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McRae by natureShow poetry

 

 

 

 

 

One swallow does not make a summer, neither does one fine day; similarly one day or brief time of happiness does not make a person entirely happy.

 

-Aristotle

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I merely took the energy it takes to pout and wrote some blues.

 

-Duke Ellington 

 

 

 

 

 


Wisdom doesn't automatically come with old age. Nothing does - except wrinkles. It's true, some wines improve with age. But only if the grapes were good in the first place.

 

-Abigail Van Buren

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

______________________________________________________________ 

 


"I Speak Fluent Poetry"

I speak fluent poetry
with words born in the soul,
And birthed through lips
not polished
nor laced by self control.

My words aren't meant for writers
to judge them with there own
but they speak soft
to spirits
in passion's lifting tone.

So feel my spirit drifting near
in verses bathed with cries.
Meant for inspiration
to weary souls
with weary eyes.

Take my words for what they are
And not what they could be.
I give each line its power
from the strength
that dwells in me.

I'll always find my comfort
in a pencils scratchy stroke
And never will regret tear back
a single verse
I wrote.

Carrie L Smith

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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This piece was written for me by a woman who has understood me like no other. I see my life, my dreams and my very character in her words. She is such a gifted writer. Thank you Gerogie.

  

 

"Book Ends- For Carrie"
 
 
Once was, a moment, and in that moment you,
an eternity shared between us,
- our book filled legends.
Up in the dark,
we crawled into our hearts,
waiting to find them.
We found light,
and the light was full of myth and promise.


But now that we are grown



Our choice is less,
we claim the footsteps we've been shown,
reclaim shadows we've made our home
wrap sad songs at feet that spread indifference.
While we scream silent.more.
We wear our worn out stories sore.


Are we addicted to the pain,
that burns through our infinity
that makes us die in slow dose again?


Our chapters exit doors unlocked,
enters the sky so painful blue,
where the air grows thin,
where the day greenlit,
begins to bore into us a dread,
the intuitive note that plays us…our life,
a sound that purifies the end of our subjective mourning,
as dialogue with self,
and narrative of misunderstood warning.


We scatter thoughts to wind,
Plant seeds where they fall and build.
They grow as tears,
rooted in drawn out footsteps of every place we walk,
surpass themselves in recollection,
revolve round hardcore introspection,
where we've no map to lead from oncoming harm.


In Narnia, night creatures bold,
out in the cold,
We trail their journey again
its a passage read,
but we've lost the plot and can't recite the missing pages,
can't find words to fit this world we're stranded in.


Now that we're grown


the pages turn,
life burns dreams we dare ignite.
We trace the distance covered,
from where beginnings are held with baited breath,
to where we cling to end with breathy sigh,
discovering each moment,
is a moment to be lived once more
and like a child,
we grow small
and fade to fit our shrinking centre


It is neither heaven, nor earth or hell for us,
…it just is.


Happily ever after comes at 'the end'.
The world turns us in its perpetual motion.
But we are still believable and here.


©  Georgina Banfield  01/09/07

 

 

 

  

 

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Guest Book

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  • hyper thing on April 3
    HI I AM A KITTY MOOOOOOOOOO

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