Farewell to lester graybill - poetry
I never met a man, who could shake my hand, and make my heart feel like a fireside afire.
I never met a man, who could smile so easy, real honest.
I never met a man, who could make my dark soul, fill with light, by only eminence with him, in conversation.
I never met a man, who could come by honesty, so cleanly, so believably solid.
I never met a man, who could capture my soul, with the stories of simplicity, and sincerety of his youth.
I never met a man, who could live so modestly, so humbly, so simply, and be so very happy to live.
I never met a man, who could toil in the plot with his wife and find possessions in the earth, materials which I could never see.
I never met a man, with a beard, so natural, so manly, that I just sought after to give it a hardly tug.
I never met a man, who was deficient in height, but, huge in stature.
I never met a man, who could wear clothing, tattered, worn, freyed, and look so regal, though, he would not absorb that, at all.
I never met a man, who could tell you a story with his eyes, eyes with depth so bottomless, that, words were a short time inappropriate.
I never met a man, who could bring offspring into this world, who could be just as kind, and loving, and warm, as he. I call it "drinking out of the same cup" if you will?
I wandered about this big world, looking deep into the souls of individuals, here and there, bearing in mind much of me, in them, nobody exceptional there.
I never met a man who could make me feel the sadness, which I felt today, upon education of the cursory of Lester Graybill. The world will truely be a less significant place devoid of him.
Goodbye my Dear Friend
The Gaul of La Laguna de Paca
Part OneI tell you a legend of long ago Of the buried city of La Laguna de Paca, (Where I had met a enduring ghost) Within this county of Huancayo--Peru; Truth lies, but only the soul knows.Part TwoSo the legend goes, of long ago: During the rising of the full moon The Mermaid of La Laguna de Paca, appears And to the adjoining towns folks, she echoes.
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (a poem in Spanish and English)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (English version)In what draw back art hid?-Where lessening mountains groan In shadow and amongThe torrents of the Rio? Is not your name Mantaro Valley?Beyond the footpath of the Andes--?I can hear your voice in echoesI can hear thy voice, exquisitely low. I do but know thy by a glanceAs the clouds above me know? .
Arizona Blue--Gunfighter: The Wolves Nest [Chapter One of Seven: The North]
[Episode Five]Arizona Blue-GunfighterThe Wolves Nest-in the North[Episode Five]Northern Minnesota Area-Winter of 1877Chapter One of Seven: The NorthThe area was known as Pigs Eye [St. Paul, Minnesota]; Northfield was a a small amount more notorious since Jessie James robbed the 1st Inhabitant Bank, in September of last year, and more to the West.
JOINEDHeart beat of man pounding - yet unheard joined becomes the beat of a nation.Words of man written - yet unread joined becomes a proclamation.
Testimony to the Night [In English and Spanish]
In the quiet of the chilly night- In its deep northern skies, Dim are the lights, in its coldEvening frost?! Even the stars of the arctic Seem mutely stone frozen!Here, here is where you find Peace and the beast within-! Remote, no ears or wordsTo confusion the mind To embed the throat; Here, here is where you die?(for a moment).Here, the sky has eternal eyes Eyes with cosmic tides Tides that never rest: they warWith the Universe- Likened to a dark deep abyss; Endless and never resting?Here my eyes seek and search In countless hours, ebbing and Sweeping the heavens aboveNumbing, changeless- Are the cosmos, the heavens? Here resides a astonishing peace?Here, resides a curious peace With an army of stars to defeat Shinning, without a sound in the darkThe ebbing, eldritch dark; Time has no consequence here, Here, resides a strange, peace?Cold and oddly numb are my feet, As I look up, upon the many bridges One star bridging the next-as if,If Kings and Queens were Guarding them-the Hosts- O-Yes! A strange, alien peace?Ah! Praise, praise be to thee, to thee Flaming, baking firmaments-ye, Ye, hark back me not, of the wars I left,Of the foes, divine immortals?The enemies that never rest Ah! Praise, praise be to thee, to theeI hear music, harmony from afar (there) There are storms buried in a storehouse, For tomorrow-war beyond, beyondOrion's dust?perpetual dust; There, there the sun is dim to bleak.
The Game of Life
When your life becomes unbearable And the light of assure ceases to glow, When all your dreams and aspirations Lie hidden on ambition's death row.When you feel that all is hopeless, Life troubles just seem to abound.
Never Ever More
Once upon a midnight dreary, coffee cold and dream bleary, all night sat there journalism COBOL, coding allot crossways the bed sheets, changing language rules for the mainframe, having check my final line, I took the floppy from the drive.Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command, but there below my effectuation, appeared the cryptic communication, "Abort, Retry, Ignore" and nil more.
Growing hurts sometimes; saying goodbye to friends, to belongings you've known and done to equipment you sought to do. Growing heals sometimes the horrified dreams and hopes of a life you once knew leading you to a new comprehension of yourself.
Four Poems: Crop of Enraged Domestic animals [Katrinas Pathway]
Four Poems: Katrina's PathwayHarvest of Beside yourself Horses ((Dedicated to: Katrina)) crisis)It has happened before: Nearby and afar, Where the four-horses of Apocalypse With their angry nostrils Breathed in the fury of the winds Only to vomit out, disaster; - Then galloped away, Against pale faces!..
Passion and Poetry, and Life
Ironically, the passion that can defuse the disgust for difficulties depends on the energy to overcome these difficulties. The irony resides in the circularity of this code - which applies to all areas of activity, as well as poetry: One must make the endeavor to overcome difficulties to accomplish hit and feel capable, and one needs this achievement and affection to have a passion for assembly this effort.
Two Poems: Boyhood, and Old Age [with a note on style]
BoyhoodOh me! Thy glorious days have flown! I mealy noticed, now they're gone, How cursorily conceded the flowers! Time does not stop youth's bells; It was like I was in a spell, And my face now shows the hours!Ah yes! My childish past days, Still lively in my blonde age, When all was quick and new Now wrapped in films and books, And associates and breed were all I knew And love was shown by open looks!#741 6/26/05Old AgeThey stop by to see me now To find what's old and new, They peer into my-everything, And analyze my views; They tell me what I must like, And that I must be grieved-These are my fragile links That takes the strongest liberties?I mean to take the timer off; And put the phone exterior the door; In vain I speak to tell them why -I shan't live here anymore!#742 6/26/05A note on Style: some colonize ask, "What style of poetry to you like the best?" I can never come back with that question; it is open-ended to me. If I feel like flouting free from tradition as in the poem of: "Old Age," so be it; and if I feel established verse, a stricter conventional blueprint ought to be used, as in "Boyhood," and can be part of the cause completely to the poem, so it is.
Life is a Fantasy
LIFE IS A FANTASY!A pink-eyed rabbit, fuzzy whiteHops in bedrooms packed with frightA child of six with much to knowHer father's basest feelings showShe knows of LOVE, only by means of himHe satisfies his every whimHe leaves, she wipes himfrom her chin!Her protect NEEDS to see the bestHe answered her God requestTo have a roof to comfort bringA yard where all the birdies singTell me how she could especially knowWhat basis for culture could she go?Her care for commonly beaten if not worseThe cycle of violence - a woman's curseConflicting visions, dependenciesOne can continue many idiosyncrasiesShe could not make him defendant beDenial, avoidance? she disbelievesThe rabbit hides beneath tall trees.At thirteen a step-grandfatha'Finds a well-trained girl that oughta'Do what authoritative men requestNever deliberate what is bestAnd run away she does at lastFreedom can be such a 'blast'A rabbit's foot upon a chainThe FANTASY her 'safe' domainHow long in life must it remain?To guard her from these menWho continually for her lips, do 'yen'A state trooper in Tennessee Like every other man does see Her lips so full and delicious red Through the bars, not in a bed.
Poetry in a Nutshell
Poetry is more than just rhyming and prose that is in meters and verse. It is an art form.
My Final Defeat - Fixed Competition
She in all probability can't bear in mind and I know I can never forget..
Review Of Stephen B. Wileys First Book Of Poetry: HERO ISLAND
Poet Stephen B. Wiley's first book of poetry, Hero Island, reflects tender snapshots and reminiscent overviews of a choice of stages of his life as a teenager functioning on a farm in New Jersey, summer vacations spent with his category in Northern Vermont, and his affirmative stance on life.
In the Mountans of Haiti [A Poem: in English and Spanish]
In the Mountains of Haiti(In the City)-July is a hot month-sweating Poverty out on every street (In Port de Prince); mixingMemory with aspiration causes stirring. Not much rain in Haiti (in 1986); Summer kept us busy, building A checkup clinic, in the mountains?.
Ceasar Vallejo: Black Roses [In English and Spanish]
Cesar Vallejo: Black RosesBow down your head ol' poet- To face God's grace ahead There are no more trenchesTo dig today? In the jungle of your head,So-: Bow down, bow down,Ol' barbaric poet! Death rides the horse ahead I hear the crackling of a whip See the wild eyes of death.He command you to his den- The devil and his wind,So-: Bow down, bow down Your blood discolored brows He will take you to the edge.
A Case of The Fears
Chicken Soup is good for a coldSleep is good for the FluWhen I get a case of the FearsWhat is a being to do?It is not bacteriaAlthough it can eat away my soulIt is not a virusYet, it can keep me from air wholeI know what will do the trick,What will put me back on top,A great big bowl of Ice CreamWill certainly hit the spotThat was great and now I am doneOne bowl just won't doIf one is good, then more is greatAnd now I have eaten two.Bowls three, four, five and sixCame and then they wentI think my case of the fears are fixedLook at how my time was spentI am in receipt of sleepyIt is time to go to bedMy fears are no longer in my stomachNow they are in my headI close my eyes and I can be alive with Fears I want to killI will do, doesn't matter what it takesTo keep the monsters still.
Two Poems: San Jeronimo Brook & [in English and Spanish]
Fair Andes! Thy arms reach highOf iron-woven solid stone Thu art a condor to the skyOf glory concealed in thy heartSo many paths, a maze of art?In thy old, Mantaro ValleyWhere adobes, breathe and tremble Beyond your rural shadowsThere lays the prettiest of brooksIs my heart, in its stream!My image extremely carved, rippledIn its pure shallow watersWaiting, just before you for me?As it opens up, opens up my soulMy rippled soul-searching-eyes!..
I never attention I would have to say GOODBYE to my best friend? But that's what I had to do today I had to let go of her eternally -There was no other way For me to face realism Or pretend to be okay I had no belief -Of how hard it would be To essentially let go Of this huge part of me? Not tomorrow or ever -Will my life be the same Not including my Grannio here Life seems to be a game - Of attempt and questions?Questions that never end And have no answers That can begin to mend The wide hole confidential of meNor come close to remedial My heart and soul that Seem to be atmosphere Lost, numb and empty-Completely hollow? Like I have insignificant person left To actually be a consequence - All through life with respectShe was so much more Than my Grandmother I knew that ahead of She left this earthAnd I told her so More than once or twice For the reason that she had to know Just how very elite -And truly blessed I felt to have her as my ally She was the best Not including a doubt -My Grannio gave me More than a person Will ever actually see? It was an silent -Kind of love That came with no circumstances And went far above The conventional caringAnd arithmetic mean assistance For a grandchild - Or ancestors of any sort She gave more of herselfTo me than any person In my life ever will Minion could have done What she did for meWith so much devotion, Complete honesty And true emotion? Her devotion was -Sincerely ceaseless I appreciate so much Now that I'm crying - And wishing thatI had just one more day To spend land her hand And annoying to take away Her fears and her pain -That took over her Body and her mind Like never before? In our lives -I would have honestly Given 20 years of my life To have her just Be here tomorrow -I cannot account for The way I feel today Or how much I pain Is classified of me -That will never go away No be relevant how much time passes I know this ache will stay With me forever?Just as her distinctive touch Will continually be with me And mean so very much - To me and my son?Jakob Thomas Her "BabyDoll" And I agreement To never not remember -What she would have done If she was still here For him - her only one Great-grandchild?Resource Box - © Danielle Hollister (2004) is the Publisher of BellaOnline Quotations Zine - A free newsletter for quote lovers featuring more than 10,000 quotations in dozens of categories like - love, friendship, children, inspiration, success, wisdom, family, life, and many more. Read it online at - http://www.
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