Red Rose -->

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Ride 'Em Cowgirl

Ride 'Em Cowgirl (lyrics)
sung by Sherrie Austin

Hey, there cowgirl Where ya going to
Has the trail you're on Caught up with you?

You've always known The dice would roll your way
If your luck ran out You could up and ride away, hey.

But cowgirl where's your home You always ride alone
Why don't you settle down Make a good man happy, oh
But you're always on the run Is it somethin' or someone
Or a dream you haven't found That keeps you in the saddle
Oh, ride 'em cowgirl.

You've had lovers Yeah, they still come along
But you never let Them love too long
Now it's twilight time And the sun is sinkin' low
As your heart moves on To another rodeo, oh.

Repeat Chorus

Time will always be the faster gun
So can you share the reins
Before your race is run.

Cowgirl where's your home You always ride alone
Is it a dream you haven't found That keeps you in the saddle, oh
Ride 'em cowgirl

Wednesday, July 21, 2010



As a pale phantom with a lamp
Ascends some ruined haunted stair,
So glides the moon along the damp
Mysterious chambers of the air.

Now hidden in cloud, and now revealed,
As if this phantom, full of pain,
Were by the crumbling walls concealed,
And at the windows seen again.

Until at last, serene and proud
In all the splendour of her light,
She walks the terraces of cloud,
Supreme as Empress of the Night.

I look, but recognize no more
Objects familiar to my view;
The very pathway to my door
Is an enchanted avenue.

All things are changed. One mass of shade,
The elm-trees drop their curtains down;
By palace, park, and colonnade
I walk as in a foreign town.

The very ground beneath my feet
Is clothed with a diviner air;
White marble paves the silent street
And glimmers in the empty square.

Illusion! Underneath there lies
The common life of everyday;
Only the spirit glorifies
With its own tints the sober grey.

In vain we look, in vain uplift
Our eyes to heaven, if we are blind;
We see but what we have the gift
Of seeing; what we bring we find.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Summer At The Lake


The down of the swan’s bow dances waxen
on the soft water surface,
indulges in ease,
being unable to think of the next tempest.
Emerald dragonflies are carving jags into the cheesy air,
twitch into the small inlets,
are whirring on the spot during the next breath.
Their copper colored abdomen is laced up
as the waistline of a female motorcyclist
wrapped in leather.
The corpses of last and distant year’s leaves
rest on the muddy floor of the lake –
lost in growing old, blacking on,
bordered by dusky beechnuts.
The water crinkles on the cheeks,
plays and washes against its swimmers,
around the rushstalks ascending over, slenderly from the depth
and the precious butter balls
of the flowering nuphars.

Owi Ivar Nandi

Wednesday, July 7, 2010



Rose of crimson red
A vibrant hue
Petals soft
With drops of dew,

Plucked, admired
Fragrance inhaled
Within a vase it's quickly placed,

Beauty of this lovely flower
Seemed to linger only hours
Too soon faded color seen
With petals limp and dry,

But long after memory of its beauty first gazed
Its fragrance still inspires

Nancy Ellen Crossland
Red Rose