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I LOVE POEMS

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Last post 16/09/2020

Posted by AlienGirlWorx

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      You are most certainly welcome, missguitar.

      I'd love to get to go see the Beatles museum in Liverpool! It would be so cool to walk the streets and think, "this is where it all began...". Actually, just going to England would be pretty neat. But Liverpool would be a dream...

      And I still tend to look words up in my dictionary as well! My friends call me the travelling English Dictionary, Thesarus and Grammar textbook Three in One deal.

      I can't decide whether that's a compliment of not, though.

      You do have a way with words, though, that's for sure! If you hadn't said English was a second language, I'd have never have guessed!

        dear crossover genius, i really hope you'll go one day to Liverpool
        thanks u for the compliments about my english and my poem.
        Here is another poem dedicated to Paul :
        I don't know you, but I love you,
        Because your words, they are so true,
        Your music gets me out of the blue,
        And your lovely songs are my rescue,
        I admire your inspiration,
        Some miraculous vibration,
        Full of grace, joy and passion,
        Unbounded imagination.

          My guitar is so dear to me,
          It's a gift from my brother,
          It's always waiting for me,
          In my room at the same place ever,
          Sometimes it attracts me so much,
          I can't wait to hear its sound,
          Sometimes it just can't be touched,
          Only when time just can't be found.

            Ah, so I've met another guitarist, whose prized instrument was a gift from the family?

            Mine was given to me,
            Entrusted to my care,
            Without a sign of wear,
            A true gift, you see.

            T'was my mother's brother's,
            one pride and joy to play,
            sit around and strum all day,
            It is now mine, and no other's.

            For he is now gone,
            Passed away,
            But here today,
            Am I, singing an old song...

            (I'm curious though...what type of guitar is it?)

              What a beautiful poem about your guitar
              Mine is an acoustic "Seagul" guitar, what's yours :

                Ooooh...pretty...

                A lovely acoustic classical Ovation.

                  cool

                    Gratzi.

                      Home is where i used to live,
                      And where i live now,
                      A home among the trees,
                      And now disturbed by cars,
                      Home is where i used to give,
                      All my love though,
                      Now it's strange how i feel,
                      In my heart a bleeding scar.

                        Awww Miss Guitar....that was sad the last line about the heart is a bleeding scar.... I think as we all get older, we do get those scars don't we... Better to have a scarred heart that a cold heart that can't feel and never scars... don't you think?

                        I wrote this poem about a little girl I saw in Antigua Guatemala... she broke my heart and I cry each time I think of her.... talk about a scar on my heart. I hope I can figure out a way to get her some artificial hands...

                        Antigua Guatemala

                        Baby Sparrow Girl

                        Vacationers with money plenty
                        visit lands with not much of any
                        Hungry children, beg to sell their wares
                        To fatted tourists with very few cares

                        Feelings blunted from TV
                        True poverty they don't really see
                        the plight of many, open your eyes
                        this is real life, look see their strife

                        Children holding up handwoven mats
                        Please buy from me, you want to touch?
                        Please buy from me, I don't ask much
                        We need to buy food and clothes and such

                        Standing back I see a girl, Where's her hands?
                        The tourists tho, they look away, quickly now they walk away
                        She hold up her arms to me, up in the air
                        Like a sparrow baby girl, oh how unfair

                        I looked in her eyes, I saw her despair
                        How can these people just stand and stare
                        Someone, help, please someone care
                        I reached in my pocket and gave what was there

                        Oh sparrow baby girl don't you cry
                        For you will have money to eat tonight
                        I saw the pain, so deep in your eyes
                        I wish I could do more to make it all right

                        Oh sparrow baby girl don't you cry
                        I want to hold you, take away all your fright
                        Why does everyone say that I should ignore you
                        What kind of world is this, so cruel and so callous

                        Oh sparrow baby girl, now I cry
                        I see your eyes and the pain from inside
                        I can't forget you, I don't want to try
                        For I learned from you, you opened my eyes

                        I won't forget you, you opened my eyes

                        to all children in need, especially in Haiti

                          Awww... Love2Travel...I was gonna be all happy and squeeish that you were back (how was your trip??) but...

                          Awwww...

                          That's beautiful. Pure prose and utterly eloquent.

                          -sniffles- Now I'mma cryin'...

                            Hi Crossover,

                            Thank you so much... I missed the poems, but the email was so prohibitively expensive and very slow.

                            I had a wonderful time, but I have to say I was really very affected by the little girl with no hands... I'm still trying to figure it out... Seeing all the poverty hasn't found it's Archimedes level in me yet, but it really displaced many thoughts...like a giant tidal wave. Gonna meditate on it. I have to do something about it...not sure what yet. I am mostly really mad that everyone thought I should ignore her and not give her any money... What the heck is a poor little girl with no hands, living in a 3rd world country, going to do for money anyway... of course she is going to beg!!! Sorry... I will stop the rant now....

                              Tides rushing in, rushing out
                              Erasing footsteps in the sand
                              Under the boardwalk, hidden from view
                              Sharing secrets covered up by the sound of the waves

                              Who knew time would go so fast
                              The memory remains, warm and fuzzy
                              Pulled out for inspection, protection
                              Then safely returned to the vault

                              Cherished thoughts
                              Polished bright
                              Once more
                              Golden heart

                                Hmmmm...pretty poetry!

                                I understand. I /have/ missed you and your poetry, too!

                                That last poem reminded me a little about Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's "The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls". Which is /only/ my most favorite poem ever.

                                Just a little like it, the way you personified the waves, I think.

                                  Crossover...you give such nice compliments... I had never read the Henry Wadsworth Longellow poem, but I really like it too! Thanks!

                                  You do have an amazing command of the English language... I think it is a complement when your friends call you a Dictionary/Thesaurus! I just looked up "fides" and I really like that word, a new one to add to my dictionary.

                                  Good luck on your group project...hope you get the A. I really like hearing about your school projects, thanks for sharing with us!

                                    -eyeroll- Yeah, the only two boys in our group are gonna destroy it all. If only it coulda just been the four of us... -sigh-

                                    Yeah, only most times they call me a Dictionary/Thesaurus because they're upset with me -- they don't like me editing their papers one class before it's due.

                                    "Fides" is a nifty word, isn't it? ops: I had to look it up, too.

                                    You've got quite the handle on it as well.

                                      Yes, I will definitely keep fides handy... an honorable word...

                                      Those group things really always work out that way. My sister just had a group project that was 1/3 of their grade and one person didn't show up on the day they presented it! They had to improvise on the spot, without some major props that person was supposed to bring... she was really mad. The teacher curved the grade in the end.

                                      I have decided that I want to see if I would like the poems that I would write of my favorite paintings. Here goes...

                                      http://i433.photobucket.com/albums/qq52/Happy_Traveller/Favorite%20Photos/478px-Vincent_Willem_van_Gogh_015.jpg

                                      Cafe' Terrace at Night - Vincent van Gogh

                                      Royal blue night of 1888
                                      Yellow stars in the sky glimmer, radiate
                                      Cafe lit bright in Arles town square
                                      At round tables artists gather, in brown wooden chairs
                                      Drinking Absinthe,slotted spoon in their hands
                                      Poured over sugar, their minds it expands

                                      With the Green Fairy, they intimately danced
                                      Feelings artistic, were greatly enhanced
                                      Conversation was spirited late into the night
                                      Jocular, and animated enhanced by a little green sprite

                                      Around the town square, local folks stroll the town
                                      Walking cobblestoned streets, women in long gowns
                                      Back at the cafe the chatter grows loud
                                      The music inside competing with the crowd

                                      Last call is heard at the Terrace Cafe
                                      The artists they scatter and call it a day
                                      Alone Vincent stumbles back to his atelier
                                      Staying up late, a new painting of the evenings soiree

                                        Mmmm...pwetty! I like VanGogh, (nix the ear-cutting-off part...)

                                        Yeah, apparently one of the members sent it, I just never recieved it in my email inbox. Again, we're back at square one...

                                        Although, it would be rather satisfying to simply say, "I asked for the slides two weeks ago, and Nate and Cole never got them to me" to the teacher. Laying the blame on them. That would be nice...

                                        While doing "research" and digging through my mom's boxes of vinyl, I found Wings "At The Speed of Sound". Now all I need is a turntable...

                                          Thanks Crossover.... I'm waiting for you to write a nice long poem again

                                          Does it make you mad that Nate & Cole are going to get credit for your hard work on the project?! Its all about teamwork....

                                          Wings at the Speed of Sound....that's a real find! Maybe if you look further, you can find the turntable, and the speakers and receiver too! I still have both of my old turntables... I can't bear throwing them out! They have expensive needles on them!

                                          I just now read that van Gogh killed himself...that's pretty sad news. I wish he had been recognized during his lifetime...Sad

                                            love2travel:Awww Miss Guitar....that was sad the last line about the heart is a bleeding scar.... I think as we all get older, we do get those scars don't we... Better to have a scarred heart that a cold heart that can't feel and never scars... don't you think?

                                            I wrote this poem about a little girl I saw in Antigua Guatemala... she broke my heart and I cry each time I think of her.... talk about a scar on my heart. I hope I can figure out a way to get her some artificial hands...

                                            Antigua Guatemala

                                            Baby Sparrow Girl

                                            Vacationers with money plenty
                                            visit lands with not much of any
                                            Hungry children, beg to sell their wares
                                            To fatted tourists with very few cares

                                            Feelings blunted from TV
                                            True poverty they don't really see
                                            the plight of many, open your eyes
                                            this is real life, look see their strife

                                            Children holding up handwoven mats
                                            Please buy from me, you want to touch?
                                            Please buy from me, I don't ask much
                                            We need to buy food and clothes and such

                                            Standing back I see a girl, Where's her hands?
                                            The tourists tho, they look away, quickly now they walk away
                                            She hold up her arms to me, up in the air
                                            Like a sparrow baby girl, oh how unfair

                                            I looked in her eyes, I saw her despair
                                            How can these people just stand and stare
                                            Someone, help, please someone care
                                            I reached in my pocket and gave what was there

                                            Oh sparrow baby girl don't you cry
                                            For you will have money to eat tonight
                                            I saw the pain, so deep in your eyes
                                            I wish I could do more to make it all right

                                            Oh sparrow baby girl don't you cry
                                            I want to hold you, take away all your fright
                                            Why does everyone say that I should ignore you
                                            What kind of world is this, so cruel and so callous

                                            Oh sparrow baby girl, now I cry
                                            I see your eyes and the pain from inside
                                            I can't forget you, I don't want to try
                                            For I learned from you, you opened my eyes

                                            I won't forget you, you opened my eyes

                                            to all children in need, especially in Haiti

                                            wonderful poem love2travel
                                            indeed i think sometimes it's a kind of cure to write about sadness...

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