Oasis.

[Guest]

 

[Guest]

 

[ozzie male]

Annie

She is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.

She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun `tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of coloured beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.

She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine.


From Collected Poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay, published by Harper & Brothers Publishers. Copyright © 1956 by Norma Millay Ellis.

 

[Guest]

 

[Guest]

 

[Guest]

 

[Guest]

 

[ozzie male]

"You've been very brave. I realized it. ". Haven't. And I have difficulty determining the antonym of 'brave'. Perhaps saddened and occasionally teary, yet reconciled. Soooo: HAVEN'T.

 

[rosco rathbone]

They were just playing "Champagne SUpernova" and "Wonderwall" in my (Irish) local and I was thinking how the @#$% did such a lame, trudging, generic, plodding group ever get so big????

The singer is the worst. The absolute, bar-none worst.

 

[Gusty Wind]

::Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mmm mmmmmm mmmm mm m m mm m m m m::



~ NaaaaaMasTe! Jarrrrrsiiiiiiiiiiitalurrrrrr ...

 

[Guest]

 

[ozzie male]

r-e-a-l-i-S-e

NOT !

And I'll always ly2

 

[Namaste]

Wondrous Moment

The wondrous moment of our meeting ...
I well remember you appear
Before me like a vision fleeting,
A beauty's angel pure and clear.

In hopeless ennui surrounding
The worldly bustle, to my ear
For long your tender voice kept sounding,
For long in dreams came features dear.

Time passed. Unruly storms confounded
Old dreams, and I from year to year
Forgot how tender you had sounded,
Your heavenly features once so dear.

My backwoods days dragged slow and quiet-
Dull fence around, dark vault above-
Devoid of God and uninspired,
Devoid of tears, of fire, of love.

Sleep from my soul began retreating,
And here you once again appear
Before me like a vision fleeting,
A beauty's angel pure and clear.

In ecstasy the heart is beating,
Old joys for it anew revive;
Inspired and God-filled, it is greeting
The fire, and tears, and love alive.

-- Pushkin

 

[Byron In Exile]

Re: Wondrous Moment

The wondrous moment of our meeting ...
I well remember you appear
Before me like a vision fleeting,
A beauty's angel pure and clear.

In hopeless ennui surrounding
The worldly bustle, to my ear
For long your tender voice kept sounding,
For long in dreams came features dear.

Time passed. Unruly storms confounded
Old dreams, and I from year to year
Forgot how tender you had sounded,
Your heavenly features once so dear.

My backwoods days dragged slow and quiet-
Dull fence around, dark vault above-
Devoid of God and uninspired,
Devoid of tears, of fire, of love.

Sleep from my soul began retreating,
And here you once again appear
Before me like a vision fleeting,
A beauty's angel pure and clear.

In ecstasy the heart is beating,
Old joys for it anew revive;
Inspired and God-filled, it is greeting
The fire, and tears, and love alive.

-- Pushkin

 

[Gusty Wind]

Namaste!

 

[Gusty Wind]

Oh! How strange....

 

[Namaste]

I dreamed of you last night; tangled, fevered dreams of suede skin, smooth lips, soft hair that kicks and curls at the nape of your neck.

I could live a thousand lives, see a thousand sights, greet a thousand faces.

But none would compare to the hours I spent in your arms, the brief, fleeting minutes when you were all I could see, all that I breathed.

The longing never leaves me.

 

[Namaste]

Unrequited Love.

January 8, 1845

Monsieur, the poor have not need of much to sustain them -- they ask only for the crumbs that fall from the rich man's table.
But if they are refused the crumbs they die of hunger.

Nor do I, either, need much affection from those I love. I should not know what to do with a friendship entire and complete - I am not used to it.

But you showed me of yore a little interest, when I was your pupil in Brussels, and I hold on to the maintenance of that little interest -- I hold on to it as I would hold on to life.

This letter was written by Charlotte Bronte, English writer, to Professor Constantin Heger. There is no evidence that this love was ever returned by him.

 

[Gusty Wind]

Hello Namaste, have a wonderful breeze sunny summer.

I'll ...just let the dreams dream me .... be well sir.

 

[Namaste]

Love Sonnet XLV -- Pablo Neruda

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because... because...
I don't know how to say it...
A day is long and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station When the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
Then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
The smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
Into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
May your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,
Because in that moment you'll have gone so far and
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
'Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?'

 

[Gusty Wind]

 

[Gusty Wind]

Could be any where....

 

[Namaste]

Why do I love you so much, still, after all this time? I gave up hope long ago, but love lingers.

I wonder what you're doing right now. Laughing? Talking? Loving? Fighting? Sleeping? Eating?

Whatever it is, it will never be done with me.

There are no happy endings. Just happy beginnings, happy middles.

But no happy endings.

 

[Gusty Wind]

Oh .. are you sad, Namaste?

Is not up to you to write the ending?

 

[Gusty Wind]

Such a

Sunny Cloudy Day today

Breeze a little

Atleast the pines are wiggling

Dead roes petal

Should be felling

As freely

As the wind

Slowly

Glazy

By.



Mamaste.

BE

WELL!

Hello Byron.

And

All.

Hey...

Cheers.