iwant2believe2
Honorable
Entrenched with emotion...beautiful and profound. Love it. 
I can't tell you how excited I am to be among friends again, old and new. I feel like...I am home.
I wanted to put into words how grateful I am to be here. So here is another poem I just wrote, Its no match for Tolkien but its the best I can do at the min.
I dedicate it to my old Friend nivek, thank you my friend for making us all a new home, you have done more than you know. And also to my oldest of friends (and sometime terrifying adversary ) 22, who lit the way for me to find you all.
And who in my mind embodies all the traits of the Lady Galadriel.
And of course to all the folks here, and those that are sure to find us, that I have known for so long.
I have called it the Last Homely House, because that is what it already feels like here.
Oh and for the puritans, yes I know Galadriel lives in Lothlorien, but today she lives in Rivendell
I wanted to put into words how grateful I am to be here. So here is another poem I just wrote, Its no match for Tolkien but its the best I can do at the min.
I dedicate it to my old Friend nivek, thank you my friend for making us all a new home, you have done more than you know. And also to my oldest of friends (and sometime terrifying adversary
) 22, who lit the way for me to find you all.And who in my mind embodies all the traits of the Lady Galadriel.
And of course to all the folks here, and those that are sure to find us, that I have known for so long.
I have called it the Last Homely House, because that is what it already feels like here.
Oh and for the puritans, yes I know Galadriel lives in Lothlorien, but today she lives in Rivendell
iwant2believe2
Honorable
I can't tell you how excited I am to be among friends again, old and new. I feel like...I am home.
I wanted to put into words how grateful I am to be here. So here is another poem I just wrote, Its no match for Tolkien but its the best I can do at the min.
I dedicate it to my old Friend nivek, thank you my friend for making us all a new home, you have done more than you know. And also to my oldest of friends (and sometime terrifying adversary
And who in my mind embodies all the traits of the Lady Galadriel.
And of course to all the folks here, and those that are sure to find us, that I have known for so long.
I have called it the Last Homely House, because that is what it already feels like here.
Oh and for the puritans, yes I know Galadriel lives in Lothlorien, but today she lives in Rivendell
What can I say? You have awed and humbled me once more, my friend. If ever you need a light, I will keep a candle lit.
For you...
iwant2believe2
Honorable
It is from LOTR as Galadriel handed Frodo the star glass of Eärendil's light...to guide his way in the darkness. I couldn't help but hear the song as I read your words. I couldn't help but to wish the same light shines for you.
It has been a while since I watched it. I knew It was familiar, i just couldn't place where exactly. You know next time I watch it I am gonna think of you and tear up don't youIt is from LOTR as Galadriel handed Frodo the star glass of Eärendil's light...to guide his way in the darkness. I couldn't help but hear the song as I read your words. I couldn't help but to wish the same light shines for you.
Its funny, now that we talk about it, I really do feel like Frodo Baggins in your presence 22. Now that I think about it, I always have.
Its so sad, why can't the real world be like these moments in time.
I hope when I get old I don't get dementia or anything like it. I hope I just go mad and disappear into a world full of Knights and Magic, and... people like good friends
What a beautiful way to end your days.
I hope when I get old I don't get dementia or anything like it. I hope I just go mad and disappear into a world full of Knights and Magic, and... people like good friends
What a beautiful way to end your days.
SOUL-DRIFTER
Life Long Researcher
I once wrote a poem in grade school. It was a brief writing poem contest.
I am not sure what grade I was in but, strange as it may sound...my poem got first place.
It was posted on the old AU/AH site years ago.
It was short...
The Stars
I watch those stars, both dim and bright
and study their twinkling gleaming light
Oh what a sight
I dream of the day when there will be a race
to travel the vastness of open space
to plant the seed of life near a star
one we today, consider quite far.
I see the day when our sun will die
then we all must bid our planet goodbye
then out into space we all must go
So with a home sick feel and the distant clap of thunder
I stare at the sky with wonder...
I still have it in the original envelope packed away somewhere.
I remember the teacher said that I had a talent and should continue to write.
Basically...I did not.
I am not sure what grade I was in but, strange as it may sound...my poem got first place.
It was posted on the old AU/AH site years ago.
It was short...
The Stars
I watch those stars, both dim and bright
and study their twinkling gleaming light
Oh what a sight
I dream of the day when there will be a race
to travel the vastness of open space
to plant the seed of life near a star
one we today, consider quite far.
I see the day when our sun will die
then we all must bid our planet goodbye
then out into space we all must go
So with a home sick feel and the distant clap of thunder
I stare at the sky with wonder...
I still have it in the original envelope packed away somewhere.
I remember the teacher said that I had a talent and should continue to write.
Basically...I did not.
Recent songs posted elsewhere, make me post another of my own.
I wish I could make a difference like some folks do. I seem to spend a lot of time these days in tears,
thinking of what I could have done with better decisions.
I would give all the days I have left on earth, just to make one difference like some do.
I wish I could make a difference like some folks do. I seem to spend a lot of time these days in tears,
thinking of what I could have done with better decisions.
I would give all the days I have left on earth, just to make one difference like some do.
SOUL-DRIFTER
Life Long Researcher
Ann Witt Sep 2013
Celebrate Your Uniqueness
We are not what we wear or what we own;
we are life experiences.
Life is what happens--what comes and goes.
Our perceptions are limited.
Appearances are oftentimes just illusions.
It doesn't matter the color or size,
we are all gifts in disguise.
Breathing in the dignified silence of nature
captures that perfect moment; that explosive
split second in time when one realizes
that love has no form.
Happiness is the easiest thing in the world
to shatter if you filter your life through
someone else's dreams.
Wear your own perfume of life
like a warm embrace.
Allow your dreams to rescue your imagination
as you blossom in the glow of your own aura
of self-awareness.
Source: Uniqueness poems on Hello Poetry
Celebrate Your Uniqueness
We are not what we wear or what we own;
we are life experiences.
Life is what happens--what comes and goes.
Our perceptions are limited.
Appearances are oftentimes just illusions.
It doesn't matter the color or size,
we are all gifts in disguise.
Breathing in the dignified silence of nature
captures that perfect moment; that explosive
split second in time when one realizes
that love has no form.
Happiness is the easiest thing in the world
to shatter if you filter your life through
someone else's dreams.
Wear your own perfume of life
like a warm embrace.
Allow your dreams to rescue your imagination
as you blossom in the glow of your own aura
of self-awareness.
Source: Uniqueness poems on Hello Poetry
Merle
Honorable
That's rather a harsh judgement to make about yourself Dundee... Surely you're worth much more than that. How do know that had you made other decisions to the ones you made in the past that the outcome would not be worse than it is now? How do you know you haven't made a difference? .....to your sons, to your family, to your friends, to the earth, to the universe...
My mum always says that no matter how much you rehash the past in your head... no matter how much you agonise over it or try to change and alter events from your past, you never will because it's gone, it's the past... but what you have now is what counts...
Can't change the past, but can work with what you have now....
I have a young Australian Aboriginal friend, a Black Woman as she calls herself, who has had more than her share of troubles and woes, but her words are wise....
That was Then and This is Now....
It is all about a set of internal scales I have Merle, where the good contributions are on one side, and the bad on the other. I am sure Hitler was nice to his cat, but the scales don't even out do they. I know Hitler is a silly analogy, but you get the point.
And there is no now, without the influence that was then. It is one and the same.
And there is no now, without the influence that was then. It is one and the same.
Bluelight007
Honorable
Love poetry, love reading! Write something sometimes as well if I am inspired.Thank you for sharing
OK So time for a treat, To Aussies this bloke needs no Introduction.
Andrew Barton Paterson (Banjo Paterson)
One of our greatest poets.
He is known for many famous Poems but here are two of my favorites.
All you really need to know is this.
A Mulga is an Aussie Tree
Iron bark is also an Aussie Tree
And also a Place in Australia, actually a couple of places are called Iron bark.
So here is two of my Favorites,
MULGA BILL'S BICYCLE by A.B. "Banjo" Paterson
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;
He turned away the good old horse that served him many days;
He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen;
He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine;
And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride,
The grinning shop assistant said, "Excuse me, can you ride?"
"See here, young man," said Mulga Bill, "from Walgett to the sea,
From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me.
I'm good all round at everything as everybody knows,
Although I'm not the one to talk - I hate a man that blows.
But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight;
Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wildcat can it fight.
There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel,
There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel,
But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight:
I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight."
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode,
That perched above Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road.
He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray,
But 'ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.
It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver steak,
It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man's Creek.
It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box:
The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks,
The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground,
As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound.
It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree,
It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be;
And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek
It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dean Man's Creek.
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore:
He said, "I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before;
I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five-pound bet,
But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet.
I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; it's shaken all my nerve
To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve.
It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave it lying still;
A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill."
The Sydney Mail, 25 July 1896.
And
The Man from Ironbark
It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town,
He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down.
He loitered here, he loitered there, till he was like to drop,
Until at last in sheer despair he sought a barber’s shop.
‘ ’Ere! shave my beard and whiskers off, I’ll be a man of mark,
I’ll go and do the Sydney toff up home in Ironbark.’
The barber man was small and flash, as barbers mostly are,
He wore a strike-your-fancy sash, he smoked a huge cigar;
He was a humorist of note and keen at repartee,
He laid the odds and kept a ‘tote’, whatever that may be,
And when he saw our friend arrive, he whispered, ‘Here’s a lark!
Just watch me catch him all alive, this man from Ironbark.’
There were some gilded youths that sat along the barber’s wall.
Their eyes were dull, their heads were flat, they had no brains at all;
To them the barber passed the wink, his dexter eyelid shut,
‘I’ll make this bloomin’ yokel think his bloomin’ throat is cut.’
And as he soaped and rubbed it in he made a rude remark:
‘I s’pose the flats is pretty green up there in Ironbark.’
A grunt was all the reply he got; he shaved the bushman’s chin,
Then made the water boiling hot and dipped the razor in.
He raised his hand, his brow grew black, he paused awhile to gloat,
Then slashed the red-hot razor-back across his victim’s throat;
Upon the newly-shaven skin it made a livid mark —
No doubt it fairly took him in — the man from Ironbark.
He fetched a wild up-country yell might wake the dead to hear,
And though his throat, he knew full well, was cut from ear to ear,
He struggled gamely to his feet, and faced the murd’rous foe:
‘You’ve done for me! you dog, I’m beat! one hit before I go!
‘I only wish I had a knife, you blessed murdering shark!
‘But you’ll remember all your life the man from Ironbark.’
He lifted up his hairy paw, with one tremendous clout
He landed on the barber’s jaw, and knocked the barber out.
He set to work with nail and tooth, he made the place a wreck;
He grabbed the nearest gilded youth, and tried to break his neck.
And all the while his throat he held to save his vital spark,
And ‘Murder! Bloody Murder!’ yelled the man from Ironbark.
A peeler man who heard the din came in to see the show;
He tried to run the bushman in, but he refused to go.
And when at last the barber spoke, and said ‘’Twas all in fun —
‘’Twas just a little harmless joke, a trifle overdone.’
‘A joke!’ he cried, ‘By George, that’s fine; a lively sort of lark;
‘I’d like to catch that murdering swine some night in Ironbark.’
And now while round the shearing floor the list’ning shearers gape,
He tells the story o’er and o’er, and brags of his escape.
‘Them barber chaps what keeps a tote, By George, I’ve had enough,
‘One tried to cut my bloomin’ throat, but thank the Lord it’s tough.’
And whether he’s believed or no, there’s one thing to remark,
That flowing beards are all the go way up in Ironbark.
Andrew Barton Paterson (Banjo Paterson)
One of our greatest poets.
He is known for many famous Poems but here are two of my favorites.
All you really need to know is this.
A Mulga is an Aussie Tree
Iron bark is also an Aussie Tree
And also a Place in Australia, actually a couple of places are called Iron bark.
So here is two of my Favorites,
MULGA BILL'S BICYCLE by A.B. "Banjo" Paterson
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;
He turned away the good old horse that served him many days;
He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen;
He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine;
And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride,
The grinning shop assistant said, "Excuse me, can you ride?"
"See here, young man," said Mulga Bill, "from Walgett to the sea,
From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me.
I'm good all round at everything as everybody knows,
Although I'm not the one to talk - I hate a man that blows.
But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight;
Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wildcat can it fight.
There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel,
There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel,
But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight:
I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight."
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode,
That perched above Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road.
He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray,
But 'ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.
It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver steak,
It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man's Creek.
It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box:
The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks,
The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground,
As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound.
It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree,
It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be;
And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek
It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dean Man's Creek.
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore:
He said, "I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before;
I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five-pound bet,
But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet.
I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; it's shaken all my nerve
To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve.
It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave it lying still;
A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill."
The Sydney Mail, 25 July 1896.
And
The Man from Ironbark
It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town,
He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down.
He loitered here, he loitered there, till he was like to drop,
Until at last in sheer despair he sought a barber’s shop.
‘ ’Ere! shave my beard and whiskers off, I’ll be a man of mark,
I’ll go and do the Sydney toff up home in Ironbark.’
The barber man was small and flash, as barbers mostly are,
He wore a strike-your-fancy sash, he smoked a huge cigar;
He was a humorist of note and keen at repartee,
He laid the odds and kept a ‘tote’, whatever that may be,
And when he saw our friend arrive, he whispered, ‘Here’s a lark!
Just watch me catch him all alive, this man from Ironbark.’
There were some gilded youths that sat along the barber’s wall.
Their eyes were dull, their heads were flat, they had no brains at all;
To them the barber passed the wink, his dexter eyelid shut,
‘I’ll make this bloomin’ yokel think his bloomin’ throat is cut.’
And as he soaped and rubbed it in he made a rude remark:
‘I s’pose the flats is pretty green up there in Ironbark.’
A grunt was all the reply he got; he shaved the bushman’s chin,
Then made the water boiling hot and dipped the razor in.
He raised his hand, his brow grew black, he paused awhile to gloat,
Then slashed the red-hot razor-back across his victim’s throat;
Upon the newly-shaven skin it made a livid mark —
No doubt it fairly took him in — the man from Ironbark.
He fetched a wild up-country yell might wake the dead to hear,
And though his throat, he knew full well, was cut from ear to ear,
He struggled gamely to his feet, and faced the murd’rous foe:
‘You’ve done for me! you dog, I’m beat! one hit before I go!
‘I only wish I had a knife, you blessed murdering shark!
‘But you’ll remember all your life the man from Ironbark.’
He lifted up his hairy paw, with one tremendous clout
He landed on the barber’s jaw, and knocked the barber out.
He set to work with nail and tooth, he made the place a wreck;
He grabbed the nearest gilded youth, and tried to break his neck.
And all the while his throat he held to save his vital spark,
And ‘Murder! Bloody Murder!’ yelled the man from Ironbark.
A peeler man who heard the din came in to see the show;
He tried to run the bushman in, but he refused to go.
And when at last the barber spoke, and said ‘’Twas all in fun —
‘’Twas just a little harmless joke, a trifle overdone.’
‘A joke!’ he cried, ‘By George, that’s fine; a lively sort of lark;
‘I’d like to catch that murdering swine some night in Ironbark.’
And now while round the shearing floor the list’ning shearers gape,
He tells the story o’er and o’er, and brags of his escape.
‘Them barber chaps what keeps a tote, By George, I’ve had enough,
‘One tried to cut my bloomin’ throat, but thank the Lord it’s tough.’
And whether he’s believed or no, there’s one thing to remark,
That flowing beards are all the go way up in Ironbark.
Well it has been a little while since I posted one of my poems.
Many probably don't know it but our friend Athena ashford is quite a poet, with a wonderful soul and a gift for poetry.
I have read some of her words privately, and although she chooses not to post t00 much of her beautiful words. They make you cry with both Joy and sadness that someone so young can have such emotions.
So Athena my friend this one is for you. I wrote it last year after, well, my life changed.
Life is long, and not all bad, and there is someone for everyone. you just have to meet them.
This one I dedicate to you.
Oh... Just to clarify, by me ib the poem it i s a metaphorical me, I mean your soulmate that you will one day meet, not me..as in me lol Parent panic
Many probably don't know it but our friend Athena ashford is quite a poet, with a wonderful soul and a gift for poetry.
I have read some of her words privately, and although she chooses not to post t00 much of her beautiful words. They make you cry with both Joy and sadness that someone so young can have such emotions.
So Athena my friend this one is for you. I wrote it last year after, well, my life changed.
Life is long, and not all bad, and there is someone for everyone. you just have to meet them.
This one I dedicate to you.
Oh... Just to clarify, by me ib the poem it i s a metaphorical me, I mean your soulmate that you will one day meet, not me..as in me
lol Parent panic Hello Folks,
Well this one is not a poem, but I thought I might show you all anyway. Since my wife gave me the boot, I have taken up lessons in Airbrushing. I have just finished (Thursday Night) term 3. Each term is about 6 or 7 lessons long, I missed 3 or 4 out of this term due to me having meltdowns for a couple of reasons.
Anyway to the point. Term 1 day one never picked up an airbrush. Just finished my final project for term three. Cant wait to term four starts, term four if I am quick enough we learn textures, if not term five. Anyway, here is a happy snap of the final project, it was done this way to teach a particular technique. As you can see (if your old like me it is Audrey Hepburn) We do a repeat in term four but that Audrey is really detailed and nice, can't wait to learn it.
Anyway, hope you like it, still got my learner plates on.
Here is term three Audrey...
Oh Sorry, she is still taped to my easel.
Well this one is not a poem, but I thought I might show you all anyway. Since my wife gave me the boot, I have taken up lessons in Airbrushing. I have just finished (Thursday Night) term 3. Each term is about 6 or 7 lessons long, I missed 3 or 4 out of this term due to me having meltdowns for a couple of reasons.
Anyway to the point. Term 1 day one never picked up an airbrush. Just finished my final project for term three. Cant wait to term four starts, term four if I am quick enough we learn textures, if not term five. Anyway, here is a happy snap of the final project, it was done this way to teach a particular technique. As you can see (if your old like me it is Audrey Hepburn) We do a repeat in term four but that Audrey is really detailed and nice, can't wait to learn it.
Anyway, hope you like it, still got my learner plates on.
Here is term three Audrey...
Oh Sorry, she is still taped to my easel.