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POEM
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1994-02-01
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248 lines
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POETRY SECTION
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Some Thought Provoking
Valentine Poetry:
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Sonnet 116
by Bill Shakespeare
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come.
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
but bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Copyright 1585 William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
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She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways
by Bill Wordsworth
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Besides the springs of Dove.
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love;
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
-- Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
Copyright 1793 William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
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Love Is Not All: It Is Not Meat nor Drink
by Edna Millay
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.
Copyright 1909 Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)
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Annabel Lee
by Ed Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee; --
And this maiden she lived with o other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
_She_ was a child and _I_ was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love --
I and my Annabel Lee --
With a love that the winded seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud by night
Chilling my Annabel lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me --
Yes! -- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud chilling
And killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we --
Of many far wiser than we --
And neither the angels in Heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: --
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea --
In her tomb by the side of the sea.
Copyright 1829 Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)
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Untitled Poems
by Don F. Cross
Untitled
Her voice is but a whisper
Shattering the loud silence
of the cold night . . . .
It travels upon the chill air
To deliver her love and comfort
To his open and awaiting ears . . . .
Copyright 1993 Don F. Cross
===========================
Untitled
Bright sunny day
The chill wind starts to come
The chill wind blows
Penetrating the weak defenses of her flesh
The clouds gather and storms brew
She wanders around for refuge
But it is too late for the rain starts to fall
Along with her tears
She is fed up with existence
Fed up
Fed up with life
The rhythm of the thunder is in tune with her heart
Soon the loud thunder stops
All that is left is the chill penetrating wind
She shivers from cold and fear
She is afraid but not afraid due to the knowledge of release
The heart starts to hammer
Cold blue steel shines with the lightning and matches the sky
Bitter taste of iron in her mouth
The hammer in her heart pulls back
The hammer on the implement of destruction pulls back also
Eyes focused on the knowledge of freedom
Her heart leaps forward
Moments after the hammer on the implement of destruction lurches
forward
Loud explosion drowned out by thunder
A hell-spawned demon flies down a tunnel of darkness
Light for a brief second the darkness returns for the demon
She falls forward and drops the implement of destruction
The demon feeds off of as much as he can for he is expelled
Into the light
As she falls into the darkness
For she is happy not sad
Happy with the knowledge of freedom . . . .
Copyright 1993 Don F. Cross
===========================
Untitled
Chilled winter night
Snowflakes falling carelessly through the sky
Arriving at their final destinations on the ground
I walk the lonely streets of my life on this night
Taking time out only to say HI to the few in my life
On this endless walk of mine
Soon those few are gone and once again I am left alone
To wander the empty streets that fill my life
Every now and then one comes along to fill the emptiness
But soon like all the others the one is gone
I still search the streets for one who will never leave me
"Will I ever find this person?" The question goes
And the answer is not up to me
But to the one who will make the lonely streets not so lonely
On this never-ending walk of my life . . . .
Copyright 1993 Don F. Cross
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Love's Warmth
by Francis U. Kaltenbaugh
Searching to fill the void I feel,
Striving to place there all things,
Which are supposed to be real.
Living not in vain, can be a true fright.
Waiting patiently,
Knowing there's got to be my: light.
Wait. Oh no, not me; I actively seek,
Lighting the flame.
Igniting to blaze, that which is quite meek.
Too near, playing with emotion's fire.
Slightly burnt,
Perhaps in vain, but onward,
Till at last, my final pyre.
Copyright 1993 Francis U. Kaltenbaugh
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