Ethernet lines reach<br>Beyond me to there<br>To
lake, forest or beach<br>Words,thoughts,feelings
share<br><br>Words, Words, Words, Words, Words,<br>Mine, yours, ours
sublime<br>Together, alone, we are assured<br>Our feelings flow
through time<br><br>You and you are there<br>See and feel
syntax<br>I and me are here<br>Words exchange and
combat<br><br>One day you are gone<br>To your real world<br>You
released, I alone<br>Words no longer
unfurled<br><br><br>Moment in time from routine<br>Fears, joys, friendship
shared<br>Tranquility, power, serene<br>Friendship always
declared<br><br>Calmness, memories and beauty<br>Gone back to life and
friends<br>Back to hearth, child and duty<br>Moment in time in
our hands<br><br>Savannah

To taste his kiss long after it's been
given...<br>To feel his touch long after he sleeps...<br>To hear
his words long after passions' crest...<br>To gaze
into his eyes long after they've closed to
dream...<br><br>To know that we share a love unimaginable, <br>and
shall never want for more...<br>To know that we've
always been faithful, <br>and each was the others'
first, and only...<br>To know that he is my Husband...my
Lover...my Life...<br>And I, his Being...his Lady...his
Wife...<br><br>...Lady C

As I am browsing the posts and their verse
contained within, I realize how thankful I am for all of
your support and contributions. I hope that you
continue to find in this place a space for your
expression.<br><br>My gates are open and I feel your verses expand the
boundaries of which they are a portal and I am
grateful.<br><br>All of you have my permission to extend an invitation
to any you feel may be interested in such a place as
this.<br><br>Dennis

The Swallow <br><br>Mesmerizing sensuousness
lingers in my memory <br>Of a swallow... single and
unrestrained <br><br>A sip from a long stemmed clear crystal
glass filled with a dark and lusty juice sublime...
smooth and fluid fine <br>A swallow... "drizzled down...
like warm summer rain" single and unrestrained
<br><br>And with the lift and tilt and placement soft against
sensitive lips and tongue <br>Again a swallow... "drizzled
down... like warm summer rain" single and unrestrained
<br><br>Outside through windowed scene, a cold winter rain paints
with slick glistening sheen <br>Again a swallow...
"drizzled down... like warm summer rain" single and
unrestrained <br><br>The rocks, the grasses, the trees, the
fallen leaves.. icy moist and sensuously cleaned
<br>Again a swallow... "drizzled down... like warm summer
rain" single and unrestrained <br><br>Though the rain
be frigid cold... heated bodies are warmed
shivering, an excuse to closely cling <br>Again a swallow...
"drizzled down... like warm summer rain" single and
unrestrained<br><br>In the flow of their embrace an intimacy long held
and mutually made reveals a smile on each
face<br>Again a swallow... "drizzled down... like warm summer
rain" <br><br>A cozy glow now prevails against the cold
and welcomes them to slumber's soothing fold <br>The
last swallow... "drizzled down... like warm summer
rain"

You stand silent and motionless<br>awaiting my
next move.<br><br>Our eyes meet...and lock.<br>I'm
enchanted and thrilled;<br>you are hesitant and
wary.<br><br>How can I assure you of their safety?<br>How can I
make you understand that your<br>little ones hidden
within the bracken<br>are just as precious to me as they
are to you?<br><br>Go now...for within the boundaries
of my forest<br>no harm will befall you...save that
<br>which is ordained by God.<br><br>Your kind will
continue to wander here<br>long after my bones turn to
dust.<br><br>Go in Peace, my Little Sister...<br>for we are one
in Life.<br><br><br><br>.....Lady C<br> (6/9/94)

I am truly my Mother's daughter, for She <br>has
molded me into Her own image...<br>She has taken the
green of Her forests<br>and placed it in my
eyes...<br>The softness of Her cornsilk graces my
skin.<br><br>The crimson blaze of Her sunset flows through my
veins...<br>The blush of Her early dawn is upon my
lips.<br><br>The brown of Her soil colors my hair...<br>The salt
of Her oceans I hold within my tears...<br>Reflected
upon my skin...the whiteness of Her clouds.<br><br>The
sounds of Her summer breezes She has put into my
sigh...<br>The cadence of my breath...the rhythm of Her swelling
waves.<br><br>Her hot sultry nights suggest my Passion...<br>Her
storms...my unleashed anger...<br>Her bubbling brooks embody
my laughter.<br><br>The swaying of Her wildflowers
are in my dancing body...<br>Her twinkling starlight
shines from my eyes...<br>Her crescent Moon...my
enigmatic smile.<br><br>The occasional darkness of my moods
<br>are soothed by Her bejeweled night sky...<br>As a
gentle reminder that so long as you are Loved...<br>you
have wealth beyond measure.<br><br><br><br>...Lady
C<br> (June 1999)

Twin Santas stand<br>In Christmas cheery
poses<br><br>Natural thatch bodies<br>In carved wooden
clothes<br><br>One's beard, fluffy cotton floss<br>The other's, grey
Spanish moss<br><br>Twin Santas stand<br>In Christmas
cheery poses

Keep off the GRASS!  <br><br>GRASS LEAVES stains! (Adjective, noun,
verb)<br><br>GRASS LEAVES stains! (Noun, verb, noun)<br><br>;-)

Unfortunately... Yahoo became an editor and
chopped of the last of this poem... <br><br><br>It is a
cycle... old and completed... for trees that<br>neither
see nor hear nor smell the gifts they give<br>us are
truly treasures hidden in plain sight...<br> <br>The
stroll in sauntering pace ends as does the cycle song of
trees... <br>and dusks last warming ray lengthens and
darkens into night...

Pokeberry dark purple in clusters waiting for
the<br>fullness of the autumn's sweet frosty kiss...<br> <br>Tiny
wild daisies, purple and white peeking<br>through the
brambles for their time in the sun...<br><br>Red sumac and
golding poplar and green needled pine <br>stepped liked
stairs in their gradual height...<br><br>Golden leaves,
bright forest treasures hidden in plain sight...<br>
<br>Huckleberry hug in small many branched bushes<br>their
bramble bunches to the rocky soil cling
tight...<br><br>The trees play dodge with us as they drop and
toss<br>hickory nut and walnut and acorn...<br> <br>The wind
aiming their throw trying to knock a<br>notion of their
thoughts through our heads...<br> <br>Scent of leaf mold
lusty and bold catches our<br>noses by
surprise...<br><br>Not un-pleasing.. a perfume of preparation...
a<br>scent of cycling season... of change...<br><br>The
notes of Winter's coming whispers through the<br>trees
autumn colored, crisp, and clear... <br><br>Poison ivy
its variety of vine and bush adds its<br>beautful but
scratchy voice to the pre-winter song<br>in
greenish-yellow three leafletted harmony...<br><br>We also hear
the crisp crimson soft leaf notes of the<br>dogwood
with its berries red and matching reddish purple
leaf...<br> <br>We gaze down to watch our step and see the
flinty<br>cholate soil heavy with hairy moss and lichen
patch...<br><br>And once our step is placed, we notice a pause in
the<br>treesong... a new... sadder note is heard...<br><br>For the
fallen wood, pithy carapace, angular dark<br>and dead..
sad at their falling the standing
ones<br>sing...<br><br>But knowing that in their fall they are welcomed
by<br>the cities of soil dwellers and scurry
forest<br>folk...<br> <br>We see our path crossing a strange and
plastic<br>thing... an upturned play turtle's covering shell...<br>
<br>In its concave bowl it contains a depth of leaf tea
<br>steeped in the sun's perking warmth and
light...<br><br>Leaf tea from rains ago... and morning dew...
dead<br>leaves from oak, hickory, and poplar.. make
this<br>translucent tannic tasting amber brew...<br> <br>Offering a
quenching draugh and draft for the<br>feathered and furred,
flying and scurrying woodland crew... <br> <br>Prickly
briar and swampberry bush, blackberry's wild<br>thorny
cousin give their now almost leafless stems to the
seasons change...<br> <br>And the trees sing of their
place above and below their canopy... <br>and wonder in
their sightless thoughts <br>what is the color that the
sighted see...<br> <br>Leaves rustle in our cadenced step
causing a cacaphony<br>of shuffling, wrinkly rasped
crunching sounds... <br><br>Our trodding plodding step now
accompanied by the<br>Wind's insrumental of treewood branch,
bow, and<br>leaf chorded notes...<br><br>Our breath
and step slow and pause to listen and look<br>for the
many legged little ones whine and
buz...<br><br>Dangling as if in a hover suspended by near
invisible<br>thread a dainty thing... no fear should be as we<br>see
its desparate and hungry look, knowing soon of
Frost's killing kiss...<br> <br>We walk around and avoid
any thought or shudder...<br>but we listen to a
single whine and watch as a<br>lone mosquito alights
upon exposed skin...<br> <br>Its search is dedication
and not intending sting... <br>for it needs to its
weight but such a little bit<br>to continue its cycle..
and lay her eggs to promote her kin...<br> <br>Web
and buzz we leave behind and find another curious
sight...<br> <br>Arched and bent from large trees unwanted
fall<br>caused by persistent inland hurricane a young<br>hickory
leans and strains to straighten... <br><br>And beside
the straining tree the stump of a fallen one
<br>felled by bright and burting bolt...<br><br>Its fallen
lengthy trunk, chipmonks family home strewn<br>with their
house repair piles of gnawed wood<br>litter and
dust...<br><br>It is a cycle... old and completed... for trees
that<br>neither see nor hear nor smell the gifts they give us
<br>are

Of all the presents I received as a child,<br>I
cherish the old cigar box. Things without<br>any
usefulness often give the most joy.<br>It's a sort of
collage scrapbook, containing<br>some very private
memories of my life as a<br>child. A piece of exquisite
handwoven<br>ribbon still in it, left over from the<br>trim of the
orange djellabah. I guess the<br>best way to describe
embroidery is<br>"painting with a needle". The stitches
are<br>ad lib, and just keep growing<br>...like memories in
an old cigar box.

Your Space...<br><br>when in leaving I leave a
space<br>a warming tender place<br> <br>to which by grace I
will return<br><br>when in leaving I leave a
peace<br>a cuddling smoothing ease<br><br>to which by grace
I will return<br><br>when in leaving I leave a
scent<br>a special personal hint<br><br>to which by grace I
will return<br><br>And in grace will I return to your
space...

It is my wish to appear truly
this:<br><br>Looking deeply as deep as reflections in quiet
still<br>pools can be... <br><br>An image through your truth I
see<br><br>A smile embedded in a chest length beard
appears<br>Thin lipped and slightly parting as if to
laugh<br><br>The beard is of thin silver strands with
darker<br>rays trailing from each corner of the smile<br><br>An
aging but not aged light skinned face frames
the<br>eyes be-speckled and slightly squinting<br><br>The
eyes are joyful but knows Joy's darker twin<br>And
their color, between gray and blue <br><br>Change with
circumstantial light <br><br>Silver hair fine and thick
cascades<br>Over and behind small framed shoulders<br><br>Hair
streaked with darker wavy shades<br>Hint at younger
earthen tints<br><br>Reflecting unseen are thoughts of
the grace and<br>kindness that guides and warms every
being<br><br>And hope that with guidance and grace,
charity<br>occurs<br><br>Also unseen but keenly there is the notion
of<br>structure and the make of things

Next to me...<br><br> <br> I sometimes see you
here,<br> sitting with me, as clear<br> as I know my on
face I see you...<br> <br> and we just sit and
smile<br> and touch without motion...<br> without reach...
like the space<br> between us dissolves.<br> <br> And
what we say to eachother<br> happens in that
dissolving space<br> and we melt into that ethereal one.<br>
<br> It is quite effortless<br> and happens as we
frame<br> the thoughts in our mind...<br> <br> We melt and
melt again and melt away.<br> <br> Here with me we
meld...<br> and grace and beauty surround<br> our sunstar
glow.<br> <br> You are held and tightly held<br> so that
you may not breath<br> for fear that the very air<br>
you breath might move you away.

following Dennis..............<br><br><br>I
couldn't think of others<br>Others being lonely.<br>I
could think only<br>Of myself. I was selfish,<br>Acting
as if I were the<br>Only one, the only
one.<br><br>At night when I<br>Came home, I grew<br>MAD at
myself,<br>Thinking, thinking, thinking.<br><br>I thought of<br>What
had happened<br>During that day and<br>The
previous.<br><br>I resolved to do<br>Better, but in<br>The end I
didn't.<br>I still don't know<br>Whether I changed or
not.<br>To find out, I would....<br>Have to ask others.

U JUST U<br>The shape of U<br>Suggests that vessel<br>Sacred and offering<br>In
which I place my self<br>To and through that which is U<br>It is JUST that in
the middle is<br>US

Hopefully Healing...<br><br>Our lives seem such
struggle at times, though. It has been so from Life's
infancy and before.<br> <br>Our choice is in how we fight
the battles of that struggle. And as the battles rage
on in peaks and lulls<br> <br>We know to last and
battle another day. The parts of us though injured they
be<br> <br>We must believe in them hopefully healing.

I walked within a field of flowers,<br>Spending
not-so-precious hours,<br>Letting nature take me in,<br>To places
where I've never been.<br>I found a young deer's
thicket<br> deep,<br>Wherein a fawn was fast
asleep;<br>Within a creek close by the bank,<br>I found a toy boat,
someone sank.<br>And by my feet, hid in the grass,<br>A
garter snake went sliding past.<br>And by the bank, a
muddy bog<br>Held, hidden deep, a tiny frog.<br>This
was a kingdom all their own,<br>So, quietly, I
started home.

Oral Hygene (Japanese tanka form)<br><br>Bristle tool brushing<br>Paste for
mouth tasty polish<br>Swishing washing clean<br>Trough and over lips and
tongue<br>Above below tingle comes

A Titan was she, dethroned by Zeus...<br>and by
Him was made to bear The Graces:<br>Euphrosyne,
Thalia, and Aglaia.<br><br>Daughters of the Sun, they
dwell<br>with The Muses upon Olympia...<br>Goddesses of joy,
bloom and brilliance.<br><br><br><br>...Lady C<br>
11/12/99

Like wisps of smoke caught in <br>a swirling
updraft, they ascended...<br>floating there awhile, they
playfully<br>circled one another and gently <br>alighted upon the
aspen.<br><br>Somehow they understood one anothers'<br>muted message,
and without restraint<br>soared skyword once
more.<br>Their yellow wings gently brushed again<br>and again as
they danced to the rhythm <br>of life, oblivious to
any but each other.<br><br>As free as the breeze
which bore them,<br>they flew further and
further...until <br>they were no longer even a speck in
the<br>distance.<br>My soul longed to follow them...to soar<br>and sail
upon the wind.<br><br>I cling to my memory of their
joy and<br>innocence, praising The Creator by
their<br>mere existence....<br>and doing precisely what it is
that <br>butterflies were made to
do.<br><br><br><br>...Lady C<br> 8/15/93

Ermine flakes encase<br>lead painted
sky<br><br>Brightness within<br>warm heart warm lips<br><br>Soft
caresses<br>heated Passion<br><br>Primal fire surges<br>from hearth
and heart<br><br>Heated flames of night<br>Heated
flames of Love<br><br>Give succor<br>to body and
soul<br><br><br><br>....Lady C

Moon Halo<br><br>Full Moon in a cloud’s rainbowed
halo hand<br><br>Holding with soft force of
mist<br><br>That pearly iridescent aura <br><br>For a fleeting
smooth glowing time<br><br>It is mine<br><br><br>Mimosa
Blossoms and Hummingbirds
(remembered)<br><br>Kachink-kachunk, kachung,
<br>strummmm,<br>HummMMmmm<br><br>The
old screen porch swing swung<br>In its chain clacking
cadenced beats<br>Almost strumming to the
humming<br><br>Of the hovering long slender beaked <br>Flashing
tongued whirring winged<br>Little iridescent green ruby
throated ones<br>As they dart in maddening swiftness
between<br><br>Frozen time pauses among the sweet<br>Scented pink
miniature pom-pom flowers<br>Of the mimosas that stand
sentinel<br>To the screen porched haven for<br><br>The chain
hung old wooden swing<br><br>Kachink-kachunk, kachung,
<br>strummmm,<br>HummMMmmm<br><br>Moving in sashaying arcs that<br>Swing its
cozy
passenger <br>Cooled by the blurring whirring<br>Fan with
near invisible blades<br><br>Whirling looking much
like<br>The blurring wings of the<br>Hummingbirds in the
mimosas<br>That stand sentinel to the <br><br>Screen proched
haven for the<br>Chain hung old wooden
swing<br><br>Kachink-kachunk,
kachung,<br>Strummmm,<br>HummMMmmm<br><br>Roxanne’s Honey Bread<br><br>The whole
grain ground
fresh<br>Seed of the wheat flower flour<br>Doubly kneaded
<br>Doubly risen<br><br>Roxanne’s honey bread redundantly
named <br><br>A communion of yeast and flour<br>And
water and flower and Earth<br>Reunited after a long
wait<br>Of growing and change<br><br>Long a part of the
baking ways<br><br>Into bowl combined from
plan<br>Ingredients measured by knowing hand<br>Mixed into
dough<br>Kneaded into loaf<br><br>Left to grow yet
again<br><br>The ancient rites now forged<br>With heart, hearth,
and heat<br>Into a baked aromatic golden form<br>That
rivals ambrosia and wins

Manna Grocery & Deli<br><br>Herbs for
medicine<br>Herbs for taste<br>Grains, seeds, spices<br>Healthful
and exotic<br><br>A place to eat veggies<br>In
variety’s treat<br>Creamy dressings<br>Some pungent some
sweet<br><br>Drinks in fluid combinations<br>And concoctions of
juices<br>From northern climes <br>And tropical zones<br><br>
Lotions for skin<br>And deeper sooth<br>In smooth
penetration<br>Hint in aromatic scent<br><br>Wax of bees,
aloe,<br>Salves and creams <br>Mix their healing spells<br>In
airy dance<br><br>With culinary aromas<br>Feeding
holistic self<br>Books that in words<br>Show those
thoughts<br><br>To feed and grow<br>A knowledge tree<br>Manna for
trinity<br>Soul, Mind and Body<br><br><br><br>Deer
Creek<br><br>Its cypress warriors <br>Wading at the water’s
edge<br>Vainly fighting for its flow<br><br>Their genuflecting
knees bathing<br>In the water’s baptismal
darkness<br><br>Oaks with their tiny acorn hats<br>More cypress
(pinion smell), sweet gum,<br>Pecan, gingko, magnolia
(fruity scent),<br>Scant skinny mimosa crowd the slanting
banks<br><br>Asphalt flows and paths stretch along<br>Paralleling its
grassy sides<br><br>In sporadic congregations <br>The
creek swells with predominant cypress<br>Old man
wizened <br><br>Rusty red needled like<br>A fox’s fur
cover these<br>Ancient conifer<br><br>Who follow the
broadleaf<br>Colored Autumn’s call<br><br>Ruby red translucent
sap<br>Flowing to its cone<br>Hidden seed<br><br>Slow flowing
dark delta soil<br>Brewed and steeped,<br>Suspended
and held<br><br>In this slanty banked <br>delta vein
pulsing with its <br>Muddy blood<br><br>A watery
scrawl<br>Of time’s passing hand<br>Written in a
small<br><br>Post antebellum delta town<br>Where cotton and soy
bean<br>And now catfish is king<br><br>A seasonal
landmark<br>Holding and moving<br>A delta crop’s
prayer<br><br>Between its long winding<br>Bending trough <br><br>Smooth
muddy mirror reflecting<br>A charm for those
looking<br> <br>Distorting its polished surface <br>An
occasional concentric ripple<br>Caused by some
meandering<br><br>Aquatic creek denizen<br>Lurking and hunting<br>Suspended
in buoyant depths<br><br>Like the delta silt<br>That
hides its hunter shape<br>And form<br><br>A hidden
drama betrayed<br>By a soft swirling slosh.<br><br>From
where it comes<br>To where it goes is not<br>Important
to its mulatto flow<br>Cutting a miasmic mark
through <br>this small delta town

I came here looking for<br>GRASS.<br><br><br>Finding none I must<br>LEAVE.

Roses are RED<br><br>Violets are BLUE<br><br><br>Some poems RHYME<br><br><br>AnD
sOmE DoN't

Unlike silk though this cloth comes from the
East<br><br>An errosion plan to help plant, man, and
beast<br><br>Misplaced and misconceived the kudzo cloak<br><br>Covering
the land abundantly with its green
choke<br><br>Making with its viney intwiney emerald
skin<br><br>Costumes for trees to look as Godzilla's twin

Delta land stolen from the trees and
brush<br>Cropped flat by Agriculture's broad hand and hoe<br>A
ritual born from ancient rites<br><br>Tiller told and
growers' rights<br><br>Plant thinking these Tiller
thoughts<br>When to plant and what<br><br>Coaxing out of Mother's
soil <br>A harvest for the world<br><br>(to be
continued)

Gates through which to pass<br>Letting in or
letting out<br><br>Some are best left open<br>Others best
left closed<br><br>Open if you will that gate<br>That
holds your Universe within<br><br>But in doing so
<br>let the flow<br>In both ways go<br><br>And expand,
expand, expand...

Welcome, This is the Yahoo! Message Board for Nesrevinu community.