Spring is almost here with its warm breezes, multi-colored blossoms and
beautiful smells. If you close your
eyes, you can almost hear the land awakening.
It is a season of hope, of promise and one of joy. I know that when my personal time nears
midnight, it will be all of my springs that I remember the most. Here is my nod, my thank you and my embrace
for Spring, 2008. I hope that you can all
take time to enjoy it. Peace
A Painting
If you look closely, you may see me there;
the sculpted waters in the southeast part
reflecting winter sun that strips me bare
and echoes with each Wordsworth that I start.
Dark persistent pigeons are astounding
huddled under parapets of cold stone.
Squirrels play in spite of icy pounding
upon the trails where they are often known
to tourists clicking photos with abandon
and children pointing, laughing with delight;
lovers pulled by horses roped in tandem
speak softly as they spin into the night.
Above my path a sparrow starts to sing
and burdens me with longing for the spring.

| Member Comments | Total Comments: 13 |
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BronxGirl1
Mar 18, 2008 | 10:13 AM |
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bigbadbob
Mar 18, 2008 | 12:30 PM |
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Sanctus
Mar 18, 2008 | 1:26 PM |
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bigbadbob
Mar 18, 2008 | 1:55 PM |
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Sanctus
Mar 18, 2008 | 3:11 PM |
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bigbadbob
Mar 18, 2008 | 3:16 PM |
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cityslicker2801
Mar 19, 2008 | 4:05 PM |
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jmax123
Mar 25, 2008 | 7:38 PM |
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Sanctus
Mar 26, 2008 | 8:51 AM |
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vanessa_alfano
Mar 31, 2008 | 11:29 PM |
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Sanctus
Apr 1, 2008 | 10:29 AM |
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ANGELRUBY
Apr 10, 2008 | 7:33 AM |
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Sanctus
Apr 11, 2008 | 2:01 PM |
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You paint me with the colors I abhor, your brushstrokes shade my immediate smile, mixed tones of gray and blue marking each mile that you alone can say you’ve traveled more. But, I am no canvas, no sketch-book page where inspiration’s masterpiece lingers like desire in your elegant fingers enfolding me, or starting to enrage the gentle burning I must now accept as wisdom will embrace a needed pain. Like rhythms dancing in my crowded brain; I can't erase the moments I have kept. Mark me with your grandiloquent design, showing me how you will always render reflected images you’ve surrendered to the passion of matter over mind, cajole me with the breadth of your reach, convince me with the melody of lust; play me with the harmony of mistrust and wonder not of promises or me!
Member Since: 9/15/2006
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