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Wednesday, February 23, 2011

The Shell

The Shell

One last walk along the beach before I say goodbye
The time here was a dream come true
A joy for mind and eye,

The waves, the air, the glorious sky
Renewal of my soul
At times I just would cry,

And as I strolled a shell unusual amongst the rest had caught my eye
So perfect in shape and color
Iridescent glints reflected in rainbow hues
Lavender, violet, golden yellow, orange and brilliant blue,
And as I turned it over catching the reflection of the sun,
It seemed to capture all the beauty and peace I had experienced,

The blazing sun, the immense white clouds, the countless stars,
The waves
All encased in this lovely shell within my hand
That the sand and water had made,
A memory held now forever captured in this shell,

The waves will forever be changing
The sky and clouds as well
But the colors and memories will forever remain
In this perfect shell.

Nancy Crossland

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Snow Queen

Snow Queen

The Snow Queen’s dressed in a gown of white
A tiara of icicles, glistening bright
Shoes of crystal, wand of light
On this sparkling winter’s night.

Kimberly Dunn

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Full Punxsutawney Moon

Full Punxsutawney Moon

Three days later, early, certainly
well before sunrise, after the graspers

and flashers have packed up and gone,
after the national news has had its say,

under a staring, starry, cut-glass sky
and a moon shivering its way toward

moonset, the groundhog steps warily out,
its snout in snow a foot or more deep.

Relieved, at last, of the press of local
press and the tyranny of network tourists

he lounges in the full moon’s light,
each icy whisker distinct, resplendent,

its shadow a mere matter of fact
on otherwise unbroken snow.

Ron. Lavalette

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

She No Longer Remembered

(I long to go back to the deep woods. The solitude, with only the company of the wildlife, beckons me.
Thank you, Doug, for this great write! )

She No Longer Remembered

She went to live among the trees
On the banks of a river wide
The wind was her music
The forest was her guide
She no longer remembered
Why she had cried

Douglas Evans
Red Rose