Because of You
You are to me my lifelinemy security.That scares me.I never wanted to trust again that muchI got hurt too badly the last time.I swore I'd never do it again,never let the trust out of my handsinto someone elses.
And yet I've done itand now I'm afraidof what you will do with it,of what I'll do because of it.
My first instinct is, as always,to run, to hide,to protect myselffrom the hurt I know will come.I don't know when or how,just that it will, sometime.
I wanted to protect myselfto build the walls around mebut you wouldn't let me.You smashed bricks as I put them in placeyou refused to let me shut myself in,so now what?Where do I go now?I feel lost,defenceless,my hiding place is no more.
My walls are brokenand I'm now afraid to rebuild the wallsafraid I won't see you if I door anyone elseand I'm not sure if that's really what I want to do.
AT times it is.I want to shut myself away and hide,and yet I want to be out,to mixto talkto share.And I blame youfor not letting me before shaking me upfor refusing to let me retreat.
And yet I know that if I were not readyyou could not have reached meno one could.I would have protected myself betterI wouldn't have riskedor grown.
I want to curse you and thank youat the same time.I want to laugh with delightat the things I've seenand found with youand cry in despair for what will not be.
You have opened me to bewhat, I'm not yet surebut I know that I am strongerbecause of youbraver, because of youmore, because of you.
Fran Watson"Expert Author"http://www.franwatson.cahttp://www.mormunny4u.orghttp://www.diet-basics.org
MORE RESOURCES:
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Poetry - Google News
Way of Life: Rhymes of the Inca [four poems: see in Spanish and English NOW!]
Way of Life: Rhymes of the IncaPizarro(Spanish conquistador ((1525))The blind follow the blindThe dumb follow the foolBut the cleaver, like 'Pizarro,'(who could not read or write)Followed human-nature?And ruled the Inca world!Thus, Atahualpa was Beheaded out of pride and Indolence-: one might say,And ignorance ruled? .Note: don Francisco Pizarro #689 5/27/05Cepeda the Sly[Lima, Per-l546 AD]Cepeda the Sly-, judge With two sides; one false,One pride-both mixed with lies.
Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Dog
Emlyn Williams Theatre, Mold, North Wales: 20th February 2003Clwyd Theatr Cymru commemorated the 50th anniversary of the death of the Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas (1914-1953) with a superb run of performances by a small but accomplished cast of actors.Described in the programme as "A theatrical journey through the prose writing of Dylan Thomas", the production was created by Tim Baker, an Associate of the Royal National Theatre, who won the Manchester Evening News Best Visiting Production award in 1992 for the highly acclaimed To Kill a Mockingbird.
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.
Cruel World
Azra, Azra,Wake up Azra.Wake up Azra,It is time to go.
Stones
As I picked up some of the polished gemstones in the rock store I began to think about what the stones looked like before they were polished. The store had several rocks on display showing the before and after and I realized that unless you knew what you were looking for, you could easily pass by a valuable gemstone.
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!..
Learn About Love From Poet Rumi
In this modern age of technology, busy lifestyles, and obsession with consumerism have taken a lot of the romance and love out of our lives. The Internet has become a medium to connect with people as everyone is finding it a lot harder to meet one another in the 'real' world.
Ole Bulky Jeeps & Paper, Ink and Rain [two Peoms]
Ole Bulky JeepsThrough late summer's heatThese bulky shaped jeepsRide by house and farmCity and barn-Hungry for Spring-again, hoping to avoidThe Slipping and slidingOf winter's ice and wind?[s]Their weighty legs are dirtyFrom moving dust and rain(Here and there, everywhere)Through all kinds of terrainLike moving clouds caughtIn the foliage of the woods?They never slow down a tingThey have a duty, and give.It's part of how they live-In military-, bulky ole jeeps!.
Africa - Wheres The Profit?
A poetic comment that just welled up inside my head - why cant we just do something - before many more are dead?How pious those politicians are,When up there on T.V.
The Ballad of: Brawling Mad-dog Sergeant Rook [Now in: SPANISH and English]
English VersionA bunch of us guys in the hutIn ?NamWere playing cards, singing songs;In a solo-room, back of the hutLay mad-dog, Sergeant Rook;And watching from a distanceWas his sidekick, Corporal Cook.When out of the night, he wantedTo fightThis bully of six-foot-twoDog-drunk, smelling like a skunkI wanted to fight him too.
It Was Not Me
It was not me as I am now.It was not me as I was then.
Joined
JOINEDHeart beat of manpounding - yet unheardjoined becomes thebeat of a nation.Words of man written - yetunreadjoinedbecomes a proclamation.
Testimony to the Night [In English and Spanish]
In the quiet of the arctic night-In its deep northern skies,Dim are the lights, in its coldEvening frost?!Even the stars of the arcticSeem silently stone frozen!Here, here is where you findPeace and the beast within-!Remote, no ears or wordsTo clutter the mindTo entrench the throat;Here, here is where you die?(for a moment).Here, the sky has eternal eyesEyes with cosmic tidesTides that never rest: they warWith the Universe-Likened to a dark deep abyss;Endless and never resting?Here my eyes seek and searchIn countless hours, ebbing andSweeping the heavens aboveNumbing, changeless-Are the cosmos, the heavens?Here resides a strange peace?Here, resides a strange peaceWith an army of stars to defeatShinning, silently in the darkThe ebbing, eldritch dark;Time has no relevance here,Here, resides a strange, peace?Cold and oddly numb are my feet,As I look up, upon the many bridgesOne star bridging the next-as if,If Kings and Queens wereGuarding them-the Hosts-O-Yes! A strange, strange peace?Ah! Praise, praise be to thee, to theeFlaming, blazing firmaments-ye,Ye, remind me not, of the wars I left,Of the foes, divine immortals?The enemies that never restAh! Praise, praise be to thee, to theeI hear music, harmony from afar (there)There are storms hidden in a storehouse,For tomorrow-war beyond, beyondOrion's dust?perpetual dust;There, there the sun is dim to bleak.
Passion and Poetry, and Life
Ironically, the passion that can neutralize the repulsion for difficulties depends on the effort to overcome these difficulties. The irony resides in the circularity of this principle - which applies to all areas of activity, including poetry: One must make the effort to overcome difficulties to achieve success and feel capable, and one needs this achievement and feeling to have a passion for making this effort.
Opposites Do Attract Quite Well
When I am climbing up, you are stepping down.When I wear a smile, you wear a frown.
Ode, to the Mighty Midget Omac [In English and Spanish]
Part OneMidget HistoryI am thirty-six inches tall, that is all-Honest to god I amMy hair is green, my eyes red, and IHave a very thick neckMy eyebrows are thin, and my beardHas three hairs?And I bore abuse, when I was youngYes! It happened to be; day by day??folks laugh at me, my appearanceYou see?I make them appalled..
A Ship to Remember
Hammers. Timbers.
Blind Designs [a Poem] and a Note by Rosa on The Other Door
Blind DesignsBorn today, gone tomorrowLike a butterfly with no stomachBorn n the morning, dead by nightOh-let me whisperOh-let me cryWhat man has not learned?What man will not learn!In his pomposity, his rhetoric With his abstract conceptsWith his intellectWith his creativenessHe has become enslavedBy-them?By them all, he will fall. Ah! Yes-abstract conceptsBombast and rhetoric His intellectHis clevernessThis he leaves behindTo his decedents!.
Three Poems: Dona Leonors Revenge; The Old Moon; Common Sides [All in Spanish/all in English]
1) Doa Leonor's Revenge [1627 AD]Rafael Ortiz's fateWas on the plateOf Doa Leonor'sWhen she arrivedIn Lima, Peru;To taste revengeFor the beheadingOf her husband.And so the plot?was now played out(in an alleyway)As she gutted her trout!In SpanishTranslated by Nancy PenalozaLa leyenda de:La venganza de doa Leonor(1627 despus de cristo)El destino de Rafael Ortiz Estaba sobre el platoDe doa Leonor.
Since Youve Been Gone...
My life has changedin so so many waysIt seems to always bein a state of disarray..
