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Quotes about heady, page 10

Were There Hope

I was never in a league of noble gentlemen
To whom she'd cast polite and flitting smiles,
Only distant hope and dying dreams for me!
Or perhaps descent into a game of wiles

To give a chance of sipping wine on heady nights
With her angelic presence to declare;
Above, an aura playing out hypnotic hues,
And I in awe of blonde cascades of hair.

But no! my tiring soul is sinking in a mire
To haunt me for an age and evermore, for
How could I expect to hold her silken hand
When I am but a soulless ghost of yore?

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

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tailing Tale

in the garden of the east
i saw the pink fairy fly
sparkling trails i saw her leave
as i've seen in picture books

fascinated by this wonder
i followed through the woods
as though guiding me in a dream
it gently slowly led me on

through the garden of the east
into woods and fields
by the brooks and the streams
i just kept on going

wondrous were those sights
of lovely flowers and heady scents
'twas a fairy tale garden indeed
an' i thought it all a fantasy

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What chocolate means to me

The fridge beckons once again
mylove for things sweet is my bane
I think, I reason, but then I surrender,
all good intentions are torn asunder,
in goes, one square, an explosion of taste
the rich hard chocolate melts into a heavenly paste
and as I swirl it around my mouth
east and west and north and south
a shiver runs down my spine
a feeling headier than any wine
I savour every morsel small
and then i relise its not fun at all,
to stop at only one,
the delight has just begun
another takes its place
my senses begin to race,
the dark stuff is too good
would stop short if I could
and before I know it, the bar has almost finished
Im mortified ashamed and anguished

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Erica Jong

Self-Portrait in Shoulder Stand

Old bag of bones
upside down,
what are you searching for
in poetry,
in meditation?

The mother you never had?

The child in you
that you did not conceive?

Death?

Ease from fear of death?

Revelation?

Dwelling in the house of clouds
where you imagine
you once lived?

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London

My visits to London always bring me cheer;
I wish it were possible to bottle the atmosphere.
I would collect together all the sights and sounds,
And surround myself with them, when I’m down.

A trip to London always seems to lift my mood;
By good old London town, I’m easily wooed.
There is always something new and exciting,
Which is why, to me, London seems so inviting.

I may begin a day feeling just a little bit down,
But once in London, a smile replaces my frown.
It’s one of my very favourite places to be;
There’s always so much to do and to see.

I think that London is such an amazing place;
It can suit all your needs, whatever your pace.
In central London, people are always in a rush,
But in the gardens and parks, can be found, hush.

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Parijatham

A habit of harvesting happiness
In the wintry dawn
Gathering the unfettered soul-feasting
White aroma, thousandfold of a celestial ambrosia
The queen of the night hath shed medicative..

I remember
Parijatham tree, our agraharam-house bore
The fragrant rear- yard youthfully carpeted with
When shaken the blest me with its flowery drizzles
Then to make garlands with my sister
Heady fragrance routine, Perumal garlanded us

Hundred years old in my heart
Grew Parijatham passed by
Grand-pa, pappa, mine years inclusive

This fecund tree, my heart's child
A poetry of aurora
Its coral-tubed creamy whites

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A Poem Is A Pearl

A poem is a pearl within the heart,
Painstakingly perfected, primed with tears,
Offering reflections which the years
Encapsulate within a world apart.
Mirrors in the mind seek ways to chart
Ideas which clarify while calming fears.
Suddenly the soul awakens, clears,
As worries are effaced, while hurt and smart,
Pacified, assuaged, dissolve, depart.
Expression of emotions thus appears
As ecstasy mid human pain. Each hears
Relief and joy, as wellsprings sudden start
Like fountains in the desert buried deep,
Arise at magic touch, spring up from sleep.

A poem is a pearl which line by line
Presents an image musically aligned,
Opening the windows of the mind, -
Enchanting and instructive, half divine.
Mystery, where beauty must combine

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Evening conversations...Small town U.S.A.

Barbershops, beauty shops, front porches, fireplaces and bars


Like ol’ men and women
Jabbering away
Arguing like ol’ friends do
Tryin’ to absorb other’s happiness
Tryin’ to give away
A little of their sadness too…

Remnants of the glow
Of summer sunburns
Meet winter’s white
on wrinkled necks
Some enjoying the Fall flush
Of immaterial nature
Others await the arrival
Of social security checks

Some live close to joy

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Maya Angelou

A Plagued Journey

There is no warning rattle at the door
nor heavy feet to stomp the foyer boards.
Safe in the dark prison, I know that
light slides over
the fingered work of a toothless
woman in Pakistan.
Happy prints of
an invisible time are illumined.
My mouth agape
rejects the solid air and
lungs hold. The invader takes
direction and
seeps through the plaster walls.
It is at my chamber, entering
the keyhole, pushing
through the padding of the door.
I cannot scream. A bone
of fear clogs my throat.
It is upon me. It is
sunrise, with Hope

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What They Say!

They say….
She comes,

When gusts of wind whistle and boom
And the boughs of trees shake and rattle
When the lilts of a doleful song
Come floating through the desert air
And waves on waves of enticing strain
Percolate through the silent gloom
When all at once, a foggy mist
Blurs the sight and folds the Earth

They say….
She comes,

Gliding from the southern wild
Out from a mysterious hide
With a heady perfume swooning the sense
Her white dress trailing the dust
Her wavy hair lying loose

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