By By Authors | On February 3, 2007 | In Poetry | Rated 
America, America God shed His grace on Thee But what have you done With your cherished liberty? You turn the head on adultery
By By Authors | On February 3, 2007 | In Poetry | Rated
The haiku is a Japanese tercet; its lines consist of 5, 7 and 5 syllables respectively. In my first book of poetry, I did several of them; to be proper, the lines are unrhymed, I say proper in the sense of how the poem was meant to be.
By By Authors | On February 3, 2007 | In Poetry | Rated
Note: Dedicated to Mike Rossert. Mike and I roamed St. Paul as kids, between 1956, perhaps to 1959; but we remained friends until I was perhaps 15-years old, then we both lost track of each other.
By By Authors | On February 3, 2007 | In Poetry | Rated
Sometimes you get what you ask for only to regret later (and sometimes forget) you asked for it. I agree with Keiko, look at their track record (what have they done to deserve to represent the people)) too often we put into office unqualified people)).
By By Authors | On February 3, 2007 | In Poetry | Rated
Paul Davis is a FL real estate professional, life coach (relational & professional), worldwide minister, and change master.
By By Authors | On February 3, 2007 | In Poetry | Rated
Paul Davis is a FL real estate professional, life coach (relational & professional), worldwide minister, and change master.
By By Authors | On February 3, 2007 | In Poetry | Rated
I paint and sculpt female fantasy art and map faery tale adventures. I dream of whimsical angel pictures, legends of mermaids and fairies in art. Tiny angels whisper fantasy art, these innocent angels guide me. I also paint fantasy art of exotic women.
By By Authors | On February 3, 2007 | In Poetry | Rated
Paul Davis is a FL real estate professional, life coach (relational & professional), worldwide minister, and change master.
By By Authors | On February 3, 2007 | In Poetry | Rated
Listen to the rhythm of the beat of your soul.
Listen to how it sings it’s verse.
Listen to the timber as it plays its cords.
Listen to its hush as it plays your heart 's strings.
By By Authors | On February 3, 2007 | In Poetry | Rated
Perhaps death is a gift from God, my mother wished it, when I came to the hospital to visit her; she was tired of living she said, knowing after her last operation life would not be the same.
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