tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33479279819789061342012-01-25T20:58:10.096-06:00BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.comBlogger1461100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-64863219849241918402012-01-25T13:25:00.000-06:002012-01-25T13:25:26.190-06:00

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-11678433690091881702012-01-18T12:03:00.000-06:002012-01-18T12:03:40.696-06:00

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-44590437861370748462012-01-11T11:46:00.000-06:002012-01-11T11:46:20.678-06:00

Foolish Questions Where can a man buy a cap for his knee? Or a key for the lock of his hair? And can his eyes be called a school? I would think—there are pupils there! What jewels are found in the crown of his head, And who walks on the bridge of his nose? Can he use, in building the roof of his mouth, the nails on the ends of his toes? Can the crook of his elbow be sent

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-91029667474066738392012-01-04T14:10:00.000-06:002012-01-04T14:10:06.592-06:00

As I Look Out My Window As I look out my windowand the sun falls upon my faceas I feel the warmthI think about your embrace.I think about our futureand the times we spent in the pastand everything we have between each otherhoping our love will last and last.While I think about youand I watch the morning dovesin the morning dewinseparable for life, always together as twoand I wonder, will

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-51405967421552585902011-12-28T18:11:00.001-06:002011-12-28T18:11:51.574-06:00

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-76484810683699043922011-12-21T19:08:00.000-06:002011-12-21T19:08:19.729-06:00

Happy Holidays to all my friends and followers! :)  

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-78565991509525599252011-12-14T17:44:00.000-06:002011-12-14T17:44:38.072-06:00

Aditi is a goddess in the Hindu pantheon, mother to the gods of the heavens. She is sometimes referred to as the womb of space, and in this role can be seen as the female Brahma, creator of all. Personified, she is the goddess of the past and the future, of all space, of fertility, and of consciousness itself.   Aditi is also looked upon as the goddess who is unbound by the world, even

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-41562744256481055522011-12-07T13:34:00.001-06:002011-12-07T13:52:59.140-06:00

  original I rarely do animations for this site as Blogger is so picky about file size but thought I'd do a small one for Christmas. Hope you like! :)  

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The Opposite of LoveSome people thinkThe opposite of loveIs hate...That’s a big mistake;When you’ve loved someoneWith all your soul,And poured everythingFrom your heart,When you’ve loved-someoneSo deeply from the startAnd then love-leaves-you,Like a soul-shattering-pain-of-glassYou’re hoping soon that-this-will-passWondering how the hellDid your wires-get-so-crossed?The opposite of loveIs not

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-69286909456596948392011-11-23T13:25:00.001-06:002011-11-23T13:29:10.740-06:00

Her Violin Sings at NightShe plays softly by the moonlightIn mournful solitude surrounded by mistWith the moon listening to the violin's song.The notes caress the stars at nightAs the violin sings with her tenderness.The night carries the music along.She comes alone at night to sit by the lakeAnd pour her heart into the violin's strings.The violin's voice haunts the nighttime air.She plays a

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-47565992693010970432011-11-16T19:02:00.001-06:002011-11-16T19:06:07.509-06:00

Moon Maiden Her eyes, two of the brighteststars in the firmamentsmile dazzling enough for midnight frolics.She is enveloped in a dazzlingaureole of  moonlightso intense, so concentratedno language can aspire to describe.Author unknown 

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-69996981681986084122011-11-09T18:47:00.000-06:002011-11-09T18:47:04.835-06:00

Faulkner said: “The past is never dead; it’s not even past.”All of us labor in webs spun long before we were born, webs of heredity and environment, of desire and consequence, of history and eternity.Haunted by wrong turns and roads not taken, we pursue images perceived as new but whose provenance dates to the dim dramas of childhood, which are themselves but ripples of consequence echoing

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-55139798680335338922011-11-02T17:35:00.000-05:002011-11-02T17:35:35.357-05:00

    But tomorrow, dawn will come the way I picture her,    barefoot and disheveled, standing outside my window    in one of the fragile cotton dresses of the poor.    She will look in at me with her thin arms extended,    offering a handful of birdsong and a small cup of light.~ William Collins (December 25, 1721 - February 17, 1847)

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-20059546583421070042011-10-26T13:50:00.001-05:002011-10-26T13:50:22.035-05:00

Happy Halloween dear friends and followers!    :)

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-11468292443337116732011-10-19T13:52:00.000-05:002011-10-19T13:52:40.364-05:00

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-90632386211097156992011-10-12T13:10:00.000-05:002011-10-12T13:10:42.941-05:00

Locked Up What is the secretThat’s locked deep within your soulCausing you such painThat you won’t let down your wallsTo let anybody inThough you offer keysThat will unlock many doorsOne lock still remainsIn a room within a roomWhere I think your freedom lies©jbz  

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-16295660896380220522011-10-05T10:29:00.000-05:002011-10-05T10:32:27.283-05:00

The Old Ships I have seen old ships sail like swans asleep    Beyond the village which men still call Tyre,    With leaden age o'ercargoed, dipping deep    For Famagusta and the hidden sun    That rings black Cyprus with a lake of fire;       And all those ships were certainly so old—    Who knows how oft with squat and noisy gun,    Questing brown slaves or Syrian oranges,    The

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-32488630810125032332011-09-28T14:16:00.000-05:002011-09-28T14:16:40.615-05:00

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-39028298774765756112011-09-21T19:16:00.002-05:002011-09-21T19:17:02.195-05:00

A bit of Fall whimsy.     :)

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-33821585478542190552011-09-14T20:31:00.000-05:002011-09-14T20:31:18.100-05:00

Jim "Red" Pope  1929-2009 That’s my Dad, looking rather rakish, back in 1949. He was an accomplished musician from an early age. He played the guitar, the piano, the violin (fiddle) and bass violin (known as a bass fiddle in bluegrass/country music). At the age of 5, he played the violin in a symphony orchestra! Mom couldn’t find the photo but I bet he was a cute little stinker. He

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-47884129415047600232011-09-07T18:42:00.000-05:002011-09-07T18:42:24.250-05:00

  "Sunset Rose"  Sunset falls on a lonely flower,With petals of crimson flame,And for just one golden hour,Its beauty, all nature proclaims.Basking in resplendent beam,A blossom of colored glass.The dew drops all like crystal gleam,As fond mem'ries of the past.~Unknown~  

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-59214986843372024092011-08-31T13:38:00.000-05:002011-08-31T13:38:26.469-05:00

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-45639472768956974852011-08-24T14:38:00.001-05:002012-01-05T17:04:41.886-06:00

Amidst The Flowers  Dream amidst the flowers of you and me. What can be hope to be. Yearning sighing .... Barbara B. Baskin 2011

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-82943446241339282662011-08-17T17:37:00.003-05:002011-08-18T11:01:45.990-05:00

 Hope you enjoy the music!

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-8685213708281783782011-08-10T13:48:00.001-05:002011-08-10T13:49:28.769-05:00

The act of putting pen to paper encourages pause for thought, this in turn makes us think more deeply about life, which helps us regain our equilibrium.  ~Norbet Platt

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-57883564050176290482011-08-03T13:51:00.002-05:002011-08-03T13:52:01.242-05:00

Now, I'd love a bubble bath like this! :)  

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-31532655570869996542011-07-27T12:47:00.001-05:002011-07-27T17:50:54.648-05:00

Night of Faeries Evening falls across the heather And the stars come out to dance. The faerie folk come to life And fill the night with their lyrical chants. The mists on the moors swirl and caper about, Taking rock and tree to embrace The faerie folk make merry and dance about 'Neath the silver of the moon's face. by Mike Winegar (Mike has since added to this poem. You can read the

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-55420465157503509722011-07-20T13:55:00.001-05:002011-07-20T13:55:24.078-05:00

I usually don't create fantasy images but this one was fun to do! :)

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-72917989004235620632011-07-13T17:31:00.000-05:002011-07-13T17:31:21.913-05:00

RedheadThe wind blows, stirs, billowing flaming tresses.A mystic magic this prize of locks possesses.Green eyes with just a hint of mischief fillAlluding to her strength, her forceful will.She is so like moonlight, like full moon's light.So pale and so perfect that it just seems right,That freckles flecked in myriad across her skin,As in the sky one looks at the stars within.And beautiful

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-5118411954225126452011-07-06T13:48:00.000-05:002011-07-06T13:48:20.002-05:00

Leather Dampened jeans and hot leather combined Sweet horse sweat and human salt beads Sticky sun in a dusty earth patch Two dry throats and sore muscles Hearts thudding with heavy motion Work and play are all the same This is my day… by HorseFeathers, age 17

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-65578469254303593332011-06-29T13:48:00.000-05:002011-06-29T13:48:12.443-05:00

NATURE'S TEASE Tease me again With your shimmering body Glide past me now In glowing delight Glints of turquoise Sparkle and shine; Emerald and amethyst Jewels so divine Through your wings I see beauty Simplicity, grace Hovering near me Not a moment to waste For in a breath You shall be gone Lovely dragonfly Ah yes, I've been Forewarned! Nancy Ellen Crossland

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-31621882049540016662011-06-22T13:14:00.000-05:002011-06-22T13:14:24.318-05:00

I've never created an animation on this site so I thought I'd try it out. The poem is by a young girl. Ahhh, the bittersweet memories of young love. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Shredded Heart My poor, shredded heart Is weak from loss It's ripped part I'm so sick of falling For the wrong guy I always end up bawling I guess you dont' love me back What? Couldn't you tell? It's

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-7106722952154269672011-06-15T19:05:00.000-05:002011-06-15T19:05:07.224-05:00

Woodland There is a serene and settled majesty to woodland scenery that enters into the soul and delights and elevates it, and fills it with noble inclinations. Washington Irving (1783-1859)

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-76375949326029201282011-06-08T12:45:00.000-05:002011-06-08T12:45:15.899-05:00

At Sunset To-night the west o'er-brims with warmest dyes; Its chalice overflows With pools of purple colouring the skies, Aflood with gold and rose; And some hot soul seems throbbing close to mine, As sinks the sun within that world of wine. I seem to hear a bar of music float And swoon into the west; My ear can scarcely catch the whispered note, But something in my breast Blends with that

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-22889672606389362092011-06-01T13:12:00.000-05:002012-01-05T17:08:31.381-06:00

He emerged silently soft tread, wispy moves The wind blew No trace save a track in the dandelion field. © Barbara Baskin 2011

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-59850272089143365522011-05-25T13:32:00.000-05:002011-05-25T13:32:31.470-05:00

The Dawn Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings-- beating color up into it at a far edge,--beating it, beating it with rising, triumphant ardor,-- stirring it into warmth, quickening in it a spreading change,-- bursting wildly against it as dividing the horizon, a heavy sun lifts himself--is lifted-- bit by bit above the edge of things,--runs free at

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-65608699235188247472011-05-18T19:18:00.000-05:002011-05-18T19:18:57.736-05:00

Photo credit: Montucky (Terry) Terry, I changed nothing except to select the 'jewelry' parts and apply an Edge Enhance filter and added a pop-out frame.Thank you so much for letting me play with it! :) I wrote a quick little ditty to go with it..... Baubles litter  maple leavesShining in the sunsetTiny flashlights illuminatingthe way to enchantment

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-63854290967990130392011-05-11T13:44:00.001-05:002011-05-16T13:04:20.500-05:00

I couldn't find a poem to go with this image.Sometimes, having to find a poem to match an imagecan be frustrating and very limiting to my creativity. Imay have many posts in the future that are images only. On of my followers posted a poem for this image: i saw a reflection in your green eyes the flowering buds of spring i felt renewal in your sweet smile the sustaining warmth of summer Doug

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-32569722449357305772011-05-04T13:29:00.000-05:002011-05-04T13:29:58.127-05:00

My Mother A total self commitment Not fame nor fortune need She gave herself completely In thought, in word, in deed. She never stopped to wonder On blessings she might earn But tried instead to teach me And prayed that I might learn. And now I'm older, wiser I understand much more And look with admiration Her presence I adore. Mother gave me everything A debt I can't repay So help me God to

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-12867017329023694102011-04-27T18:13:00.000-05:002011-04-27T18:13:40.190-05:00

Skinny dipping So free Nothing between body and water Water - swaying, gliding, caressing the skin Unencumbered by spandex, nylon, or cotton Nothing to hinder the imagination No ties to the urban world No pockets No possessions An aqua ballet performance An intimate connection with flowing liquid Weaves in and out of crevices and curves Flows and slides smoothly over wet flesh

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-73445502620073485832011-04-21T11:31:00.000-05:002011-04-21T11:31:09.423-05:00

MY GRANDFATHER: MY HERO Your finger tightly clasped in my little hand your shadow walking along with mine grandpa, I was a tender flower bud then and you nourished me like enriching sunshine With years we modeled this grand relation every morning you and I waiting for my school bus you have the magic to make my wishes come true we live in a special world, made for both of us Your words speak

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-64764308425088453582011-04-13T12:14:00.000-05:002011-04-13T12:14:04.404-05:00

IN SEARCH OF ME Where shall we find it This place of solitude One that is ours alone? Shall it be in distant shores Sea of cerulean blue Tinged with sunlight Dancing on the waves Kissed by golden sands Swept with the Master's hands Shall we claim it Upon the highest pinnacle Backpack upon us Staff in hand Foot secure, trudging At last Where our dream began? Perhaps near a stream Running cool

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-47145313433678255462011-04-06T12:53:00.000-05:002011-04-06T12:53:28.988-05:00

PIANO PLAYER Those hateful keys, All so musically perfect. Wretched music; Pages thrown up everywhere. The polished wood Gleams and shines, daring you to try. You have no choice, You must do as your teacher says. You settle down, Sitting on the freezing, hard seat. Non-budging hands Makes your head start spinning within. Then it makes sense, Why and how you are sitting here. Your hands

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-69200908152955643552011-03-30T18:16:00.000-05:002011-03-30T18:16:34.129-05:00

SPRING GREETING Beneath the sodden leaves Under frozen earth She has waited; Waited patiently Asleep; Dreaming of hyacinth days Meadows waving in dances green Fragrances awakening the senses Ah yes, has she dreamed Lilacs bursting With charismatic charm Waiting for the sunlight warm Now, now she awakened Yawning with breath so fair The beauty the rebirth Of Spring is in the air! Nancy Ellen

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-2393826703464771042011-03-23T14:07:00.000-05:002011-03-23T14:07:09.977-05:00

Little Ones A distant howl is herd across the tundra, The sound shaking the ground like wild thunder, Wolves join in a chorus of joy, For pups have arrived, great howls they deploy, As the little ones come out to greet their first day, Emerging to meet the pack, always wanting to play, New scents, sounds, faces, and skills they must know, For soon the alpha pair howl a warning, "Soon it

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-88859478784672695292011-03-16T13:48:00.000-05:002011-03-16T13:48:28.888-05:00

Irish Blessing Lucky stars above you, Sunshine on your way, Many friends to love you, Joy in work and play- Laughter to outweigh each care, In your heart a song- And gladness waiting everywhere All your whole life long!

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-67341964839465698702011-03-09T12:28:00.002-06:002011-03-16T13:55:13.512-05:00

Mustang Sally Mustang Sally, guess you better slow your mustang down. Mustang Sally, now baby, guess you better slow your mustang down. You been running all over town. Oh! I guess you gotta put your flat feet on the ground. All you want to do is ride around Sally, ride, Sally, ride. All you want to do is ride around Sally, ride, Sally, ride. All you want to do is ride around Sally, ride, Sally

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-86940495240272116122011-03-02T12:21:00.000-06:002011-03-02T12:21:28.485-06:00

The Old Misty Tree The Old Misty Tree The old misty tree stands all on her own Watching and waiting, forever alone Once she was young, just a century since When children with joy, did laughter dispense When lovers did meet with wine and embrace Lay under her bows, shed shyness and lace Yet now she has aged, grown hard and too cold Seen far too much, with nothing to hold Her limbs creek and

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  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

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-62305574557456524592011-02-16T13:47:00.000-06:002011-02-16T13:47:43.510-06:00

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

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-90250553317785724962011-02-09T15:34:00.000-06:002011-02-09T15:34:59.805-06:00

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

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-41555101538770142462011-02-02T12:42:00.000-06:002011-02-02T12:42:09.554-06:00

(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

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The Buck in the Snow White sky, over the hemlocks bowed with snow, Saw you not at the beginning of evening the antlered buck and his doe Standing in the apple-orchard? I saw them. I saw them suddenly go, Tails up, with long leaps lovely and slow, Over the stone-wall into the wood of hemlocks bowed with snow. Now he lies here, his wild blood scalding the snow. How strange a thing is death,

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Rock Around The Clock One, two, three o'clock, four o'clock, rock, Five, six, seven o'clock, eight o'clock, rock, Nine, ten, eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock, rock, We're gonna rock around the clock tonight. Put your glad rags on and join me, hon, We'll have some fun when the clock strikes one, We're gonna rock around the clock tonight, We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight. We're

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Man on the Street They looked away He wasn't like they were, They walked straight, were clear of skin and neat, They turned and whispered Shook their heads, He shouldn't be out among us He should be off the street, He shuffled along bent and twisted With blotchy skin and tattered clothes, He thought to himself I shouldn't be out on the street, The way I am; But no one knows, There was a

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The Soothing Sea Let the soothing sea heal my heart From a lost love that tore it apart Let the setting sun heal my soul From a long fall to a rocky shoal Let the sailing star heal my mind From a lie that had made me blind Blue Pueblo

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My New Year's Resolution I will not throw the cat out the window Or put a frog in my sister's bed I will not tie my brother's shoelaces together Nor jump from the roof of Dad's shed I shall remember my aunt's next birthday And tidy my room once a week I'll not moan at Mum's cooking (Ugh! fish fingers again!) Nor give her any more of my cheek. I will not pick my nose if I can help it I shall fold

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  Jingle Bell Rock Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring Snowin' and blowin' up bushels of fun Now the jingle hop has begun Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock Jingle bells chime in jingle bell time Dancin' and prancin' in Jingle Bell Square In the frosty air What a bright time, it's the right time To rock the night away Jingle bell time is

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Fuego’s Freedom If you could’ve sworn you’d seen a horse Charging out of a flame Or forming out of an autumn leaf Maybe you’ve seen Fuego’s spirit For he is a whinny into the moon at night And a fiery, restless creature Starved of freedom His mortal self Couldn’t live off fenced pasture He is now a wild thing Every October he scours the scape For a place as remote and wild as his spirit Fuego

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Mirror, Mirror, Bloody Fibber Mirror, mirror, on the wall, Can't you show me tall and slim? Mirror, mirror, on the wall, Must I look so bloody grim? Mirror, mirror, on the wall, You're distorting my poor waist! Mirror, mirror, on the wall, And why the heck am I defaced? Mirror, mirror, on the wall, Why have I a double chin? Mirror, mirror, on the wall, And what's the stupid, goofy grin?

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A Poet’s Cat A poet's cat sedate and grave As poet well could wish to have, Was much addicted to inquire For nooks, to which she might retire, And where, secure as mouse in chink, She might repose, or sit and think. I know not where she caught the trick - Nature perhaps had cast her In such a mould philosophique Or else she learn'd it of her master. William Cowper

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I’m Thankful for You Thanksgiving is the appointed time for focusing on the good in our lives. In each of our days, we can find small blessings, but too often we overlook them, choosing instead to spend our time paying attention to problems. We give our energy to those who cause us trouble instead of those who bring peace. Starting now, let’s be on the lookout for the bits of pleasure in each

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Palo Duro Canyon The Canyon is 120 miles long, as much as 20 miles wide, and has a maximum depth of more than 800 feet. Its elevation at the rim is 3,500 feet above sea level. It is often claimed that Palo Duro Canyon is the second largest canyon in the United States. The largest, the Grand Canyon, is 277 miles long, 18 miles wide, and 6,000 ft. deep. It is located in Northern Texas 27 miles

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She Danced She danced to forget the loss of love She danced to remember the passion of love She danced to lose herself in rhythm She danced to find herself in rhyme She danced to dry her tears She danced to face her fears She danced until heart and soul were healed Blue Pueblo

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Salad is Incompatible with Life Yes, my waist is fifty inches - Big for me because I'm short. And yes, I like my cheddar cheese When partnered with a vintage port. Okay, okay, that double cream Is always served with pud, And cake and biscuits with my tea Are just no bloody good For my poor hardened arteries. But see my point of view, Please dear wifey if you please - A Salad makes me spew!

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  Haunted House There's a house upon the hilltopWe will not go insideFor that is where the witches live,Where ghosts and goblins hide. Tonight they have their party,All the lights are burning bright,But oh we will not go insideThe haunted house tonight. The demons there are whirlingAnd the spirits swirl about.They sing their songs to Halloween."Come join the fun," they shout. But we do not want

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Domestic Violence History echoes the screams of women-- violated, abused, ravaged. Some have heard the death knell-- the last sound ever. Others live in fearful isolation with humiliation and pain endured through many years silently suffering, lost, nowhere to turn. Survivors live in seclusion detached distant distrustful The seclusion every suffering animal craves to be let alone to

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Autumn Fantasy In my autumn fantasy Endless miles of blazing color Spreads beneath my feet, Light mist lingers through the trees; Swirling gently with each breeze Colors mesh in focus Then fade; In waves of brilliance and subtle haze, I gather leaves; Their unique beauty surrounding me Inhaling their scent appreciatively, I'd gladly coexist in this fragrant mist My gaze defining the trees

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Silence Listen. Do you hear it? The low, soft nothing of silence? Silence. I wallow in it. I wrap it around me -- a cloak of comfort. I am alone. I come into myself. Silence. My mind is set free. I think, I wonder. I feel the words flowing. Silence. Blessed silence. Barbara B. Baskin 2010

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A Raindrop's Life The cloud is expectant and heavy I am one of its children being born in the sky Then, my mother is ready- she releases me And I descend to the earth from on high. I fall in time with the other children, We travel downward, faster and faster we go Toward our destination. We feed the earth, waiting below. We soak the ground, giving it life. We fill streams, rivers, and seas

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The Railway Train I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains, And, supercilious, peer In shanties by the sides of roads; And then a quarry pare To fit its sides, and crawl between, Complaining all the while In horrid, hooting stanza; Then chase itself down hill And neigh like Boanerges;

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She sang the old songs Songs of lilacs and shady lanes She sang the peace songs Songs of home and front porches She sang the love songs Songs of heart and Sunday walks She sang until time and rhyme were one Blue Pueblo

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-74203986097767475162010-09-08T13:19:00.003-05:002011-01-17T13:52:26.385-06:00

Every boy in this land grows to be his own manIn this land, every girl grows to be her own womanTake my hand, come with me where the children are freeCome with me, take my hand, and we'll run To a land where the river runs freeTo a land through the green countryTo a land to a shining seaTo a land where the horses run freeTo a land where the children are freeAnd you and me are free to beAnd you

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Live For Today In the camellia tree sits a lone sparrow Watching a butterfly flit among the blossoms. Neither caring about the ‘morrow, Just today, for today is awesome. Barbara Baskin 2010

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-24566619172569862502010-08-25T12:31:00.000-05:002010-08-25T12:31:09.945-05:00

The Ship of Gold It was a great ship carved from solid gold: Its masts touched to the skies on uncharted seas; Venus, goddess of love, her hair streaming, her flesh bare, Flaunted herself on the prow beneath a blazing sun. But one night it struck the great reef In that treacherous ocean where the Siren sang, And the horrible shipwreck tilted its keel Into the depths of the abyss, ineluctable

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The Violin You must use the body - its curves, its hollows, the spring of the sound, which brings back what is absent, what has been and is now gone, fading. Cat-gut, fret, the busy machinery of longing, which takes its strength from the presence of absence, the body's darkness, the wood carved out, thinned and made to flex. There is a pain at the source of it - so easily broken, this tree

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-71837128811333856352010-08-11T15:37:00.000-05:002010-08-11T15:37:14.244-05:00

The Bench Under a Maple tree near the city park entrance, sits a nondescript, weathered, plain old bench, Hundreds have passed by and many to rest Like mothers with toddlers tying up a loose lace, Kissing scraped knees or wiping a face, That old bench is a meeting place Tuesdays for widows Mildred and Grace, Who chat over lunch that they take turns to make, discussing TV shows, world events,

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The Beast Its appetite is voracious, Its manners less than gracious, Taking, taking, never giving, Consuming the lives of the living. Having no conscience or remorse, Once loosed it always stays its course, Destroying all that is in its path, Never considering the aftermath. Destruction is its nature, you see, Though it has no dislike for you or me, It ever follows its natural bent, Being

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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. Chorus: 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

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-25002217918590427372010-07-21T12:48:00.000-05:002010-07-21T12:48:46.969-05:00

Moonlight 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

BBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09066955381700789029noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347927981978906134.post-59406432564925080372010-07-14T12:54:00.000-05:002010-07-14T12:54:34.437-05:00

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

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REMEMBER 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

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On the Wind Freedom whispers on the wind... Lo! The wild horses run! Born unto vast prairies, And stabled 'neath the sun. Bathed in cloud borne waters, Summer's storm their symphony; Brethren to the Zephyr, Starlit night their canopy. In the cadence of their hoof beats One hears Mother Nature sing! Freedom whispers on the wind... Wild horses are awing! © 1998, 2003 by Barbara Anne Dunn

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Dawn Dawn blushed; betrayed her waking sky To gently break another morrow fine. Night waned – the black receding – highland Reaching for the early morning wine. The chorus rendered frantic caws and Chirps and other avian song, Mapping out the 'mine and yours, ' and Goading more to sing along! Quiescent water – deep of lake – Reflected out the hazy red, but Through the glass, a flick, a break:

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What Have We Done? Lying dormant underground a thief of life is waiting To steal the breath from those unaware Unknown to man until this time when care has not been taken To save our souls from what is lying there Now who is to say what can be done to stop the devastation That spreads like fire among us one and all As we discover that which we have done to live Is now the very thing that

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Struttin' the Peacock Rag (Just a note. The males lose their long tail feathers in autumn - not that it stops them struttin' the peacock rag) Flash the blue high stepper Doffing the green fedora Sparkle the blades Down the legs And strut the peacock rag Wink your wings to the ladies Croon that old siren song Hop with the rest Show her your best And strut the peacock rag Spring is your

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White Eagle (excerpt) The white eagle searches the sky For the hope of the awakening below In circles of light The ever-reaching eye of truth Pierces it way into you For the purity of its flight Will surely bless you In the inner peace of internal bliss To an ever increasing world of creativity The white eagles wings covers your way In the protection from the spirits That has chosen you to

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Great Oak Ancient, yet steeped in wisdom; Massive, yet enlightening; Never tired of growing or vexed by seasons, You stand glorious in summer; Monumental in winter. And as you overlook your forest With sagacious governance, They all defer to you - dependence in hand: Children of the undergrowth; Arboreal underlings. Veneration earned, you now command The awe that few can. Ever graceful, your

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You must be completely awake in the present to enjoy the tea. Only in the awareness of the present, can your hands feel the pleasant warmth of the cup. Only in the present, can you savor the aroma, taste the sweetness, appreciate the delicacy. If you are ruminating about the past, or worrying about the future, you will completely miss the experience of enjoying the cup of tea. You will look

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LEAVES OF SILVER Leaves Shimmering, silvery Illuminated by the sunlight Glistening now with each breeze Cascades swaying, turning As a few have been caught by the wind They twirl and tumble then; Standing upright They are soldiers marching Marching in a joyous parade of nature Nancy Ellen Crossland

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Bird in a Gilded Cage (Excerpt)"She's only a bird in a gilded cage,A beautiful sight to see.You may think she's happy and free from care,She's not, though she seems to be.'Tis sad when you think of her wasted lifeFor youth cannot mate with age;And her beauty was soldfor an old man's gold,She's a bird in a gilded cage."Arthur J. Lamb

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Path of the FeatherTo follow the path of a sacred life,To see the beauty of a feather...~ Within a sacred space...for just one special moment ~Pausing long enough to find yourself,Pausing to pick it from the ground...~ It sings to you of the legends...it makes you alive ~A trace left by your native brethren,A gift to make your soul come alive...~ Following the trail of little bread crumbs

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Choices I go to the mountain side of the house to cut saplings, and clear a view to snow on the mountain. But when I look up, saw in hand, I see a nest clutched in the uppermost branches. I don’t cut that one. I don’t cut the others either. Suddenly, in every tree,   an unseen nest where a mountain   would be. by Tess Gallagher

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The Lighthouse  (excerpt) The rocky ledge runs far into the sea, and on its outer point, some miles away, the lighthouse lifts its massive masonry, A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day. Even at this distance I can see the tides, Upheaving, break unheard along its base, A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides in the white tip and tremor of the face. And as the evening darkens, lo

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Free I only wanted to hold it a moment Before it took flight I had gazed at it often It had brought me such delight, It's amber and black wings So vibrant and light Flitting from flower to flower Hour upon hour In the bright sunlight, Then so cautiously I approached Afraid to breathe Afraid it would leave It seemed to sense my eyes so intense It became so very still, I reached gently to hold

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Cowboy Poetry Whether you’re young or gettin’ old there’s ‘cowboy poetry’ to be told ‘bout those men who rode the range, some folks thinkin’ it plum’ strange But, ya might just wanna take a listen, tho’ tales could cause tear drops to glisten, stories told of times cowboys lived, hard work, and carin’ hearts they’d give Of nights men sat ‘round blazin’ fires, told windy stories of life’s

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Love & Passion Oh, send a box of love & passion I’m ready for it now. Wishing to share, Willing to be close. Wanting to be loved, Needing to be held. Too long alone, Too long without. Barbara B. Baskin 2010  

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A Dying Brain Do you recall how I was once your fire? And we, a regal cloud of unity Meandering through the closing blues of night, Commanding stars to glitter; Dawn to blush? Your answer comes in ever-blanking stares: A wall that blocks the know, Damping down the glow that used to emanate From clear and lucid eyes. They've lost the will to recognize. But hear! We are fifty years together -

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CLOUDS Horizons void of clouds How dull would be the scenery To know them all by name A visual adventure to attain, Altostratus, pileus, cirrus, nimbus Least we forget the all familiar cumulus, Who has not gazed in amazement at the magnificent array Billowy clouds on a perfect day? Standing on the seashore where clouds meet the sea Inspire the calmest soul to ecstasy, Imagination soars as

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Missing Piece For years I have been fixing this mess of a jigsaw life. Going through, and studying each piece. Fitting them in, trying to find my base, My corners. And when I saw where something didn’t fit, I found the problems. And sorted them out Things in the wrong place. Some pieces didn’t fit. And a few pieces were broken, And needed to be fixed, But over the years I have gotten to the

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