guidance from above.

If we advise them . . . though life can be scary and may not go just as they had planned, they need never fear nor worry, the Father holds them in the palm of His hand.

One Day

King Jesus is worthy To be praised and adored And one day I’ll forever Put down shield and sword And my Loving Creator Who lends me every breath Will joyfully greet me When my eyes close in death And He’ll grace my head With a crown of pure peace And the battle will end The great struggle will cease.

Until then, we fight the good fight of faith!

God's Whore

To be or.....to be?

We ain't got a choice We just pawns on a board We're all God's whores His playthings Fucking sacks of flesh

You know what you are? Nothing

Except when you say shit Talk loud, speak out Don't let nothing hold you down It's a man fuck God world Words out now He's holding ya back So ya better step up and act Cuz other little niggas are real Fucking fake ass bastards Trying to control you Even though you can run faster But they got that machine That automatic weapons shooting Killing machine that grinds you down And cuts you up clean

So careful now Try not to die And whatever you do Don't lose sight We ain't God's whores, no We're free to fly Now, Motherfucker Is my time to fly

Phenomenal Woman

BY MAYA ANGELOU

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size   

But when I start to tell them,

They think I’m telling lies.

I say,

It’s in the reach of my arms,

The span of my hips,   

The stride of my step,   

The curl of my lips.   

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,   

That’s me.

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,   

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.   

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.   

I say,

It’s the fire in my eyes,   

And the flash of my teeth,   

The swing in my waist,   

And the joy in my feet.   

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered   

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can’t touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them,   

They say they still can’t see.   

I say,

It’s in the arch of my back,   

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Now you understand

Just why my head’s not bowed.   

I don’t shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.   

When you see me passing,

It ought to make you proud.

I say,

It’s in the click of my heels,   

The bend of my hair,   

the palm of my hand,   

The need for my care.   

’Cause I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Graduation Is a Time

By Nicholas Gordon

Graduation is a time  For feeling very proud,  For thinking lots of lovely thoughts  And saying them out loud.  It's a time for feeling love  About to overflow,  And just before it leaps its banks,  To let the loved one know. 

And so I'm very proud of you  For being who you are,  For making something of yourself,  For making it this far. 

I'm proud because I am a part  Of everything you do.  This time's the time to say how much  In love I am with you. 

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