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Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Picture Courtesy of “The Thinker” by Rodin in Paris

 
 
There are moments in my life
that I know that I am
at the edge of great thoughts.
 
A sentence
a phrase
that when read
would change the world.
 
Has hard as I push
I cannot find those words
they seem immediately lost to me.
 
Yet those moments of what can be
great revelation to share with others
seems so important to capture and share.
 
It is always after this time
of reaching so deeply within myself
that these three sentences keep playing in my mind.
 
He knows your pain.
He loves you.
He will be with you 
forever.

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Courtesy of bg-bg.facebook.com

 
 
 
Last night a dream entered my peace.
It was you sobbing.
Crying for what could have been 
but it was not.
 
Outside of your world everything seemed perfect.
To others your world was without want.
It was not.
 
A part of your soul was seeking
but not finding
some special part of understanding.
 
The part that was compassion
of tenderness
that was not in your moment of being.
 
Was there hope to bind this wound
a wound so deep?
My arms reached for you.
 
Held you tight with lips to your ear.
Whispered I love you
I care
I know your pain.
 
I will always be here for you.
You slowly smiled.
Sunshine filled the room.  

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Courtesy of bloggingprince.blogspot.com

We sit quietly 
you and me.
 
I trace your lips
with the tip of my finger
your smile at my joy comes so easily to you.
 
The corner of your mouth dimples 
showing a special wrinkle that always speaks 
beauty to me.
  
The pressure of your lips pressed on my hand 
is warm and safe 
with just a hint of passion 
during a moonlight evening. 
 
I kiss your neck 
ever so lightly 
with a breath in a rush of air
upon your ears.
  
You then giggle and start to laugh. 
With the rise of your breasts in a deep breath 
you reach and place your lips 
warm and soft against mine. 
 
My heart pounds within my being. 
I rest on your chest. 
It is a perfect evening 
with just you and me.

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Courtesy of dreamingmom.blogspot.com

It is my belief that every poet in their lifetime, wishes to write that one poem, that is unforgettable through the ages.  As one who writes poetry as a hobby, as part of my non-profit charity work, I am no exception.  To me the greatest poem ever written was “Desiderata” by Max Ehrmann in 1927.  Another example of this poem beside the above can be found on: http://www.fleurdelis.com/desiderata.htm  It is my hope this poem in its reading will bring extra light to your day.

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1959 Painting by John J. Rigo, Titled, “Mother’s Sorrow”

If I were God
would I have done things any differently?
 
In the mist of my creation
would I have made beings
who would worship me
built into their souls?
 
I think not
for love is only love
when given freely.
 
Is it not said
that we are made in His image?
 
Would not His Love be the ultimate
universal love?
 
If we would give our life for the one we loved
would God render any less
in giving His life for us?
 
In God’s love for us
would enduring a day of pain
be a fair exchange to insure that all those He loved
would be with Him?
 
If you were God
would you have done the same for me?  

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Northern Sunset from Norwood Shores in Gun Barrel City, Texas on Cedar Creek Lake in East Texas, July 1, 2012 by John J. Rigo, OZ our home.

 
 
It was toward evening as I glazed at the setting sun to the North.
A beautiful sight assaulted my eyes
as the sun set upon the horizon.
 
Whether East, West, South or North
the Glory of our Lord
abounds before us. 

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Courtesy of 123rf.com

 
 
It was yesterday at my favorite pizza place in McKinney, Texas
that you came forth and touched me.
There you were with long blond hair in a pony tail.
 
Tall, beautiful and bright as you approached me.
Your arms reached around my neck
your body pressed close to me
as you kissed my cheek.
 
Within me something stirred
a regretfully forgotten memory of long ago.
You said your name
as if I should have had immediate recall.
I did not.
 
My wife related that yes I should remember her
from thirty years ago in my life.
She was a member of my ex-wife’s family.
Still I do not remember her.
 
What a two-fold Blessing and Curse.
To be touched by Love from our past
and yet not recall such love from another time.
 
Still this day
I carry the memory
of being touched by Love.
It was truly wonderful. 

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Picture taken with Samsung Smart Phone on June 30, 2012 at 7 a.m. on Northwood Shores in Gun Barrel City, Texas on Cedar Creek Lake.

This morning my eyes beheld the beautiful hair of angels.
It was upon the morning skies before me.
Long strands of silver across the raising sun.
 
Surely the blessings of our Lord
are before us each day.
Clear signs of his glory and love
for us all. 

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View from “Oz” at 7 a.m. on February 25th 2012 on Cedar Creek Lake, Texas
  

View from “Oz” on Cedar Creek Lake, Texas, February 25th 2012 at 7 a.m.

 

“Another View of God’s Church”

I have been to many churches in my lifetime.
None can compare to the beauty of my church.
My church lies outside my back door.
 
Before me lies miles of beautiful water
its beauty more clarifying upon a Sunrise morning.
The clouds above this church of God’s home
are higher than any church steeple.
 
There is no wall or ceiling painting to equal
the clouds above my church.
No gilded statue that equals the sun’s glory
as it breaks forth upon the horizon.
 
There is no choir that rises above the sweet sound
of the wind that sings across my ears.
There is no preacher, preaching to me
nor a basket asking for my coin.
No where else can one
be any closer to God.

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Courtesy of answersto.wordpress.com

 
 
I could see the sadness in her eyes
as each chunk of her golden hair came forth in her hand.
She placed her once shining, golden flax into a plastic bag
to be reminded of the beauty of her hair.
 
Her hair stylist assured her that baking soda
washed gently in her hair would prevent
the falling of her hair from her scalp.
 
In giving her this suggestion
the stylist refused to cut her hair shorter
in order to make her lost easier to bear.
The stylist was wrong.
 
Bear witness to the shining and blotched scalp
where beautiful golden hair once resided.
Nightmares of her past returned to her.
 
Remembrance of a childhood ring worm of her head
returned to haunt her again
of laughing classmates
finger-pointing to stocking capped head.
 
The Spector of Death upon a black chair
drove her to the decision
to move forward to this dreaded treatment.
 
Was the fear real
or made to fill the pockets of her doctors?
Payments for the Rolls convertible that sat
shiny and pale green in the doctor’s slot
of the cancer treatment center.
 
A large cow-like-barn room
where milking looking machines of death
pumped their questionable medicine into their hosts.
 
A winged angel of slow death
masked as an Angel of Life
to claim another possible victim
in its green flow of money from perhaps
its victims?
 
Dear God,
please protect
the one I love so dearly
from this possible
self-inflicted treatment.

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