Saturday, November 26, 2016

I COULD by Kaunie Hagensen


by Kaunie Hagensen

I could write you a letter,
But what would it say?
Could it make things better?
Would it make everything okay?

I could write you a song,
Full of love hope and grace.
Would you tell me what went wrong?
Could you say it to my face?

I could make a telephone call,
And listen as you cried
But I would not let you fall,
And if you did, we'd both know I tried.

I could make the world go away
But would that be what you like?
You would miss the golden sunrays
You would miss the moonlight.

I could stop all this pain
Bring it all to an end
The tears would fall like rain
On the shoulder of a dear friend



by Katherine James

What are we fighting over?
I simply do not know.
You have me lost in thoughts,
I'm tossing to and fro.

Soon you will be gone,
And you'll blame this all on me.
What can I say or do,
So the mistake we both can see.

Why did you pick this fight,
With me before you go?
I'm all alone and lost,
But of this you do not know.

If you don't say goodbye,
Before you turn and leave.
What am I supposed to do,
Except to cry and grieve?!

I thought our friendship was special,
I thought it meant a lot.
If you felt the same way,
Why are we stuck in this knot?

I don't like good-byes,
But in this we have no choice.
If you won't speak to me,
the good-bye's will come from MY voice.

We've managed through other fights,
But this one's not the same.
I'm not having any fun,
And I won't to stop this game.

I'm not good at soirees,
So I'll do my best with this.
I have one last request,
It is my goodbye wish.

I wish that we were friends again,
Before WE say GOODBYE.
Now that this is off my chest,
I wait and sit and sigh.



by Sussanah

One night on the Net I was looking around
I found a chat room with people abound

I vaguely recall a short chat with you
A penfriend you'd like, and you spoke English too

I recall your name Davide from somewhere remote
The next day we emailed a short little note

Italian you were, and English your strength
So writing became quite frequent at length

I now know you quite well, and you also know me
A special friendship of trust, care and honesty

One day I am sure we will meet my good friend
So I say to you Ciao and much affetto I send . . .

I'VE BEEN CAUGHT by Teresa Fiehn



by Teresa Fiehn

I've been caught swimming in his eyes again.
Holding my heart so it doesn't break in his presence.
I've been known to have to steady my breathing 
at his smile,
as my own returns with red cheeks.
As the subject of my never ending sentences, 
he calls upon pauses that
should not be there.
As my friend, he shares.
His heart cannot mention my name.
While my heart can only scream his.
I've been seen caressing his skin with my gaze.
Memorizing his shape.
I've dreamt of how his lips round his words.
As I replace friendship with love.
My heart hangs heavy when I hear his voice.
My pulse races with his scent.
As he walks past, her on his arm.
Unlike any of the others, 
he kills me and keeps me alive. 

ON THE WINGS OF A BUTTERFLY by Christine McClimans



by Christine McClimans

Your friendship is special
Like the flowers that bloom,
Or when a butterfly emerges
From within its cocoon...

You remind me of that butterfly,
Loving and free,
Bright and colorful,
For the world to see...

We will share sunshine and rainbows;
Sometimes, the rain and the snow;
We'll stand together through it,
While the cold winds blow...

When the time is right,
We won't stop to ask "Why ?"
Our friendship will take flight
On the wings of a butterfly ... 


Friday, November 25, 2016

WINTER BIRDS - by Alison D.


by Alison D.

Dear little bird
You sing a dirge.
A sorrowful moaning
In the quiet night.
Your wings are folded,
Your feathers are ruffled.
Your head is dusted with snow,
As it flutters around you.
You are sitting,
In the blusterous wind's path.
The cold winter is coming,
Dreary and harsh.
It will not stop for you alone.
You must fly to a safer home.
Fly, fly, go fly away.
On this beautiful winter day.

WINTER'S HERE - by writingmagic26


by writingmagic26

The snow falls
on a cold winter night.
A snowman stands
outside a house
keeping watch
as the soft flakes fall.

A girl cuddles up with her dad
by a warm fire
under a colorful quilt.
They laugh through the night
fuzzy socks on their feet
and hot chocolate warming their hands.

In the morning a radio blares
“School’s closed! School’s closed!”
A small boy shuffles downstairs
in his teddy bear pajamas
awaiting pancakes, French toast
and a warm winter breakfast.

A college girl smiles
as she sits in a coffee shop
computer in front of her,
a story beginning.
Out the window kids fly
down a powdery hill
laughing and playing
in the snow.

That night snow falls
to cover the footprints and
snow angels, snow forts, a child’s lost mitten.
Fires crackle
a baby sleeps
and a snowman keeps watch
as the soft flakes fall.


Thursday, November 24, 2016

THE SNOW - STORM - by Ralph Waldo Emerson


by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end.
The sled and traveler stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.

Come see the north wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer's sighs; and, at the gate,
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.

Sunday, November 20, 2016

RESPECT - by Lovely


by Lovely

What am I to say
From a colored woman's prospective today
With my Brown skin
Dark eyes
Thrifty dreams
African American eyes

Feels like a hot breeze from Congo
Blowing my way
With echoes from the mountains
And whispers
Manipulating my soul
To dance and sing
And listen to the drummers


They are speaking to me
Can't you hear ?

Sending a message out to us sista's
Us women of color
Us women of glory
And eternal everlasting

My ancestors look at us in discuss
With our chemical treated hair
Body exposed like we don't care

And my back pressed up against the wall
With my belly sticking out
And my tears that stained my cheek
And my intelligence turned weak

Us colored women today, yes us colored women today

What's next, they cut off the welfare checks
What's new, sistas looking for something to do ?
And who's to say, we still gonna make more baba's

Won't even give us a job
Cause we belong to that African tribe

Won't even love and respect our brother
Cause we all have the dark skin color

Don't color me black; don't call me a lady,
Don't offer me fine wine, or a ride in your Mercedes

Don't give me your heart, or your passionate love campaign
Don't give me some other sister, worry to gain

Just give me truth, something pure and clean
Just give me respect like an African queen 

I REGRET - by Dreamcatcher



by Dreamcatcher

My God, why did you take my mother?
Angles took the wrong one - not her - another.
Regret is a feeling that I feel everyday;
You took her from me, and I didn't say -

"I Love You, Mom," in my own way;
Only to hear her say it back to me.
God, why couldn't you just let us be?
She didn't deserve to die;
Didn't deserve to be in pain,
Only to leave me here asking you why -
Night after night when I cry in vain. 


Friday, November 18, 2016

DENMARK - Dragør


Dragør - a piece of old Holland in the state of Denmark, where once settled immigrants from the Netherlands. Narrow streets, wooden houses with roofs of reeds, the mass of flowers in the gardens - the tranquil pastoral.


The cozy provincial town Dragør is located on the southeastern tip of the peninsula Amagёr, not far from Copenhagen - the perfect place to relax from the hustle and bustle of city life.


Dragør - the old fishing village by the sea with its own special atmosphere: narrow cobbled streets, a miniature house in yellow colors, decorated with colorful flower gardens, a lively marina, dozens of sailboats in the sea and so close the Swedish coast. This place can rightly be called a real "Denmark in miniature", which to this day are carefully maritime tradition of the city.


Dragør History begins with the XVI century, the main occupation of residents was trading in Baltic herring, which determined the "fishing" the fate of the city. Several centuries later Dragør became the third largest port city in Denmark and already ships began to form a kind of image of the city.


The Dräger almost intact preserved Old Town. The old town is the Church of the Assumption, All Saints Church and a medieval house Knut Jensen.

The Old Town is surrounded by very picturesque street lined with small old houses that have been preserved here in its original form. Cobblestone, which paved the streets, and remained here since the Middle Ages.

In the harbor Drager is Maritime Museum and fishing. It lovingly collected items related to the fishing town of the past.

The dredger has a Museum of Art and Painting . It is located in the noble estate of XVIII century., In the partially reconstituted and reconstructed buildings of the era. The dredger is also a house-museum of the famous Danish artist Kristian Molsteda (1862-1930).


Also, be sure to look into Amagёr Museum (Amagermuseet), in which the past literally comes alive. The museum - a small farm early XX century with its typical owners in national costumes involved an interesting work on the house and on the site. This is how the Danish cultural landscape looked before the start of the last century.


Amager Museum - is a traditional farmhouse. Here they grow roots and flowers are bred sheep, rabbits, Kurets, pigs and other domestic animals, and in the huts with the old interior of visitors meet residents in traditional costumes.