Revwilliamfoos• Show poetry

THE TIME
http://www.time.gov/timezone.cgi?Eastern/d/-5/java

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This poem was written by a terminally ill young girl in a New York Hospital, she has cancer and she wants to see how many people can get her poem so please pass it on. For the sake of a young girl with cancer who wrote a beautiful poem for the world to see


PASS THIS ON!! POST IT ON YOUR PAGE!!

SLOW DANCE

Have you ever
watched kids
On a merry-go-round?
Or listened to
the rain
Slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a
butterfly's erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading
night?
You better slow down.
Don't dance so
fast.
Time is short.
The music won't
last.
Do you run through each day
On the
fly?
When you ask How are you?
Do you hear the
reply?
When the day is done
Do you lie in your
bed
With the next hundred chores
Running through
your head?
You'd better slow down
Don't dance so
fast.
Time is short.
The music won't
last.
Ever told your child,
We'll do it
tomorrow?
And in your haste,
Not see
his
sorrow?
Ever lost touch,
Let a good
friendship die
Cause you never had time
To call
and say,"Hi"
You'd better slow down.
Don't dance
so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't
last.
When you run so fast to get somewhere
You
miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry
through your day,
It is like an unopened
gift....
Thrown away.
Life is not a
race.
Do take it slower
Hear the
music
Before the song is over.
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As i sit watch and listen

i find that there are so many things

that are on my mind

all i can do is write on the subject

and hope people will learn

something

and if they do

i can then die with a smile on my face!

_____the third eye
on April 6, 2006. © william stephen foos, All rights reserved

there is the Eye Of God
in the center of your mind
which gives you vision
and the ability to hear
the Voice Of God
if you take time
to listen
most people do not
want to hear
what God has to say
nor what he asks us to do
to help those who have less than we
and mostly
would rather not
follow in
Christ's footsteps
for it is to much
of a bother
but we must
and there is the Eye Of God
in the center of your mind
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/
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TWO PATRON SAINTS OF POET'S

8. Columba -- Patron Saint of Bookbinders, Poets, and Ireland

Feast day: June 9

Columba was born in Ireland in 521. Legend has it that around 560, he became involved in a battle with St. Finnian, which resulted in the deaths of many people. As penance, Columba went to Scotland to work as a missionary to convert as many people as had been killed in the battle. Columba reputedly wrote several hymns and more than 300 books in his lifetime, so it is not surprising that he is the patron saint of bookbinders and poets. Columba died in 597, and although he spent much of his life in Scotland, he is one of the patron saints of Ireland, along with St. Patrick and St. Brigid.

[edit] St. David
It has been suggested that this article or section be merged with Saint David. (Discuss)

Dewi Sant – St. David was born towards the end of the fifth century, less than a hundred years after the last Roman legions had marched out of Wales. He was the son of Sant a scion of the royal house of Ceredigion, his mother was Non, daughter of Cynyr of Caio, remembered by numerous churches and holy wells in Wales, Cornwall and Brittany. Educated at Henfynyw (Old Menevia) in Ceredigion, where he 'learned the alphabet, the psalms, the lessons for the whole year, the Masses and the Synaxis', he founded a Celtic monastic community at Glyn Rhosin (The Vale of Roses) on the western headland of Sir Benfro, at the spot where St. David's Cathedral stands today. The spot may well have been the site of a very early religious community, for it is also associated with St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, who may have been born in Wales and is said to have spent time at Glyn Rhosyn before embarking again (this time voluntarily) for Ireland from Porth Mawr nearby.

David's fame as a teacher and ascetic spread throughout the Celtic world. He earned the curious nickname Dewi Ddyfrwr – David the Waterman – no doubt reflecting the harsh bread-and-water regime of Celtic monks. Many traditions and legends are associated with him. When he rose to address to a great crowd at a synod at Llanddewi Brefi in Ceredigion, the ground rose under his feet forming a little hill so that all could hear him speak. Again, a golden-beaked dove is said to have landed on his shoulder as a symbol of his holiness.

His foundation at Glyn Rhosin became one of the most important shrines of the Christian world, and the most important centre in Wales. Roads and tracks from all over the nation led to it and in the Middle Ages two pilgrimages to Menevia was equal to one to Rome (Dos i Rufain unwaith ac i Fynyw ddwywaith). Over fifty churches and innumerable holy wells were dedicated to him in Wales alone.

The religious centre of St David's thus became a focus for the religious aspirations of the Welsh nation and as Gerallt Cymro (Giraldus Cambrensis) relates: The Bishopric of St Davids became ... a symbol of the independence of Wales ... and that is why David himself was exalted into a Patron Saint of Wales.

The date of Dewi Sant's death is recorded as March 1st, but the year is uncertain – possibly 588. As his tearful monks prepared for his death St David uttered these words: 'Brothers be ye constant. The yoke which with single mind ye have taken, bear ye to the end; and whatsoever ye have seen with me and heard, keep and fulfil' and as he died 'Lords, brothers and sisters, be cheerful, keep the faith, and do those little things which ye have seen me do and heard me say.'

Dewi Sant was possibly the only patron saint of the four chief nations of the British Isles to have been born in the land which adopted him.[citation needed]

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SOMETHING HALF KNOWN

Life's naked beauty surrounds and adorns,
while much of my hope yet bleeds from sharp thorns.
From some great abyss life eternaly springs,
with an endless love and breadth to all things.
Still I am troubled, and know of great pain,
like a year without sun, something born of the rain.
Something yet is still hidden, speaks a voice in my heart,
but where do I find it, where do I start?
I think that it is me that I don't fully see,
But how could that be, me, half-blind to me?
Then a voice in my heart cries out:
"Perfection" at this I ask, tell me in what direction?
It dewells deep within you the voice says with a laugh,
why must you still stumble and know only half,
I cry back at the voice, life is hard, , seldom fun, the voice shouts:
Behold, you are part of the One!
Suddenly I'm at peace, I feel happy and free,
simply knowing that perfection is the foundation of Me.


by David Ferguson








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"The Little Brown Church" (1865)
Song and Chorus
Words And Music
By
Dr. William S. Pitts
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There’s a church in the valley by the wildwood,
No lovelier spot in the dale;
No place is so dear to my childhood,
As the little brown church in the vale.

Refrain [sung after each verse]

(Oh! come, come. come,come,)
Come to the church in the wildwood,
Oh, come to the church in the dale,
No spot is so dear to my childhood,
As the little brown church in the vale.

How sweet on a clear, Sabbath morning,
To list to the clear ringing bell;
Its tones so sweetly are calling,
Oh, come to the church in the vale.

Refrain

There, close by the church in the valley,
Lies one that I loved so well;
She sleeps, sweetly sleeps, ’neath the willow,
Disturb not her rest in the vale.

Refrain

There, close by the side of that loved one,
To trees where the wild flowers bloom,
When the farewell hymn shall be chanted
I shall rest by her side in the tomb.

Refrain

From the church in the valley by the wildwood,
When day fades away into night,
I would fain from this spot of my childhood
Wing my way to the mansions of light.

Refrain

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Clouds

What a majestic creation!
They really are a thing of beauty;
When seen in the sky, they do not seem to be moving.
But ever so slowly they sometimes bump into each other;
Some clouds are pure white, and are thick and lumpy.
Others are thin and whispery; long grey clouds denote a future storm;
Many people are too busy to look up and see them,
They likewise rush through life with out seeing the Lord's gift to them
Imagine the sky without these beautiful creations;
So imagine your life without the blessings God has bestowed upon you;
Don't waste time get on your knees and thank him

By Dot Allen

Bill Foos

I don't know you very well,
but you are liked by me.
It is always nice to see your erect posture,
as you enter the church,
of course your pony tailadds intrest to your handsome face.
You are a thoughtful person making coffee apon your early arrival.
God has gifted youwith the skill to write poetry, it is so noce that your work has been published.
I think often of your long walk across the bridge,
It is appreciated by me, if not by others.
Thank you for puting down thoughts and dedicating them to me.
Dot Allen

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who just started writing poetry as she pushes eighty years. such a great friend she gave me this poem.

_________________________________________________________
Here is now my creed:



I feel that the world can not have peace

because it is written about the last war and all



I feel that we can only pray for ourselves at this point



I feel the need to treat every child with respect

even if they chose not to give it to us



I feel the need to feed the hungry

that is for the ones that can not work

or have just lost their jobs

If they have the ability to work

and chose not to then i have a problem with that



I feel the need for all the churches

both christian or not

to have the policy of treating

each with equal respect



I feel the need for those that commit crimes

that are in fact

against all Gods laws what ever the faith

should be put in a separate location

with no benefits

unless it can be medically proven that they

medical disorder that can be seen

through medical lab test

then they should get treatment

ie. cancer or tumors



I feel the need to spread love from

from one to another

as one family



I feel the need to make it known

that there is only

one race

and that is of the planet earth

and all should treat each other

as brother and sister



And lastly



I feel the need to have every one that lives

and breathes on this earth

to write



POETRY!!!!!!!

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In The Form Of Easter
on March 10, 2006. © william stephen foos, All rights reserved

there was a time
two thousand and thirty three
years to be exact
when a man came into a village
bringing a message of peace
forgiveness and healing
we know however
this was a dark sin
for life then like now
is for killing war
the more people you kill
as now puts money in your pocket
when you help the homeless man
or woman as the case may be
they start building your cross
preach about peace
you get put in leg irons
and thrown in the jail cell
yes there was a time
and that time is still with us
if only to raise up and liberate ourselves
say no to the dark side of humanity
say no to the politician's way that will promote evil
for their own gain
bring to us a helping spirit
bring to us a growth
for this is the now
there is a time
in the two thousand and six


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.








SAINT ANTHONY
CATHOLIC PATRON SAINT OF LOST THINGS






There are two Saint Anthonies in the Catholic religion. The first Saint Anthony lived in Egypt from 251-356 and was the founder of monachism. The second, Saint Anthony of Padua (Italy), lived from 1195-1231. Born in Portugal, he was a Franciscan monk and lived in Morocco before settling in Padua. He was known as an eloquent speaker. Prayer cards manufactured in Italy identify him as the saint of "miracles," but to most Catholics, he is the Patron Saint associated with the return of lost articles and missing persons.

Although Saint Anthony of Padua is usually depicted in a brown Franciscan robe, holding the infant Jesus in one hand and a lily in the other, in South America, San Antonio is sometimes dressed in blue with a yellow lily and a red heart. This 3 1/2 inch tall painted soapstone statuette from Peru shows the saint dressed in brown on one side and in blue on the other. Quechua Indian charm vials from Peru containing tiny blue-robed St. Anthony statuettes are carried for the return of a lost lover; they also always contain a piece of the coiled jungle vine called "vuelve vuelve" ("come back, come back" in Spanish).

Saint Anthony is identified with the orishas Ellegua and Ogun in Yoruba-derived religions, but i do not know what pre-Conquest deity he is standing in for among the Mexican and Guatemalan Mayans, who also invoke him for finding lost things and people.

In mainstream Catholic practice, prayers for the intercession of Saint Anthony are quite conventional and do not ask for the return of lost things or missine persons. Here is a typical petition, as found on the back of a Saint Anthony holy card:

Unfailing Prayer to
Saint Anthony
Blessed be God in His Angels and in His Saints.

O Holy St. Anthony, gentlest of Saints, your love for God
and Charity for His creatures made you worthy, when on
earth, to possess miraculous powers. Miracles waited on
your word, which you were ever ready to speak for those in
trouble or anxiety. Encouraged by this thought, I implore
of you to obtain for me (request). The answer to my prayer
may require a miracle. Even so, you are the saint of
Miracles.

O gentle and loving St. Anthony, whose heart was ever full
of human sympathy, whisper my petition into the ears of the
Sweet Infant Jesus, who loved to be folded in your arms, and
the gratitude of my heart will ever be yours.

Amen. (Say 13 Paters, Aves, and Glorias)

The invocation of Saint Anthony for the return of someone or somthing lost appears in Jamaica as well as in the United States. In 1996, Lewis Erskine wrote to me:

My aunt used to say, when ever something was lost,
St. Anthony, St. Anthony
Please come down
Something is lost
And can't be found
She is the Philadelphia-born daughter of Jamaicans who came to the States on their honeymoon and never left. They (my grandparents and their children) were members of The (Christian?) Brethren. I used to snicker out loud and wonder to myself about this mild incantation until I tried it one day. I found what I was looking for. That was more than 10 years ago. I continue to call on St. Anthony when I misplace something (which is often). I continue to find what I am looking for. If I am looking for something someone else misplaced, I find it if I call on St. Anthony. I write to you to ask if you have heard this, and if you can enlighten me on any Yoruba or other connection alive in this call for spiritual intervention in daily life.
Professor Cunnea (AACDrCnnea@aol.com) contributed another invocation to Saint Anthony:

The one my family knows is different. My mom learned it in in Catholic grammar school on the South Side of Chicago in the 1940s:
Dear St. Anthony, I pray
Bring it back, without delay.
She says it works.
Marigan O'Malley (aiabalt@pop.erols.com) wrote:

Here is my Babci's (Polish for grandmother) St. Anthony prayer:
Something's lost and can't be found
Please, St. Anthony, look around.
Her mother taught it to her (her mom died of typhoid, i believe, right around the Holocaust). She taught it to my mother and my mother to me!
These widespread invocations to Saint Anthony for finding lost things and restoring missing people relate to an incident in which the saint was invoked to find a missing book and the prayer was efficacious; ever since then Saint Anthony has been the Patron of Lost Things.




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copyright © 1995-2003 catherine yronwode. All rights reserved.
Send your comments to: cat yronwode.



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Woman With The Dark Hair And Bandanna Atop Her Head
on March 11, 2006. © william stephen foos, All rights reserved

there was a woman down at the river
gazing ever so at the dark water
playing her guitar with a mournful song
with the bats and U.S. cargo planes bound for war
going round her head
she takes a brake for a phone call then
takes a silent pause before restarting
thinking of the conversation and
other thoughts of the day
the sky was dark as the moon was in its quarter
i told her she had a beautiful voice
as she said I'm going to be at the moon and river
i thought how nice
being at the river with the moon at night
as i left to write this poem
another cargo plane flew over her head
the bats well they as well
the mournful song will in time
be just a forgotten memory
but her voice will remain forever
and for the river and the bats...no one knows
but we will hope that the U.S. cargo planes bound for war
will one day cease
as i will remember that
there is a woman down at the river



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Though I be suffering and weak, and all
My youthful spring be gone, yet have I climbed,
Leaning upon my staff, the mountain crest. (
Thrown from my shoulder hangs my cloak, o'erturned
My little bowl. So 'gainst the rock I lean
And prop this self of me, and break away
The wildering gloom that long had closed me in.

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Papa Love



by ebaby on 9/22/06




you came from what felt like nowhere,

right beside me is where you feel,

as a son of GODS and a brother to me,

I am blessed to hug thee.



You say that most things disturbs you

so you write, about real facts,

some people real and not so real

living or dead spirits



You're so correct, some should be on the other side

It takes a teacher to teach or a father who loves

to share a gift from the one above

loving one another.





_________________________________________________________

TEARS TEARS TEARS AND HUGS FOR JOY!!!

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my AP daughter Varah's poem



Papa Bear



by Fearful-Death on 9/23/06



He Is As Lovely As Can Be

And As Sweet As Honey

He Is The Bear You See

When You turn Around In His Arms

He Is Always There For You

A Shoulder To Cry On

A Man to Lean On

All He Asks In Return, Is to Be Loved



Papa Bear

You're Always There

Keeping close And Loving Me

Loving Your Children, And Sisters

Brother's and Nephew's, Nieces Too

What More could Be Asked Of,

Such A Great And Brave Man?

love you PAPA



_________________________________________________________







MY DAUGHTER JOEY'S POEM



Never Knew, Until I Met You



by FaithfullyFierce



This is for a father I never had



So many times you have gave me

great advice

So many times you have complimented me

and made me smile

So many times you have showed me

that you actually care



Never knew what a father

really was

Never knew what a father

could really be

Never knew what a father

could mean



But you have acted just like a dad

to me

Your one of those rare people

that really care



because you do so much

Just by your words you can make

A person feel better; to smile



Never knew what a father

really was

Never knew what a father

could really be

Never knew what a father

could mean



Never knew...until i met you




_________________________________________________________






my friend James Hunter's poem



William Foos

by Dark Hunter on 10/02/2006



William is one hell of a guy

I recommend you read his work

Lives life with his heart on his sleeve

Likable, thoughtful and kind

I am glad to have crossed his path

And if you need a listening ear

Man this dude makes a great friend



Fun and always has a story to tell

Of how something reminds him

On some comments he has made me laugh

Spreading a smile is what he does best





I thought this was so touching i try my best

love as always the papa






_________________________________________________________



THIS IS BY ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS VIDA


A friend of mine
I just recently met
Writes poem after poem
At his will
The Thoughts are for real
And true from the heart
Of my friend named Bill
His humor is sharp,
He hides his real thoughts,
But his feelings
Come through for us still
A dear friend, ah yes, I really do feel that way
And really admire his will
Please Bill, hear this
And know that we care~
Your feelings convey warmth still

~Vida~



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_________________________________________________________



my friend Princess Winona's last words before passing over to the other side:



AFTERGLOW



I'd like the memory of me

to be a happy one,

I'd like to leave an afterglow of

smiles when my day is done.

I'd like to leave an echo

whispering softly down the ways,

Of happy times and laughing

times and bright sunny days.

I'd like the tears of those who grieve,

to dry before the sun

of happy memories that i leave

behind when the day is done.

He will lift you up on eagle's wings

To your heavenly rest.



Princess Winona



Wyandott Androscoggin and Passamaquoddy

Born 04/13/1911 Crossed over 01/28/03


_________________________________________________________


FACE ON THE BAR ROOM FLOOR

BY HUGH ANTOINE D'ARCY

FROM 1887



It was a balmy summer evening and a goodly crowd was there,

Which well neigh filled Joe's barroom on the corner square.

As songs and witty sayings came through the open door,

A vagabond crept slowly in, and posed upon the floor.



"Where'd he come from?" Someone said, "The wind must've blown him in."

"What does he want?" another cried. "Whiskey, Rum or Gin?"

"Hey, Toby! Sic 'em... if you are equal to the work."

"I wouldn't touch him with a fork." "He's filthy as a Turk."



The bantering the poor wretch took with staunch and goodly grace.

He even smiled, as though he thought he'd struck the proper place.

"Come, boys, I know there's burly hearts among such a good crowd.

To be in such good good company would make a decon proud.



"Give me a drink... that's what I want... I'm out of funds, you know.

When I had cash to treat the crowd, my hands were never slow.

What? You laugh as though this pocket never held a sou;

There was a time when i was fixed as well as any one of you.



"Say, thanks. That braced me nicely. God bless you, one and all.

When I pass this good saloon, I'll pay another call.

Give you a song? I can't do that. My singing days are past.

My voice is cracked, my throat's worn out, and my lungs are failing fast.



"But give me another drink and I will tell you what i will do...

I'll tell you a funny story... a fact... I promise you.

That I was once a decent gent, not one of you would think.

But I was, a few years back. Please, give me another drink.



"Fill it up Joe. I'd like to put some life into my frame.

The little drinks you boys drink here, to me, are awful tame.

Say... five-fingers... and corking the whiskey, too.

Landlord, I thank you very much. And boys, my best regards to you.





"You've treated me pretty kindly, and I'd like to tell you how

I've come to be the dirty sot that stands before you now.

I was once a decent gent with muscles, frame and health

And, but for one costlly blunder, could have made alot of wealth.



"I was a painter... not one that daubed on bricks and wood,

But an artist. and for my age, was rated pretty good.

I worked hard at my canvas, and was bidding fair to raise,

For gradually I could see the stars of fame before my eyes.



"I painted a picture, it was called The Cause Of Fame,

It brought me fifteen hundred pounds, and added to my name.

And then I met a woman... now comes the funny part...

With eyes that petrified my brain and sank into my heart.



"Why don't you laugh? It's funny, that this vagabond you see

Could ever love a woman... and expect her love for me.

But it was so. And for those weeks her smiles were freely given.

And when her lovely lips topuched mine, it carried me to Heaven.



"I was working in a portrait, one afternoon in May,

Of a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine, who lived across the way.

And Madeline admired it, and much to my suprise,

Said she'd like to know the man that had such dreamy eyes.



"It took not long to know him and before the month had flown,

My friend, he stole my darling. And I was left alone.

Ere the years of sadness have passed upon my head.

The jewel I loved, so tarnished, faded. Now, my love is dead.



"That's why I took to drinking. Why, I never saw a smile.

I thought you'd be amused, laughing all the while.

My friends... why, there are teardrops in your eyes.

Laugh, like me. It's only babes and women who should cry.



"say, give me that chalk with which you mark the baseball score,

And you'll see that lovely Madeline upon the barroom floor.

If you'll just give me another drink, I will be very glad

To draw, right here, the picture of the face that drove me med."



Another drink... and with the chalk, the vagabond began

to sketch the face that well might buy the soul of any man.

Then as he placed another lock upon the shapely head,

With fearful shriek, he leaped and fell across the picture... dead.





THIS WAS FIRST READ TO ME BY MY GOD MOTHER WHEN I WAS TEN AND HAS TO BE ONE OF THE FEW THAT HAS INPRESSED ME SO MUCH AND I GUESS HE ONLY PUBLISHED ONE POEM AND THAT IS SO SAD....
_________________________________________________________


THIS WAS WRITTEN BY A CLOSE FRIEND OF MINE WHO HAS A DRINKING PROBLEM AND RUNS HIS MOUTH CAUSEING PEOPLE TO BE AFRAID BUT HE WOULD GIVE THE SHIRT OFF HIS BACK TO YOU
HE IS NOW HOMELESS AND OUT IN THE COLD ONE OF HIS CASE MANAGERS WOULD YELL AT HIM AND GET HIM ALL WORKED UP.
TO ME THIS WAS A SIN.

friendship and love
comes once in a while
with the warmest and kindest
of good intentions.
happiness is a necessary thing
with one who cares for you always.
laughter and good spirits
and consideration
with ones you love
and live with.
it is a miracle in itself
and a very valuable asset
to everyone who lives.

by

Bruce Hauptmann
_________________________________________________________


THIS IS BY A DEAR FRIEND AT POETRYCASTLE.COM/UK



WILLIAM FOOS

We never saw much of the picture that used-to salute the morning window
i myself would go so far to say i haveabstinencewhenipoured wine there
Lot's of emotions were tied up in making the honey stick to the tree
life itself stitched away in her little corner for as long as she could but
adorned with August temperament for a frame
my thoughts grow cold trying to exact a flint or to at that

Forgive this maudlin but heavy on the eve you see
oh we have given it a lot of stirring with our blue collard hands
out in the back where the wood murmur and in through the front where
sirens wailed the inevitability of white hanging from redundant branches

BV (c) Copyright 6.2007

such a dear friend Bagger Vance due to space the acrostic is screwed up

_________________________________________________________


Revwilliamfoos
by Patpowers on March 2. © All rights reserved




Reviewing
Every
Verse
Written by you
Is a true work of
Love that
Lasts
In
Almost a
Matter of time. You are A
Fabulous
Opinionated
One of a kind
Super poet!


Thanks! Pat Powers

what a thoughtful friend thank you pat powers
_________________________________________________________

I thank beautiful tragic mess for dedicating My Easy Madness to me i feel touched. "http://www.allpoetry.com/poem/2232104">www.allpoetry.com/poem/2232104 TO READ MORE OF HER http://www.allpoetry.com/poet/BeautifulTragicMess"www.allpoetry.com/poet/BeautifulTragicMess



BUSTELLO has been included in BROTHER,MY CUP by ea at www.lulu.com/content/354465 on page 32 makes me feel nice





THE NEWS:



www.rsf.org THE PURE NEWS



www.russiannewsnetwork.com



www.russiannewsnetwork.com/bush-news.html



www.un.org/english



www.pnn.ps/english



www.iraqinews.com



www.itn.co.uk



www.washingtonpost.com



www.iti.com.eg/media.htm



www.bbc.co.uk



www.cbc.com



www.canadanews.com



www.newkerala.com/india-news.php

INTRESTING INFO AT http://www.threeworldwars.com/albert-pike.htm

www.headlinespot.com/state/ok.htm



www.massnews.com



www.floridalink.com/thenews/florida_newspapers.htm



www.wrgb.com first tv station in the world 1923



timesunion.com albany news paper


http://www.ipl.org/
the internet public library

world.altavista.com
http://www.worldlingo.com/en/websites/url_translator.html
FOR TRANSLATION


en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Main_Page FOR SOME KNOWLEDGE



FOR GEORGE W. BUSH FACTS GO TO THE FOLLOWING:



www.cuttingedge.org/news/n1324.cfm

www.watch.pair.com/reich.html



PLEASE CHECK OUT MY AP FAMILY



my dearest AP mama wolfie SHE IS THE HEART BEAT OF MY DRUM

www.allpoetry.com/poet/WolfHeart

HER POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/2217218

my AP northern most sister Arzab http://allpoetry.com/arzab

my AP sister lady sirena SHE IS UNBLOCKED AND THERFORE I CAN RELATE www.allpoetry.com/poet/LadySirena

HER POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/2203404



my AP sister ebaby A GREAT AND POWERFUL THINKER www.allpoetry.com/poet/ebaby

HER POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/2240400

MY POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/2244860 MADE ME CRY TEARS OF JOY



my AP sister marite www.allpoetry.com/poet/Marite

HER POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/2228870



my AP sister Terrie THE MOVER AND SHAKER IN THE FAMILY www.allpoetry.com/poet/blessedbeyondbelief

HER POEM allpoetry.com/poem/2199633



my AP daughter Joey THE RAIN DANCER IN THE FAMILY

http://www.allpoetry.com/poet/TransparentPleasure

HER POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/2199544

HER POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/2244699

MY POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/2254605 MADE ME CRY TEARS OF JOY



my AP daughter Varah SHE WILL WRITE YOU A POEM WHILE SHE FIXES YOUR JEEP www.allpoetry.com/poet/Fearful%20-%20Death

HER POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/2203054

MY POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/2245977 MADE ME CRY TEARS OF JOY

my AP daughter Ember Rose like a flower on the mountain see her work at: http://www.allpoetry.com/poet/Ember%20Rose

my AP son Shubs THE MONK IN THE FAMILY DO TO THE FEAR OF CROWDS WRITERS SHOULD HAVE NO DISTRACTIONS www.allpoetry.com/poet/Shubs

HIS POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/2195356



my AP neice shadowlyn THE OTHER MUSIC PLAYER IN THE FAMILY

www.allpoetry.com/poet/shadowlyn

HER POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/2203456



my AP nephew Chase WHO IS VERY WISE FOR HIS AGE AND AN ARTIST www.allpoetry.com/poet/blackday

HIS POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/2203244



my AP friend Mary WHO PRAYS FOR THE TROUPES AND WRITES GREAT STUFF www.allpoetry.com/poet/Gullionmar

HER POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/2199690



my AP friend has an awsome site and i recomend you go there i love flames

www.allpoetry.com/poet/DarkHunter

HIS POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/2256549

MY POEM www.allpoetry.com/poem/22