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Post by Chahiero on Jun 25, 2004 15:33:57 GMT -5
They remind me of your writing Lynn LWW - I especially like the first one, kinda because I can relate to it. The imagery in all of your poems though is very strong and very good.
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Post by LadyWinterWolf on Jun 26, 2004 3:28:39 GMT -5
Thank you BAT and Chahiero, that means a lot coming from you two. Someday, I hope I can hear some of your music Chahiero.
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Post by Bloodyaftertaste on Jun 26, 2004 9:27:55 GMT -5
dont feel bad LWW im still waiting to hear it too, lol, tho i did hear an instrumental cover that he did
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Post by Chahiero on Jun 26, 2004 12:28:26 GMT -5
Hopefully we can get enough of it together, but we seem to be drifting apart. I'll see if I can't get something though.
But don't sell yourself short Mary - that's some good poetry you've written.
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Post by LadyWinterWolf on Jul 19, 2004 6:28:53 GMT -5
The Old Sailor The sweet scent of orange. Flows upon the air in Florence. As the old peddler strolls bye. With the hint of a tear in his eye. He thinks of days long past. In the crows nest of a sailing ship's mast. But now he waits for his timely end. But to where will his gods send. Alas old sailor, a poor peddler be. Alone on land, but his true love the sea. Perhaps a coffee at his favorite cafe. Oh, live a little, he thinks a frappe. On through the square he dost walk. Listening as the children to the pigeons they talk. By Gorgio's art shop he starts to pass. Paintings of ladies and peacocks sitting on grass. But then, what does he spy? He turns his head so he can look with his one good eye. A sailing ship with masts so high. Reaching into clouds looking like cream on pie. He looks and he looks, but cannot conceive. It's the same ship he sailed, whoever could have believed. The tears started to fall as the memories came back. Filling his brain like a large empty sack. With heavy a heart he sees his past. The port of call he went to last. In a tavern, their was a woman so fair. With lavender eyes and long blackened hair. Her name twas Ariana from Twaine. Looking for love, to this tavern she came. Alas, the men only wanted the same. To know of her body, but not of her name. But the old sailor when younger had love in his eyes. He savored her movement when serving ales and kidney pies. He courted and wooed her till she started to purr. In her bedroom they lay, scented with jasmine and myrrh. He wanted to marry, a good wife she would make. But alas, their was another this woman he would take. She refused this other, tooth and nail she fought. She lay dying at his hands, her battle was lost. Heartbroken our sailor away he did sail. No other woman satisfied, to Ariana they all did pale. The old sailor looked up at the sky. Pondering his future, and the years gone by. Sailing the seas with a heavy heart. Wondering when he and life would ever part. Now here he stands on a street all alone. Dreading the night in his tiny, unkempt home. He starts to walk on to this place. But he is being watched by the Fate called Grace. She pities the man, and all he has felt. She wonders if her sisters hearts she can possibly melt. She talks with the others and tells of the tale. How love can go on without fail. Her sisters relent, and agree with fair Grace. Dispatch this man, to his Ariana with haste. So taking the scissors to cut the thread. The old sailor falls down, in the street, dead. But his spirit floats onward towards the Summerland. There he sees Ariana, and she takes up his hand. Together they walk off into the mist. After 50 odd years, they can again kiss. So ends the tale of the old sailor from Florence. The streets scented with fresh cut orange.
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Post by LadyWinterWolf on Aug 24, 2004 4:32:19 GMT -5
Ruins
Moss creeps along the remains of a shattered wall. Tendrils of hunter green ivy cascade downwards. Brushing away years of sunbaked earth. The writings can be seen.
So long ago people dwelled here. Farmers, traders, tellers of tales. Never did the end come to mind. Hearth and home solidly built.
Soldiers came, a mighty force of thousands. Ballistas in tow, war horses with golden adornments. Not a warning, not a demand was issued. Only blood spillt, red rivers flowed.
Homes were burned, hearths torn asunder. Walls of the town blasted in pieces. All that remains, barely remembered. Engraved words of welcome, of the town Carrunder.
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Post by LadyWinterWolf on Aug 24, 2004 4:34:28 GMT -5
The Lady Delilah
There she lies in refined splendour. There she lies, the Lady Delilah. On a bed of satins and silks. Gold coins and diamonds about her feet. Born in the gutterhome of a French bar strumpet. Born to become a grand courtesan. Her mother sent her off to a fine woman's house. There to be trained in the fine arts of love. Displayed to royalty for all to enjoy. For women and men, she was everyone's toy. Now she owns her own fine house. Brings in street girls to be trained and brought out. There she lies in refined splendour. There she lies, the Lady Delilah.
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Post by LadyWinterWolf on Oct 9, 2004 2:07:41 GMT -5
Friendly Moment
Hesitant to meet you, to show you me.. So unsure of what you’d think or see. Our first hello, it let us know.. A bond of friendship started to grow.
Many months went by so fast. We shared our dreams, our life of past. Bonded we did, like sisters we be. The loneliness gone, we were free.
When we were hurt, shoulders held our tears. When we felt constricted, we eased the fears. We became each other’s rock. Outsiders were not allowed to mock.
But something came, rearing its ugly head. What I thought a friend, was jealousy instead. You mimicked, to fit in just right. You lied, causing all to fight.
But we gathered round. Others like me, I found. We compared the tales you told so well. From friendship’s pedistle, you rightly fell.
Not a true friend you ever were. Just a friend of the moment.
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Post by LadyWinterWolf on Oct 20, 2004 4:21:23 GMT -5
Don't Ask Me
Don't ask me to forgive you. I won't relieve your pain. Don't ask me to forgive you. Even though your tears fall like rain.
Don't ask me to forgive you. All you wanted was to take. Don't ask me to forgive you. Enemies of friends you did make.
Don't ask me to forgive you. You lied to get your way. Don't ask me to forgive you. Fools believed all you did say.
Don't ask me to forgive you. You've realized your mistake. Don't ask me to forgive you. You can't smooth away the hate.
Don't ask me to forgive you. You can't change the past. Don't ask me to forgive you. The pain you've caused still lasts.
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Post by LadyWinterWolf on Dec 2, 2004 6:15:26 GMT -5
Happiness is not Owed
Happiness, it came at last. Sorrow, now a remnant of the past. Contentment, my heart and soul sing. Looking forward to what each day will bring.
What confuses me now, I cannot contend. Why the loss of someone I called friend. Shoulders I needed when much I cried. My happiness has caused this friendship to die?
In my weakness, their strength was found. In my sorrow, by control they were bound. Now tables have turned, I am the one strong. Master of myself, a new will born.
I will not apologize for finding myself. Learning to handle little things without help. Control over me has been lost. Tis unfair you say, a great cost.
Find yourself, don’t dwell upon my life. Your own happiness will then be in sight. There is no debt, so you won’t be paid. Only you can decide how your life is made.
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