Its What She Didnt Say
When I hear your voice inside my head it makes me think of you every single day as I fight back tears of sadness and wonder if you're okay
My life is empty without you I wish time would take away the pain but the ache in my heart persists and my simple hopes seem in vain
I realize how much I hurt you and now I know it's too late to tell you how sorry I am and expect you not to hate
I don't deserve a second chance to show you how much I care when you needed me the most I know I failed to be there
Now your trust in me is gone forever and I will never have the chance to say I really hope your dreams come true and happiness finds you every day
I would give almost anything in life if I could go back to that day and erase everything I said and did to make your heartache go away
What hurts the most is this is what you didn't say and the absence of these words haunt me each and every day...
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 Mormon Times | Complete poetry of Eliza R. Snow published Mormon Times 20, at the Sons of the Utah Pioneers building to celebrate the release of "Eliza R. Snow: The Complete Poetry." The 1333 page book was edited by Derr and ... |
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Google News
Walt Whitman, Romance With a Stranger
The concept of brief encounters, even romantic encounters, with a stranger recurs often in the verses of Walt Whitman.Take, for example, these lines from one of the inscriptions that Whitman wrote to his 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass.
The Last King of Mars [A Poetic Mytho]
[As Told by the Last] King: it was in the year 23,700 BC that one of the two moons of earth was hit by a meteor that of which, a great part of the moon broke off and hit earth's surface with a devastating impact. Thus the solar system absorbed a cataclysm in unimaginable proportions, from Jupiter to Mars; knocking Earth out of its 100,000-year Ice Age.
The King and Delka & Moiromma: the Cold Planet [Parts 25 and 26]
#25The King and Delka[Split Mawkishness-on Moiromma /Part V]Sickly SentimentalityI have sought out friendsOnly to find rawnessOf their passion;And the uniformity Of their vision.Who out there can knowMy cerebral verve?(Only the long dead)By King Moir I[Of Moiromma]Ah! the aimless cosmos come back to his mind as he stands on his balcony looking up into he eerie dark.
Four Poems: Harvest of Apoplectic Horses [Katrinas Pathway]
Four Poems: Katrina's PathwayHarvest of Apoplectic Horses((Dedicated to: Katrina)) crisis)It has happened before:Nearby and afar,Where the four-horses ofApocalypseWith their flaming nostrilsBreathed in the fury of the windsOnly to vomit out, disaster; -Then galloped away,Against pale faces!..
Find the Magic
FIND the MAGICFind the MagicAs you release old bondage Come out of hidingAnd see the starsFind the MagicAs you expose the painLet the tears flowAnd find beauty in your bodyFind the MagicAs you scream from the beatingRun from the threatsAnd feel the warmth of a hugFind the MagicAs the little girl is silencedTold she is too smart for her own goodAnd she finds her place of honor as she speaks her mindFind the MagicAs the ghosts creep into dreamHaunt your daily lifeAnd you meet them at the crossroads and move onFind the MagicAs you drift out of your body, avoiding the angerObserve the separationAnd you join the body temple once again to rejoice in this unique wonderFind the MagicAs you listen to the conflicts andWatch in horrorAnd emerge from the water whole and beautiful in a rainbow of colorsFind the Magic, For you are whole once again© 2004 Susan BaconSusan Bacon is an researcher, teacher and author. Contact her through her web site http://www.
Sleep, Dreams, and a Poem
The Incubus' Flash-lightHe looked inside my headAnd found a dreamHe didn't like-;As I looked back at him,I found an incubus Shinning a light(and stole this poem fromhim-last night).Thoughts: Dreams and Poetry: in dreams we let go of our inhibitions; in poetry we write them back out.
For My Mother
I cannot bear to thinkof when you will be gone.I do not understandhow I will get along.
Recollections
I AM SO GRATEFUL for simpler times.Stores were closed on Sundays,TV shows seemed to make more sense,Family members spent ample time with each other,And people were valued more than things.
The Cat
Truth is stranger than fiction according to many people who have seen what happens around me and to them, on many occasions. Sometimes I have had others affect me in the same way.
The Spirits de Copan
Part oneI see them in the skiesI hear them in their hellsThey whisper and they moanAnd never are alone-The Spirits and the Ghouls?The Spirits de Copan!They are shadows in my worldEchoes in my dreamsA mystery and a forceTo a cosmic happening!The Spirits and the Ghouls?The Spirits de Copan!..
The Dead God of Copan (in English and Spanish)
English VersionAnd the Death God said: "Let it rise to its glory in the Rio Valley-for a season; then let it be gone, we shall call it Copan?"Prologue: Empires come and go, liken to cosmic events, or the storms around the world: Atlantis, Mu, Greece, Persia, Rome, the Inca Nation, and even the great Maya heroic times of Copan, in Central America. All came and all left, one way or another; now just dust and artifacts in the spiral of time.
Here And There
My eyes opened. I am still alive;Living on planet earth.
A Ship to Remember
Hammers. Timbers.
Welcome to the Town of Feeling
Happy, Sad, Mad and Glad,Moved in down the streetCautious watched them, from her window,Wondering, which one should I meet?Confused came in with overwhelmed and said,"The Panics have come to town"Then Hopeful called the carefulls,And said that Happy was a clown.Anxious came in with the news,Confident had called a town meetingTo take a vote for Mayor,And to Welcome the new neighbors to Feeling.
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 little more notorious since Jessie James robbed the 1st National Bank, in September of last year, and more to the West.
Memoirs of a Wastelands Rim [a Poem: now in Spanish and English]
Memoirs of a Wasteland's RimIt still was light when she paused at the wasteland's rim-Over, the rim rest like a sleeping brute, a wooden frameAdjacent to the blue where early stars hung like oil lampsHanging from old beams and shade?the wooden frameHer footing caught the beams, as she had fallen onto itAlone, she watched the forenoon, climbing around herA drifter woman, marked by life, and slanting dreams With appearance of hurt and molded muscle on her faceHer figure etched against the wooden frame,She tried to jump, and lost her balance, hanging like a birdNow sipping the gloom in the ledge and shattered hopesShe yielded before the sluggish advance of sunsetBlood dripped, with her dying darknessAnd a crimson moon hurled a flame acrossThe shadowy clouds, burning throughout the skyThe tormented sky above her?Crossing the valley's floor her eye gripped itRocky images, highest pointsThrusting herself up boldly from to the ledgeThe painted morning blushed over the rimHer brows and nose, face against the granite stoneMassive injuries was taking form,Her silhouette floating so indolently across the sunIt was too great a task-to die alone?she wished nowShe had not jumped?a thousand feet below, yet to go.Too much for any woman in a lost worldOut of the weak wood her mind had peace; She knew soon it would all be over-alasMute and protesting against life's uselessnessA narrow path lay below her slender bodyBetween death and attainment, a careless footThe rocks beneath her weakening, she plungedPlunged to her death, in the carving hands of the valleyThinking of it, as she fell, thinking with a smiled,Saying, looking up-dead before her echoes: 'Time is short?time is short?time is short!'When they found her, her face was unafraid of falling.
Stone Beds [A Poem and an Advance]
Stone Beds[Pompeii's surge]Advance: after the great eruption of Pompeii's nearby volcano, Vesuvius, some two-thousand years ago in the heyday of the Roman Empire, what was left of the city were mostly ashes of stone from an unleashing furnace; it is hard to imagine what the people went through (none, not one person survived). I can only guess from the looks of the city today, and in its early excavations, its people were baked alive or asleep, like pottery.
Give Me a Lily Pad & The Continuum [two Poems]
What can I do to keep this world in its orbital spin?I gave up trying to win the hearts of the many-.Throw the meat-balls against the wall, stop, stop!!Trying to make them spin, like God did in the heavens!Sexual longings-a pathway to anger and rage-Turn the page to the cheap hotels, turn the pageGive it a pathway to run, tell your friends, they've won.
Publishing Your Poetry
If you are serious about seeing your work published by reputable publishers, there are a few points you should consider. Firstly and most obviously, you need to determine if you have poetry worth publishing.
Mechanical Poetry
Do you ever stare at the paper, waiting for poetic inspiration? Well, you can stop waiting and start using systematic techniques for creating poetry. If it seems too mechanical or artificial at first, don't worry.
