poetry

I can weave words together and create magic,it's like knitting and crocheting words with pen and paper, some call it Poetry.

I wish for magic this season,laughter and fun.I wish for mistletoe kisses-those sparkly ones.

PRACTICE MAKES THE HARD THINGS EASY

You are only as touched my the magic of this life as you want to be.

She was the kind of eleganceThat would never tarnish. A mixture of lace and mesh, Like a classic heirloom that begged to be worn.She was sharp intellect and quick wit.The type of woman that spoke her mind,Even if it shook.(Or even if no one was listening.)She was beautiful.But not someone you__ see in magazines, Her hips were too wide, her hair a mess of wispy tendrils, (Rather, she was actually very ordinary.) My, was she stubborn! She__ drive you mad!(Sometimes, you__ probably call her crazy.)But mostly, her laughter was a joyful moments. Like a warm towel fresh from the dryer,Or finding a twenty-dollar bill in your winter coat.And that was the true revelation.That magic does exist, It ran through her like a wild, fiery current.

Fall in lovewith the energyof the morningstrace your fingers along the lullof the afternoonstake the spirit of the eveningsin your armskiss it deeply and thenmake loveto the tranquilityof the nights.

your gazeacrossmy cheeksturned theminto strawberry fields.

The magic fades too fastthe scent of summer never lasts the nights turn hollow and vast but nothing remains...nothing lasts.

In darkness, some flowers blossom!

Tea is just an excuse.i am drinking this sunset, this evening.and you.

You may be a poet and not even know it.

Walk a bit further. There is a different land not far away. The people in it have the magic to break the icy fingers of the great death.I heard that you don__ even have to pay.However, you have to find their door.It is only found by those who pay the other price.

Poetry Saved Me

Do you believe in magic?" she asked. "I believe in you," he said. "And you're the closest thing to magic that I've found.

Round these men stories tended to group themselves, sometimes deserting more ancient heroes for the purpose. Round poets have they gathered especially, for poetry in Ireland has always been mysteriously connected with magic.

Leave the comfort of your dark cocoon... Allow your imagination to take flight. Embrace those marvelous magical wings and soar!

I belong with the trees,the wind,the earth beneath my feet.I belong in the land of enchanting things.But mostly,I belong entwined in your kiss,lost,yet wild and free,pure bliss,like poetry.

From key signature to coda, from downbeat to the sound of life's final fermata, our pasts set the tone for all that was, that is, and that ever would be.