her dream

within her thoughts and doubts she tells, of early thoughts witheld, yet takes her dreams and passes him her borrowed mornin shell
no never will he borrow, or fair to see her dream,


yet dither him upon her thoughts, her drowns, her days, her seemso wait, o wait, as thought it was a passioned thought from she,only dashed aside with frought his vision


yet strides his gait to her bedwin, a temple in his mind,was wakened mare of nought the sordid kind..for ample mile he travelled, with keen and tepid tought


amid his vivid mind the shudder rodeyet as the time outran his own, the pain he could not bear, he saw her face in every tree, and also everywhere

por mis amigos Mags Y Ste

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory,
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

Lamia Part 1 (an excerpt - John Keats)

Fallen in jealous curls about his shoulders bare.
From vale to vale, from wood to wood, he flew,
Breathing upon the flowers his passion new,
And wound with many a river to its head,
To find where this sweet nymph prepar’d her secret bed:
In vain; the sweet nymph might nowhere be found,
And so he rested, on the lonely ground

Sammy's Poem

As a wave break losing pattern with the changing of a tide
withered flower drooping sadly all her petals try to hide
with the startled summer season paying tribute to the sun
taking many sleepy moments as she turns around to run
never knowing what she'll meet... petals falling at her feet

passing over sweeping meadow laying down upon a dell
seeing faces peering downward that she knows only too well
dreams of all those that surround her swooning blissful on the plains
wishing she could be amongst them yet the sadness still remains
for the pain it must subside... as she turns again to hide

peering thr'u a glazen'd mirror that has stood the test of time
knowing halfly that the image reflects ages left behind
staring back in cold reflection is a frown that seems to be
rolling slowly with the breezes as a leaf upon a tree
will she ever come to miss... does she ever deserve this

all the others that surround her shield the rays that seem to glare
in the ire of sad compassion all the grief she cannot bear
spirit ebbing back and forward as the turning of the tides
trying harder with disguises for the suffering she hides
can there ever be an end... to the petals that descend

now the sunripe season flutters as the one she knew before
favour takes her hand and beckons knocking gently at her door
time is changing with the shadow falling on the old sun dial
seeing others she remembers winning thr'u a pleasant smile
will it ever be the same... going slowly is the pain

falling tears they form a river flowing off into the seas
for the weeping is a sparkle gladdened by the new release
lifting up she slowly rises catching rays upon her brow
glowing joyful with occasion as a star only knows how
petals sweeping 'cross the floor... she is beautiful once more...

If, by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings―nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And―which is more―you’ll be a Man, my son!

Just two verses from 'If', by Rudyard Kipling [1865-1936]
For the full poem visit: http://www.poetsgraves.co.uk/Classic%20Poems/Kipling/If.htm

The Spell

But when the night is over
And daytime steals your cover
The goodness of the morning sun
Will warm away what you have done
And leave you cold



I have no need for moonlight
You're wrong to trust in sunlight
For I exist not just in storms
But in life itself in so many forms
To leave you cold

A THING of beauty is a joy for ever

from 'Keats'

A THING of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.