posted January 05, 2008 01:01 PM         

Resurrect it here so it won't be forgotten.

posted January 05, 2008 02:12 PM         

If we can get out of the way of life...

If we can learn to let go of this fear...

If we can stop second-guessing ourselves
just long enough to be born...

If we can see something noble,
without considering ourselves a disgrace...

If we can see that not every encounter is a confrontation,
and not every confrontation is an offense...

If we can stop and take a breath at the critical moment...

If we can give that auspicious inch...

If we can wait that split-second after praying,
to listen for a response,
and trust in THIS with all our hearts...

If cynicism wasnt so safe...

If criticism wasn't disguised as good taste...

If worldliness were not some abortionate haste...

And an unaffected respiration could take place...

Then I would talk to you, and you, and you,
and the ten-thousand things would not intrude...

And judgement would wait upon an infinite faith;

If things were a little bit new.

posted January 05, 2008 02:26 PM         

This next poem is amazing.

We sit upon our rooftops
as two-cent sages
buying time on our sacred mountaintops
echoing off of our handmade molehills.

Having a cheap peak
through our neighbors blinds
Who often misplace nakedness upon a window sill.
Forgetting
they are bare-boned
pretenders,
living on the brink
crossing fingers
while cutting in line.

Somewhere...
Idle chitter-chatter becomes a thing of the past
When idyll Times can pour
through a pen.
Alone in a room
a million people at once
sneaking peeks up each others skirts
the Dance stops, for a snapshot
then spins on it's
Eternal tune.
recorded and tucked away
in Moment's wallet.

A cornered cobweb
catches it's breath
on a Northern breeze
Tying it's strings around each finger
Reminders to forget how we are laced up
synchronized secrets
constant.
and accidentally revealing ourselves
to anyone with an Ear.

We swim
between an Ocean's clenched eyelids
walk hand in hand
knee-deep in tide-pools
(and between you and I?)

a billion grains of sand
untouched

by 26Taurus

posted January 06, 2008 11:23 PM         

thank you, Mel .

I will get back to this thread soon....

.
..
...

posted January 10, 2008 12:36 AM         

Everyone has to find out what is important to them in life on their own. I fell in love with a guy, and my outlook on my entire life changed, not just my love life. I appreciate my home and the people that love me so much more. Never take your family and the people that really love you for granted. They aren't something that's holding you back from growing, they are the most important thing that you could ever have in your life.

I just though that I would share that with you guys. "

~Battle of Evermore

posted January 02, 2008 12:21 AM http://www.linda-goodman.com/ubb/Forum7/HTML/009475.html

Can't you just feel it?

posted January 10, 2008 01:14 AM         

by NosiS

I will a light
upon the waters of my Soul.

The Moon's chime upon the Ocean's tides

is like unto this Fire's flashing.

It shall cleanse darkened currents with

filters of brightness

and make them great waves in forces of

wanting --

Indeed, this Light shall, sharply, make

my entire Soul a focused candle!

And I will burn for everlong

on towards the hOur of Our Union...

posted January 13, 2008 06:50 PM         

Mel,
I like what she wrote.
Thanks.

posted February 12, 2008 10:15 AM         

Solane Star and Mirandee's Tribute to Ginny Rainbow

posted February 12, 2008 12:17 PM         

------------------
The truth is ... everything counts. Everything. Everything we do and everything we say. Everything helps or hurts; everything adds to or takes away from someone else. ~ Countee Cullen

posted February 12, 2008 12:23 PM         

------------------
The truth is ... everything counts. Everything. Everything we do and everything we say. Everything helps or hurts; everything adds to or takes away from someone else. ~ Countee Cullen

posted February 26, 2008 01:34 PM         

Heart-Shaped-Cross

This piece introduced me to hSc and let me know I wasn't the only one who noticed and felt things deeply. This, (in combination with conversation with people like Fayte and especially Zala... and others) let me know that LindaLand was the place for me from the very beginning. The following was extremely
meaningful to me, maybe the most meaningful thing I have read at LL
(well, if you don't count "the best thing I have ever read" which I'll have to find and add to this thread, also by a certain author...)
anyway...

excerpt: a girl named grace

She took the last stool and, turning parallel to the bar, propped the
corrugated soles of her boots on the highest rung of the stool beside her, so
that her knees provided both a convenient perch for her notebook,
which she removed tenderly from one pocket, and a discreet screen
between herself and the rest of the room.

Most people could not have avoided the conspicousness of such a
position, especially in so upscale a place as this; but with her it
was something different. Her manner was charismatic, both cheerful and
unassuming. Even setting herself in a kind of subtle opposition to
them, and notwithstanding the admittedly, - confessedly, - finer, more
delicate material of which she was made, still, she somehow managed to
blend seamlessly in with the rest of the crowd. Peering over the top
of her junior-sized notebook, biting the pen-cap in place of an
unprotected lower lip, she studied them each in turn, a look of
charming and unobtrusive curiosity on her very pretty, though strong,
young face. If she managed to catch their eyes, she just smiled
good-naturedly and went back to the page. The people didn't seem to
mind it a bit, but, rather, many of them appeared even flattered by
the attentions of so kind and attractive a biographer as this.

When the bartender set down another glass of red wine, lowering it
crane-like, with palm acting as canopy, onto the countertop, she gave
him an amused look, head inclined almost entirely to one side, pensive
with admiration, as if to say, "even your most menial actions contain
a sublimity all their own," and her eyes continued to follow him
affectionately down the long length of the bar. Then, like an
in-breath pending an out-breath, they hung distractedly upon the ether,
awaiting the prosaic transmutation of the muse, and fell lavishly back to the page,
where her pen had already begun dutifully shaping the words.

Her hair was somewhat longer than shoulder length. Dirty blonde and
loose, and peppered with one or two tightly woven braids, it fell
uniformly enough until reaching the exaggerated shoulders of her black
winter coat, where it broke like water; scattered itself generously
among the folds. Her complexion was soft, more pale than pink, and
this lent her youthful countenance a gravity, a solemnity, already
suggested by the strong pronunciation of her brow and the sharp,
clever cut of her nose; - all of which might easily have become
alarming, had the general effect not been so artfully tempered by the
gentle ardor of her eyes and the childlike joie de vivre, which
communicated itself both subtly and effortlessly through the image of
all her multifarious aspects. Her lips were the sole heiresses and
proprietresses of a certain, exquisite shade of pink, much coveted,
and unsusceptible to the charms of reproduction. She had artist's
hands, which, though small, were thin and long and remarkably
well-proportioned. The fingers seemed barely to touch the objects of
their interest, and always moved with a touching, unconscious grace,
as if in response to some mysterious and dulcet invitation.

I was standing in the glass anteroom when I saw her; opposite the bar,
studying her fugitive profile, much obscured by the golden curtain of
her hair. At first, I was struck by the fact of a girl, a pretty girl,
sitting unescorted, and as comfortably as if she'd been curled up at
home in bed, writing in a notebook. Then I began to absorb something
altogether more of her. She was acutely sensitive; at least as acutely
sensitive to beauty and goodness as I myself was to ugliness and vice
- as though we were two sides of the same coin. Whereas I could only
distinguish what it was that I did not like, here was someone capable
of seeing, almost exclusively, it seemed, only what she most desired
to see. It seemed to me a fated meeting. This girl, I thought, might
be my salvation - provided I did not succeed in damning her first.

Having, at length, exhausted the aesthetic fertility of the room, she
turned her eyes toward me. I had been gazing pensively, abstractedly
at her just prior to this sudden development, and, when she
immediately caught my eyes, there seemed to be nothing left to do but
flounder innocently in the headlights. There was a flash of pleasant
surprise, then a mysterious kind of recognition, and genuine kindness
in her gaze. But, here was something strange. Her eyes, a lighter
blue, retained the same tenderness, the same intelligence, the same
sober emotionality, with none of the timid "modesty" of my own. In
beholding her there, I had unwittingly assumed the expression peculiar
to her; the beauty which she instinctively and habitually observed in
the outer world I had managed to glimpse in the luminous mirror of her
manner and her eyes, and, so, reflect, if only briefly, with my own.
It was as if I were looking into a mirror and, for the first time in
remembered history, finding myself looking back with a semblance of
admiration, respect, even affection. It was exhilarating.

For several incredible seconds, our eyes exchanged intimacies. Some
barely perceptible inflection in her gaze found instant compliment in
mine, and mine in hers. This subtle, yet sensational interplay went on
for a few brief moments, each of us responding instinctively to the
tacit ministrations of the other, revealing our common sensibilities;
the many and variegated aspects of our identities that found rapport.
At last, there was a suggestion of feminine warmth in her gaze.

I wasn't prepared for it; I looked away.

Maybe it was just humility, or the honest, albeit discouraging,
appraisal of my own worth, but I blushed, I crumbled, I looked away;
at the air, my clothes, my shoes, the landscape of the floor. She just
giggled. It seemed light-hearted, forgiving, and almost ironical in
nature, - as though she too had been impressed by the encounter, and
couldn't help but find comical the ensuing melodrama of my crippling
insecurity, - like the laughter of a child, effected by the clumsy and
desperate scrapings of an adorable puppy-dog.

Anyway, I was with my parents - waiting for them - and I couldn't go
back, though I would have liked to, and even felt that perhaps my
honor was somehow at stake. After shuffling awkwardly into the corner,
by the outside door, where she could no longer see me, and hanging my
head in a moment of silent shame, I hurried into the street and into
the back of a waiting car. I tried to look out the rear window, to
catch a last lingering glimpse of her, but it was plastered over with
snow and ice. All I could make out was the fracturing penumbra of
an overhanging traffic light.

...

posted February 26, 2008 03:14 PM         

Sensitivity....

Christ Consciousness......

God,

How I long and ache for home.

posted May 07, 2008 10:00 PM         

~ H.S.C. (Dec 06)

perfect

posted May 08, 2008 02:09 AM         

To see all of that, and more.

posted May 18, 2008 11:31 PM         

I feel so honored to have a place on your list. We have some amazing talent here, so this is quite a special thing for me. Thanks for making my day.

P.S. I'm still waiting for baby pics of little T.W.

posted May 19, 2008 12:50 AM         

* blushing* I am honoured to make your list, thank you!

*deep loving new-mama and baby hugs*

I can't wait to explore more posts here and add my own!