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 rossal
Joined: 12/5/2005
Msg: 611
The Sacred Act of Story Telling Page 4 of 55    (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41)
Dear Blitznboltz: Love your thread. I've written over 300 poems (some are on my website).....they are faith-based poems of anguish, suffering, hope, healing, celebration and redemption.

(Like your friend)....I got out of a 31-year abusive marriage (with him for 36 years), and then my church voted me out of membership, (on my birthday--September 29) with my name up on a big screen, followed by the words: Conduct Unbecoming A child of God.

I've written my memoir: Ghost Child to Triumph (from a child with no voice, to someone who speaks up against injustice).

Perhaps I will come back and write one of my poems....

I believe we are all here for a purpose, and that is to make a difference; this I am trying to do by counseling abused women (men, also).

Hugs, smiles and grins, Rossal
 whitefirelillie
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 627
view profile
History
The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 8/25/2006 2:50:52 PM
Thank you! Sometimes I felt this way! Choosing not to choose!
 AgelessWonder
Joined: 4/12/2006
Msg: 637
The Sacred Act of Story Telling Though Womens Eyes.
Posted: 8/29/2006 9:13:29 AM
Broken Promises

I promise to love you
Til death do us part
The promise was broken
Along with my heart

The years have long past
The heart has mended
Where pain was present
Joy has ascended
I was your puppet on a string
The strings have been cut
What happiness that brings
Even though I have not forgotten
The pain you put me through
I have forgiven you, its true
It was a lesson, well learned
Polished and made anew
I pray for you now
Grow in wisdom and strength
No matter what happens
We reap what we sow


Here is the key
Do all things in love
And you will be free
Look deep within your soul
Pruning and molding
Until you are made whole


Gail 9/06/05
 SimpleSoul
Joined: 3/20/2006
Msg: 639
The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 8/29/2006 11:16:18 AM
this is a heart felt poem. My heart mourned for your friend. Hope life has been a bit kinder to her at this time in her life.
 angelpurrrrs
Joined: 7/17/2005
Msg: 648
The Sacred Act of Story Telling
Posted: 9/9/2006 10:28:13 PM
He pulled her close to him
And leaned in for a kiss
That he knew would put her
In a state of pure bliss
Sending shivers down her back
And her heart skipped a beat
She completely loses herself
When ever their lips meet
The fire of passion ignites
Putting her in a state of trance
For tonight will be the night
That there will be romance
As the passion increases
Sparks begin to soar
As he takes her hand and leads her
Through his bedroom door
He gently lays her down
And places a pillow beneath her head
Gets up and shuts the door
Then slowly walks to the bed
He sits on the edge and smiles
As he sees the passion in her eyes
Begin to grow as he steals a kiss
That caught her completely by surprise
Slowly his hands begin unbuttoning her shirt
Exposing her stomach and chest
As he looked to see what's revealed
While one hand holds an exposed breast
She undoes his shirt
And throws in on the floor
They kiss again both seeing
Wanting and needing more
The passion has reached its peak
As they pleased each other in every way
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 666
The Sacred Act of Story Telling Through non Ancient eyes
Posted: 9/22/2006 9:32:52 AM
Did you post that somewhere else as well because I responded that the lines about Jesus the lonely middle-aged carpenter were gold as far as I'm concerned. Hats off to you...

I'm reminded a bit about the John Prine song where he runs into Christ and says:

"Jesus, you look tired." And Christ responds:
"Jesus, so do you!"
 alyosha
Joined: 8/20/2006
Msg: 698
The Sacred Act of Story Telling Through Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 11/1/2006 4:35:59 AM
Let's you and I,
dear Pickles,
continue to worship
at the Church
of Honest Friendship
where the sermon
today and every day
is Love
without seeking
to possess each other!

Love without necessarily
doing any of those
naughty things
we all love to do

and which are so
freaking nice
in the right circumstance!

Do not knock
the sacrament of Humour,
of Effortless Candour,
drink deeply
of the wine
of Mutual Appreciation.
 gjohn
Joined: 10/23/2006
Msg: 701
The Sacred omen Writers
Posted: 11/6/2006 9:40:49 PM
Our open windows guide us, Lost trivea reveals one's monster who guides us. Lost in soul? lost time? Reach for the conclution, search the destiny withen! Cry for you? Not that of unreal dreams! Do you still hide in the closet? Open locks that held you, Or try to push, you might have never been lockedup at all?
 TheWoWPoet
Joined: 11/3/2006
Msg: 703
The Sacred Women Writers
Posted: 11/8/2006 1:50:47 AM
Darkness Enlightens

Where was summer,
a day of warmth and growth.
This land of opportunity,
where the blood does burn in amour.

As to movement away from where,
this internal darkness enlightens.
To a happy place, the one to begin.

No begging, no pain to endure,
for she was fortune, a beauty enriched.
Not without sorrow, but still not regret.

Another light, the shadow neither to await,
because of this element of hopeful deliverance.
Away, clearly away, unknown, yet hidden no more.

Her love, her happiness, his own to escape.
The eternity, a place to embrace in fortune,
tomorrow as unto this day of energy.
Relaxed and beyond sure burden, arrival at last.
 ~SpiffyKat~
Joined: 8/16/2005
Msg: 737
The Sacred Women Writers
Posted: 11/28/2006 1:30:05 AM
Hiya Blitz:)Im glad to see this thread is still going strong Ive always loved your writing style and the beautiful pictures you paint in poetry.You rock Keep on doing what you do so beautifully.... Kat
 TheWoWPoet
Joined: 11/3/2006
Msg: 745
The Sacred Women Writers
Posted: 12/11/2006 10:05:32 PM
My Space for You
08 December 2006

My love for you,
is fruit on a tree.
This love of
you and I and me.

A mathematical chance,
your heart and mine combined.
A making of mankind,
and forthright upon a path refined.

To love you, and know this was good,
a love lost so long again, found again in soul.
My destination, your beauty to grow,
where together in unity that will show.

The poet and his lover, a relationship in friend,
not any pasture to prosper, but our haven of escape.
My love for you, like fruit upon a tree,
this eternity to reach, the treasure of you in thee.

 angelpurrrrs
Joined: 7/17/2005
Msg: 746
The Sacred Women Writers
Posted: 12/16/2006 6:29:00 PM
A Day to Regret

When something happens out of the blue
That you wish you can change
Caused something to happen
And a life to rearrange
An emotional scare and quite a jolt
Made a heart skip a beat
When a collision
Felt like hitting concrete
Frosted windows didnt help
Since they made it hard to see
A dark car coming down the road
Which caused some debris
Tears of sadness and sorrow
Begin to flow from two scared eyes
Not knowing what just happened




in case you haven't figured it out, i was in an auto accident the other day
 angelpurrrrs
Joined: 7/17/2005
Msg: 772
The Sacred Women Writers
Posted: 1/20/2007 7:51:33 PM
The lilies in the field
Create a scent in the air
That will leave someone
Totally unaware

The blooms are white
Red, lavender, and blue
Growing wild in the field
And they make a magnificent view

Just stopping to stare
At the millions of flowers
Could cause time to fly
By hours and hours

So take a deep breath
And enjoy the peaceful scene
That is all around
For miles and miles to be seen
 angelpurrrrs
Joined: 7/17/2005
Msg: 774
The Sacred Women Writers
Posted: 1/21/2007 12:32:16 PM
If I could paint a picture
With words from my heart
The only decision to ponder
Is where to start
I could paint a field of flowers
Or a fictional dream
To make it so real
The feelings are extreme
It could make you laugh
Or maybe even cry
Or even have you pondering
The question why
Those questions be come answered
As you begin to read more
Of the picture I paint
With words galore
 angelpurrrrs
Joined: 7/17/2005
Msg: 800
The Sacred Women Writers
Posted: 2/7/2007 8:32:25 PM
Living on the Edge


Feel the stress building
Beginning to lose control
Breaking into several pieces
Body seperates from the soul

Looking down from the edge
Seeing the world below
Feelings getting so strong
Temper beginning to blow

Living on the edge
A life full of stress
All that there is to do
Is to wait for it to supress
 angelpurrrrs
Joined: 7/17/2005
Msg: 808
The Sacred Women Writers
Posted: 2/16/2007 2:37:44 PM
A Friend Like You

A kiss upon my lips
Lets me know you care
And your comforting voice
Saying you'll always be there
When my world comes crashing down
You always know what to do
As you dry all my tears
And tell me to keep pushing through
The darkness will end
Soon things will be alright
When ever we're together
Our love takes flight
You see the best in me
When everyone else is blind
And constantly make me happy
While others were being unkind
A friend like you
Comes once in a great while
But I'm glad that we are friends
Because you always make me smile
 angelpurrrrs
Joined: 7/17/2005
Msg: 813
The Sacred Women Writers
Posted: 2/21/2007 1:37:26 PM
A lonely heart
Seeks to be with you
To hear your voice
And see your smiling face too

Happiness turns to sorrow
And sorrow leads to tears
Every dream that happens
Contains only worries and fears

Sleep never comes
Because there is so much fright
Everything that happens without you
Just doesn't feel quite right

There is an empty void
Missing from the lonely heart
That only aches for you
Whenever we're apart
 angelpurrrrs
Joined: 7/17/2005
Msg: 819
The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 2/25/2007 10:00:58 AM
Silence engulfed the room..

As two lovers were eye to eye

They move in for a kiss

That made their passion fly

Their lips were locked

While their hands began to explore

Each others bodies

As the fire begins to roar

Clothes get tossed to the side

Until they both remain naked and bare

As their bodies crave

That passion they both share
 angelpurrrrs
Joined: 7/17/2005
Msg: 824
The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 3/4/2007 1:04:17 PM
The Beauty of the Day

The beauty of the day
With the sun shining high
Casting down it's warmth
With no clouds in the sky
To block out it's light
Before the sun sets
The shadows on the ground
Are just a perfect silhouettes
Of the things all around
As the night closes in
And the moon begins to rise
The beauty of the day
Leads to the night's surprise
 angelpurrrrs
Joined: 7/17/2005
Msg: 833
The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 3/17/2007 6:53:33 PM
Dewdrops cover the rosebuds
After the first spring rain
That fell during the night
Outside the window pane
When the sunlight hit
The droplets on each rose
They sparkled like diamonds
Creating wonderful shows
Of light dancing all about
From flower to flower
That was only created
By the first spring shower
 Red Earth Mother
Joined: 4/1/2007
Msg: 837
can anyone relate? One of mine
Posted: 4/11/2007 12:36:20 PM
Homely Women Make Good Spies


Homely women make good spies.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
A subtle craft requires an inconspicuous presence.

Starlets are a distraction, can hold the eye of a president,
But could never go through his file cabinet unnoticed.
Wallflowers fade into the wallpaper and hear everything.

The eye is drawn to beauty, remembers it with envy or lust
So it is best to be a plain woman
When slipping in and out of palace doors,
Treading the halls of power in sensible shoes.

The eye is drawn to sparkly things, to hard angles
So it is best to be soft around the edges
Wear a simple dress
And make your getaway in a tan sedan
Leaving only a gentle blur in the memory.

So, if waiters frequently ignore you and people break line
In front of you with no apparent malicious intent As though
You were only a soft column supporting the building,
Cry no longer, there is a place for you
Where being forgettable is an asset.

The point of being a woman of mystery is to remain a mystery;
To walk on padded cat’s feet in the dark night,
To pass through a room without turning a head,
To live without making a stir
To be a pebble that disappears into the water
Without leaving so much as a ripple.
 Red Earth Mother
Joined: 4/1/2007
Msg: 843
New story/poem
Posted: 5/1/2007 7:00:25 PM
Always intrigued by Joan of Arc. The only vaguely "witchy" thing Joan confessed to during interrogation was dancing at the "fairy tree" as a child. She stopped due to conscience around age 11. The voices started at 12. The incest incident is my invention- there is nothing in the research to support that it happened. According to legend, Joan's heart would not burn. (there, Catholic school in a nutshell)



Joan and the Fairy Tree

Before she was Joan of Arc,
St. Joan or the Maid of Orleans,
Before she went through the assessment
Cycle of simpleton, soldier, sorceress or saint
She was a French farm girl.
I see about her about 8 years old
In the woods with her friends playing and dancing
Around the “fairy tree - that pretty tree
That blossomed in the spring but bore no fruit, useless
As a barren woman, or a crippled man.

Around the tree I imagine a fairy ring
A near perfect circle of wildflowers or clover
That mysteriously appears to the delight of the children,
Lovers and others hungry for magic.
I hear the girls giggling and making up songs
About their neighbors but hardly casting spells or incantations.
They are barefoot, as most of the poor are,
But they are not dancing naked in the moonlight
At the tree as their older sisters might do
Praying for love or fertility.
By the time Joan is 10, her life is half-over.

She dances and sings with the others
But wrestles with her conscience.
The priest has learned of the tree and is alarmed
Has condemned it as a trinket in the Devil’s jewelry box.
A place where good girls may be seduced into witchcraft,
Lured into Satan’s bed, his concubines in Hell.
Joan cried all that Sunday after his sermon
And for much of that week as well.
She tried to be a good girl, a good Christian
She tried to stay away.
In reflection he realized that she and her friends
Talked a bit saucier, and lifted their skirts flouncing about
When they danced and talked of boys.
The priest had said this is how seduction starts.

She visited the tree one last time
To say goodbye to its limbs and flowers
And to the innocent sins of her youth.
She didn’t feel like a woman at the fairy tree
She felt like a child, but not for long.

Sleeping in the one-room hut with her father and brothers
Becomes more awkward as her figure changes
And they treat her differently as well.
One night her older brother pressed against her
Back in the darkness, whispers her name,
Rolls her onto her back,
His hand clamped gently over her mouth,
He lies atop her, moves till his need is met.
Refusing to open her legs, a maiden she remains
But shaken at the change.
She asks her father to let her watch the flocks
At night, the wolves no longer scare her as before.

A tearful confession later, the priest asks
If there is anything she could have done to provoke this.
She admits going to the fairy tree.
The priest quakes within.
That damned and enchanted thing is leading good girls
To incest and licentiousness and its power must be broken.
The Fairy tree is chopped down and drug to the public square
And set ablaze as the villagers watch shifting between
Cheering and sighs of wistfulness.
By the time it is burning hard
Joan is crying without shame.
Her limbs feel broken.
Her face is hot, her arms and hands red
Like the fire is consuming
Her very flesh no matter how far away she stands.
It is a hungry force that would take all that she is
Leaving nothing untouched but the smoking remains
Of her broken, sacred heart.
 ~Juggernaut~
Joined: 4/30/2007
Msg: 851
New story/poem
Posted: 5/22/2007 8:42:31 PM
A womans eyes once haunted me ,
she stared through me as to understand me
but it was not to be
like all of of us we are more than an image to be cast like scenery
We are more than simple view
complex and skewed
Love me for for my image but
know me first
I am not you.
 Brizo
Joined: 2/19/2006
Msg: 852
view profile
History
New story/poem
Posted: 5/24/2007 10:26:26 AM
^^^^
one nice thing about age, I know with certainty I'm not loved for my image.......though I think people project what they are looking for onto someone else, like home movies on a wall....

PMD

but be careful, I'm tempted to bite off your head
'cause my moon is round and full
I'm a grouchy puffy michelin gal
with zero time for bull

I need chocolate and salty food
by god, I need it now
I could break the windows in my present mood
or have a holy cow

and all your habits drive me nuts
especially those I love you for
I'll flay you to pieces with a voice that cuts
if you don't escape out the door

later when the tension's gone
I'll weep with feminine remorse
and try to make it up to you
until the next monthly course

LS 5/19/07
 Red Earth Mother
Joined: 4/1/2007
Msg: 858
The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes.
Posted: 5/31/2007 9:08:13 PM
(this is a true story)

Blind Love
(for Reggie)


My lover is losing his vision
But still recognizes me at 25 feet
Though I have taken on the softness
Of an Impressionist painting in a smoky room.
I am his faithful companion
I scout out the land and lead him to bits of beauty
He might otherwise miss.
He thanks me, calls me his angel
And at night his fingers brush over my body
As though he wants to read my passion in Braille.

My lover is going blind.
I have become a vague blur that cautions,
Corrects and comforts.
The colors are leaking out,
Leaving behind a wash of gray thickening daily.
He lays me down, his eyes 5 inches above my skin
He can see me clearly only in parts.
He has become more immediate, he grasps desperately.
He is thirsty for detail
Fearful of the eternal night of the senses.
He is easily frustrated
He curses and cries, pushes my hand away
And begs me to stay.

My lover’s eyes have died,
The darkness has conquered him.
He knows me now only by the sound of my voice,
The touch of my fingers, the taste of my flesh.
When I am quiet he accuses me of hiding from him
Like a spiteful child playing blind man's bluff.
He is often stoned. He takes a pill from each bottle
And washes it down with straight whiskey.
My words no longer amuse him; my assurances of love
And faithfulness, of dog-like loyalty do not calm him.
I am God in the hands of angry sinner.
His accusations and rages are not meant to be answered.

Last night, he reached for my cheek,
He held it with his left hand
With gentleness I had almost forgotten.
I turned my face to kiss his palm.
Then with his free right hand
He slapped me.
My lover is blind but I am not.
And my eyes are open.
I was willing to frolic with him
In the early puppy love days,
So full of life and light.
But I was also willing to walk with him
As his sun set, to lead him
Through the crowd, to warn him
Of sudden obstacles, to put myself
Between him and the world
And catch him if he stumbled.

I could have been The man's best friend,
A fawning puppy,
A watchdog,
A loyal companion
Fetching his slippers,
A seeing eye dog,
Vigilant and undeterred
But
I’ll be b*tch- slapped by no man.
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