October, 2006

Summer Time

Dewy grass reflects the rising sun,
Joggers go for a morning run,
Trees smell like fresh apples,
And dogs go out on their daily routines.
Many things to do in the summer,
When it rains puts such a bummer.
Picnics, swimming, bon fires are fun,
Roasting hotdog to put on a bun,
BAMS and BANGS from fireworks,
People covering their ears because it hurts.
Sharing old stories from the past with family and friends, 
Talking about how summer should never end.


Nantucket was
a bucket of pigmented grey and blue.
Peridotted hedges, hyrdangea
and you,
seated with your back to the sun,
the glare obstructing your view.
I'll always remember the place
where my Mom was failing in speech
unable to reach an audible pitch.
At 2 AM I made some vegetable soup
and we sat outside
to watch the Perseids,
be over-taken
by a lambent moon.

joan pond


The sad moon
tri tran 
Into the dark vortex of misery, the moon breaches Like a whale, seeking her rosary but cannot find.
The crescendo of the planets echoes through Seas and mountains, the lullabies of the comets Tickle the longing eardrums of the lads and lasses on Earth.
The stars, from indigo to crimson and crimson to black; They extinguish their luminescent lights to go to sleep.
Into the depth of sorrow the pretty moon breaches Extinguishing the flame that illuminates the nocturnal Milky way.


BY Geoff Weilert

At the wane of October, by the dark of the moon When sidewalks and lawns with leaves have been strewn.

A chill wind comes blowing, north by northeasty, And neighborhood fills with many a “wee timorous beastie.”

The streets become filled with witches and ghosts, Superheroes and monsters, a seeming countless host.

They run ‘cross the grass to the well-lighted porch Attracted and drawn, like the moth to a torch.

There sits by the door an orange, hollowed carved gourd, With candle inside, to protect from the hoard.

Inside the door there sits a bowl handy, Filled to the top with all types of candy.

The sound of the bell and a chorus of shrieks, Announces the time for the trick and the treats.

Open the door, face vampires and hags,

And all sorts of creatures with wide-open bags.

Candy for all, they run off and then

Another group of goblins and do it again.

The small little creatures as locust they swarm Brings the noise and the tumult like a quick passing storm.

As quick as it started, the neighborhood’s quiet With only a few signs, of that candy filled riot.

A few car windows soaped, a trash can or’ turned A number of squashed pumpkins with candles all burned.

Providing the evidence of the ebb of this tide With all little monsters tucked safe and inside.

A sudden peace and the locations are mute As the once roaming creatures, check all their loot.

The empty bags and the large pile of sweets, Shows that were less tricks and many more treats.

With the candy sorted and counted another year ‘till its when The little monsters return and do it again.

You wonder and question, what does this all mean The answer I guess is, “Yes, Virginia”, there is a Halloween.


Anticipating November
Leaves curl up into cups
October’s money dried up, remember
The show of color seemed so bankrupt
Now I look forward to the day
When all my money troubles fall away
Filling my bank account back up
When he who owes does pay.
  Queen Bogalina

Harvest Verses - Sijo
by Bill Albright

Yellow mustard spilled into vineyards, glow among the green 
Awaiting its union with the vine's buds, predetermined nature's palette 
On the way to full growth berries, to be picked, lamentably crushed.

Round fruit becomes "must," liquid yeasted, fermenting in the tank 
Controlled, its wildness yields, to the guided process of vintner 
Tenderly vinted, fit for human consumption, mystery heightened.

Capped the must is submerged to accommodate color, confined in skins 
Light blush, deep color, body conforming to varietals' destined genes 
Liberated, wine beginning its journey exceeds anticipation.

Enhanced by pum, from one to another holder of adolescent vintage 
Seeking maturity, publicity challenges the mystery of economic forces 
From threat of market imbalances, challenging endangered investment.

Above the vines, Highway 29, the pickers, the visitors, a balloon hovers 
Where, stand in wonder the curious Napa pedigree, which lies elsewhere 
Prefers a dream to live in Valley, barons of vines, lords of barrels.

Bottled to live its life in glass, beneath a seal limiting breath awaits 
Liberation to expand flavor, with vintner's pride, pickers to makers 
Mystery persists, destiny fulfilled, vines pruned to begin again the cycle.

Do they have yard sales in heaven
this poem was wrote to god about my grandpa
Do they have yard sales up in heaven
If so that's where he will be,
On friday nights he'll map his route
as he did on earth so faithfully
Will they have toasters up for sale
lamps and radios to repair
He loved to do these things down here
can he do the same up there?
Do you ever wonder what happens to
the unwanted things we throw away,
do you realize they will be treasures
to a yard saler up in heaven one day
I know now he has lots of room
to store his treasures big and small
on earth his room was limited,
up there he's free to keep them all
We know now when we see a yard sale sign
with an arrow pointing off somewhere,
the spirit of our grandfather
will be checking prices there
Throughout our lives you given us gifts 
Lord to us they are great, to you they seem small, 
We return the favor to you lord,
for you now have our greatest treasure of all...   
A thought, a poem and a story
by Grandma Barbie
Sept.1, 2006(m5)
I sat upon the porch, so square,
taking in the morning air.
When I spied a little gray field mouse, 
coming out of the woods, towards the house.
At last, Ol' Tom, our farmhouse cat,
perked up his ears, and out he spat.
"Come this way, you Trespasser You."
And, "I'll have me, a nice mouse stew."
At this, the little mouse, sat back on his haunches.
Saying, "Tom cat, I am NOT, good for lunches."
"I'd give you a belly-ache, that's for sure."
then, he sat back, looking demure.
"I was hoping, to get a look at your garb-age."
"For I am in need of some left over lard-age."
Try as he might, the cat gave him no chance.
Saying, "what will you give, if I let you advance?"
Gray Mouse wishing Ol' Tom would leave him alone, 
said "I'll bring you back a left-over bone."
And, so right then, the bargain was made, 
the mouse got the garbage and for once he was saved.
So, saying "Advance, and go to your inspection,"
and, "on your way back, I'll make MY selection."
So hurrying along, the little mouse ran, 
up to the garbage, and jumped in the can.
Having ate his fill, he took the bone, 
to trade with the cat, for his safe return, 
to his side of the tracks.
And so, then, at the end of the day,
the cat got the porch, and the mouse went away.
by Ruth Walters

The trees are akin to the bones of the dead when winter
rears its frosty head.

Spring breathes new life into the land, dusting away bad dreams
colouring the earth and trees with in a myriad of greens.

Summer’s long hot days scorch the earth and tease the flowers
into full bloom turning glades into love nests where lovers swoon.

September sees the golden leaves of Fall carpeting the ground,
remembering the year in yellow, orange, red and brown.

Every season is a drama down a path of mystery where treasure troves
and magic join to make our memories.
Winds Turn
Warm Sands Cool
Shadows Grow
             Warren Weldon
By Erin Nelson
In the morning my neighbour says hello
Every morning just a simple hello
To her it’s just being polite
But to me it means the world
It makes me feel good to know that she cares 
It warms my heart, that hello she shares 
It is a special thing, that simple hello 
That can make someone's day I hope you know.
If I had a choice
would I venture in darkness
And amuse myself in mystery
And travel the world over
And taste both pain and pleasure
And thrill myself in adventure
If I had a choice
Would I lay in peace, as the dead
And stare as the clouds pass by
And embrace myself with silence
the beauty of tranquility
And live in a dream of a heaven
The reality of my fantasies
If I had a choice
Would I be innocent and careful
And avoid the heartbreak of carefree
Or would I be wild and careless
And caress the lust of hairless
If I had a choice
Would I be faithful and honest
And enjoy the confidence of innocent
or Would I be unfaithful and dishonest
And worry of the fear unknown
And walk in haste like a thief
If Only I had a choice....



Lonnie Lewdsniff Lost His faith.
Terry Collett
Lonnie Lewdsniff lost his faith. 
Lonnie had no idea
Where he’d lost the damned thing, 
But it made a huge hole inside his head 
Where the wind swept through Bringing him a cold chill 
Right down his off-yellow spine.
Lonnie searched high and damned low for his lost faith. 
Looked round the ranch, the fields, 
The whorehouse of the nearby town,
The churches of all denominations,
The hills, the rivers, but found nothing, 
Except, a girl called Lou,
A stray dog, a few fish, and a head cold. 
Lonnie married the said Lou 
And found his faith deep down
In her dark-blue eyes where he thought
He saw Jesus and a worldwide smile.  


Autumn in Vancouver
- to my one of my favourite cities in the world 
Remember to forget your umbrellas when you visit
Ramesh Dohan
Breath is in the air
Smell, taste the rain that lurks.
Fall is only moments away
Even now
as leaves begin to blanket the earth
that will pamper the soil warm
Nights grow restless and long
Days live shortly
As time hastens
from one season to another


KALKI (how I learned to stop worrying and love the apocalypse)
     by Jameel(the great)Heath
on down that western road I seek,
burnin dosia all damn week,
but hey, what can I say?
my eye be blazin with the hay,
it's Pisces I'm destined to slay,
turn the great clock forward an hour,
and into the kiln must go the clay,
Aquarius wash this world away,
let these waters clean the sight,
and lead all souls to light,
can't you see? can't you see?!
It is oh so bright!
bright like 13 Suns,
seared the symbol to my sight!
ride down with golden spears,
taken to glory on a white horse called Blight, seek fell deeds in the thickest of the fight!
where's this go? who could know?
seek beneath the anchor? and then bury it in the flow?
do you know? do you know?
this strange new wind that blows?


“My regret”

Regret is were my life is found
I lived from pound to pound
All that smoking is not what I regret
It was the drug that made me forget
My mind is not were it used to be
Every great thing has to come with some fee 
Happiness is a memory that taunts my head 
This feeling haunts me like its ending with me dead 
In the end I don’t like this one 
So I’m going to end it in a pun 
I rolled too much Now I’m out of touch


The little box in my car
( for an alcoholic mother)
Paul M.
A sweet surreal day that pushes the night far away 
and the sun upon your beauty reflects a shadow that travels over my soul, and you are gone.
The black car that came and took you long ago Now it has thrown you out.
You are but brittle bones and of little flesh, To ashes you fly away.
The black spurned you.
It is left with me and the night
as the sun passes to a new world.
The flesh be gone
And the black will now have me.
You cast your spell well.
The moon is full
and shines shadows upon the ground
in a ghostly field.
I see your shadow cast about me.
It was for love that I cared for you.
Even at the end your eyes moved
in a distant world mirroring images
that blinded my heart.
The gaze uncaring,
yet with turning years
your candle did flicker once or twice.
Was the love trapped inside you?
You never spoke.
The time is quiet and weightless now.
My brain floats without anchors
Freedom to ponder and wonder.
Will your ashes fertilize this soul.
The burying was hard.
I was more embarrassed than sad.
No one would come for sure
so the small square box was left with me.
To the wind and sea I was to scatter you, 
but the dangers of your pollen were clear.
Within your box you must stay.
Cold with yourself
locked up as in your life.
To the burying I gave in.
Why should you have that peace?
Speak now I can
as I float in distant worlds
with you.

                     I miss you being there
                     I hate being all alone,
                     But that is how I feel.
                     I feel that me heart is in the open,
                     For someone to steal!
                     I have something to tell you,
                     That you might not be able to take.
                     Im a smart girl,
                     With a heart beginning to break!
                     I hope someday you'll realize,
                     How much you made me hurt.
                     I miss you being there,
                     And I miss you calling me squirt!
                     All I ever wanted,
                     Was a dad to call a dad.
                     And with you barely here,
                     I'm feeling very sad.
                     The tears they wanted to keep rolling out,
                     But I try to hold them back.
                     Like I'm a river in the canyon,
                     With walls about to crack.
                     I know I've never said anything,
                     So here it is the simplest way i know how,
                     I truly miss you,
                     And I need you now!


"War (Support Our Troops)" What's the word everyone fears, yet we always hear?
War What's the thing all the veterans remember When they hear about the fallen from January to December?
War Where's everyone's heart and soul When our men are on foreign ground lying stiff and cold?
War War is the thing that keeps us free And I yell "Support Our Troops", but that's just me.

Elizabeth Grine



this is the flip the flop
the flap of nature
the lifting of leaves
the breeze the ease
this is the land the sand the crash
this is the sea line against the banks
all sounding in his mind
this is the rain the shells the clams
the pain the craning necks
this is the ramming ecstasy of splintered planks 
this is the flaming roses the crazy girls half naked 
this is the pornographic gestures in jest, of course 
this is the frowning lines on his face the dimming in his eyes, 
o light the moaning the crying the usual satire 
you know the whole routine of death before they depart 
this is the rounds of hades the flight 
this is the scarring of flesh the burns the fight 
the sacking everything i can't begin to describe 
this is sickness in the mind this is the loosing of logic 
the unlocking of sane the cracking up one broken link in a perfectly made brain 
this is the loss of simple thinking this is connection un defined ?
Freda Fynchfyre Read Freud
Terry Collett
Freda Fynchfyre read Freud. 
She had him down as a Jewish freak,
But liked the guy, especially his 
Studies of Hysteria, that drove her
To a good night’s read or more. 
Freda drank too much. 
Her eyes were like red inkwells. 
The dripping pen of her heart
Set her apart from the average Kansas girl 
Who thought her crazy and immoral. 
But men burned in the fires of her thighs 
And none but Freud could interpret her dreams



I have no direction, free flowing as a stream, bouncing and moving over rocks with steadily force, in no direction but to get around the bend, down where I can rest and be without ripples.

What if I want to be more than water? What if I want to be solid, confident with matter and not so translucent?

But sometimes, like a child’s bath, I like to be nothing more than a warm playful pool of imagination.

How can you change me to be better? I do not want to fall from the sky, heavy with emotion, streaming down the cheek, off the tip of the nose and down into the puddle of spirit that drips back into the stream.


Jason Vawter

I am an old friend of pain
life is nothing with out pain
Behind every door it lies
Around every corner it waits
Never sleeping
Always alert
But I am lost in this feeling
Just sorrow, agony, and emptiness
I cut through this flesh to watch it bleed The blood drips to the ground like tears The tears of blood just like these tears of agony How come I feel like this rotting carcus An empty shell if you will The only thing to put this all away The only one thing to end this pain DEATH......
What a glorious word
I see this in my future
I welcome it in with open arms
Will this end my pain
Could this make me whole again
It just might
But for now...
I live to see another day
Deep, dark, everlasting desires
are flowing through your head
like blood running in your veins
you cannot seem to control it
as you grab a hold of her shirt
rip it off with lust in your eyes
you don't see the pain in her
all you can see is her body
lying there on the cold floor
it looks as if she were dead
but her heart was still beating
and for the rest of her life
the memory of this will remain.
My Life 
Alone in this earthy mob,
I am searching for my shroud.
My life is a hitch,
and pain a mushroom cloud.
Smiling lips, teary eyes,
and loneliness of the crowd.
Are your parting gifts to me,
and I accepted them with proud.
Yes..... I am alive here,
breaking the promise i made.
but I am dying every moment,
waiting for the coffin's shade.
Wilted Roses Can Bloom
by jessika clark
Wilted Roses Can Bloom
they can be the most stunning
in a room
Right now
it may be ugly and dying
but with some water and care
it can be electrifying
but when you stop caring
it will slowly start dying
and if you be quiet
you can faintly hear them crying
when your about to
sweep it away with the broom
just remember
that wilted roses can bloom

"The meaning of life"

When we are with ourselves,

can we really be alone?

When we make a decision,

with whom do we confer?

When we wish silently in our hearts,

is anyone listening?


Life is so precious.... 
But yet ..... so hard to live.... 
Death is the worst thing that can happen.... 
But yet .... that's what god gives...

jonathan suarez

Rhonda Barrett
Swirling whirling clouds on high
Dancing winds across the sky
Sun and moon and stars appear
As my time is drawing near
As I move across the grass
I know my time is going fast
Spinning glowing like a star
Somewhere in the night afar
Brilliant colors flash galore
The likes I've never seen before
Soothing before my tired eyes
As they soar and touch the sky
As I fall and hit the ground
I hear the most heavenly sound
Angels singing in accord
As I spread my wings...and soar!

nnamdi nwobu

when a women is fed up there is nothing you can do about it.This is not an r-kelly song,cos i feel i got it all wrong.

i feel real hollow cos the girl that i wuld have truly loved has refused to follow. I remember when she used to follow and i was to busy to follow.

Now i am all set to follow but she has moved probably unto someone new.I just wish she only knew that no one would love her as much as i had now repented to do. I feel like filt or better still like a kid crying over milk that is spilt.

cos my baby is move on
yeah she's moved on to someone new.
if only she knew.



a mistake and everything is changed

i could no longer take the hurt and anger thrown at me being called hurtfull names being considered the thing that ruined a life broken promises, no momma, no love, full of emotions distraught and damaged the need to express, to communicate and no one is even listening i run to find safety and security, my life is changed i'm not in this alone but i feel alone wanna scream, wanna cry, wanna run but i can't i wanna smile but i'm sad wanna laugh but i'm too scared no days of inspiration leads to repressed anger can't be a role model, adoration gone and admiration vanished can't be me or be free without breaking down and crying out can't do what i need to do just to be alright can't hide my fears, can't hide from them because just like that, they always come back broken promises, no momma, no love, full of emotions distraught and damaged going against the grain, feeling insane, screaming i'm mad i run to find safety and security, my life is changed


Always Another Choice
By: Jim Stenson
Driving drunk is dumb you say
It’s wrong in every way
But how about when you’re at that random party 
And have no where to stay 
Your friend has had enough, and says he’s going home 
And friendship doesn’t let u… make him go alone
Driving drunk is dumb you say
It’s wrong in every way
But now you’re in the car, its just a few blocks away 
Thank God I’m going home… u whisper in your head I will get a good night sleep, at home in my own bed 
But one careless move, and suddenly the windshields red
Driving drunk is dumb you say
It’s wrong in every way
But we couldn’t sleep there, no way,
Someone had to drive
But does sleeping on the floor, sound worse than that glass in your side?
Whoever felt the most sober, volunteered you the ride 
What wasn’t brought up was the telephone pole into which u collide
Driving drunk is dumb you say
It’s wrong in every way
I hope my speech has shed on you some light 
Don’t be the reason your family gets that phone call Well into the night 
Don’t risk having your parents 
Hear they lost their child 
Or don’t risk having your kids Losing their precious smile 
Could you really justify all the while As on to your grave, flowers they pile?

Driving drunk is dumb you say
It’s wrong in every way
I hope next time your in this spot
You remember my solemn voice
I hope your stomach ties in a knot
And u make the smarter choice
I don’t know all of you, and maybe never will 
But please be smart, because driving drunk will kill

coke cola went to town deet pepsi shot down dr.peper flew up now yere drinking 7up 7up has the flu now were drinking moutain dew moutain fell off the moutain now your drinking from the fountain fountain broke so your back to coke

candr spackman

Upon the Flowery Meadow Deep
Danny L. Elliott
Upon the flowery meadow deep
The earth from paradoxical sleep
Yawns through sleepy sights and sounds
As golden strokes of light abounds
Butterflies, bees and hoverflies
Seek out elusive necter prize
From dancing daisies yellow-white
On fragil petals softly lite
Out of hedgerows quietly peek
The grayish fox, his prey to seek
A rabbit or a long tailed mouse
Who hid within this blossomed house
Upon the flowery meadow deep
The fallow doe with fawn doth creep
Through early morning fountain dew
Beneath a pillowed sky of blue
A woven petal tapestry
Which softly sways against the breeze
Such beauty formed by Nature's hand
Majestic to behold by man

MY Hope
Matthew B Murphy

Do you ever look up in the sky and look for the blue but only see darkness even on clear days Have you ever done something and not been scared Or wonder what tomorrow will bring There's a moment in everyone's life at times it goes up hill at other's down hill The road ahead of everyone is long and often curved with miss leading turns Being a father really isn't an everyday thing for some just a feeling Feeling love is often hard to do Being scared is so often always true without a window to look through or someone to hug Continuing to to guide yourself toward the glimmer of hope is truly magical

Jonelle Dunston

All Are Because Being
Cool Causes Different Directions
Especially everywhere
finding fault, faithfully following
Giving gives
Hardly however
Just joyful
Kindness keeping
Lasting love moving miracles nationwide never opposing or putting people quiet quickly 
Raising Roofs Shouting songs to tell us Ushers 
Victorious victors wins worshippers you youthful 
Zions Zions
Twisting and churning into forever,
the beats and the bangs of the car bombs continuously exploding. 
As the people are force fed with E numbers, statistics, Doctrines set to the same 
Contented Anarchy of the old tyrants and oppressors. 
How war jumps from one country to the next, And how the autocrat rages his war on terror; 
His war on a noun. 
Save a multitude of protests, and political pamphlets Printed on the same paper as the financial times 
No one seems to be stopping him. 
How there is always someone with stern face possessing qualities of car crash beauty. 
In their ultra-expressive idiosyncratic stupor stumbling and falling Into a seraphic search for Elysium. 
And someone, somewhere else is a deprived soul 
Tap, tap, tapping away at their keyboard typing out their epitaph; “Hello” 
“How are you?” 
“Fine thanks, you?” 
“So… What you been up to?” 
“Nothing really, you?” 
“ I’ve been vigorously masturbating into the test tube of trial and error- Eternity.” 
Martin Sean Torley
i wrote this small poem when i lost my horse that i loved so dearly. 
kylie brockhurst
now that we will be apart,
i want you to have this piece if art,
to let you know im still yours,
even tho you do my chores,
in a poor state when we first met,
you did the right thing by calling the vet, with now not having any pain, 
i'll make sure we'll meet again, just remember your in my hart, 
and i never want to grow apart.
Charlotte Rose West 
Train smoke billowed across the way.
'There she goes,' my Pa would say.
Her emerald body glistened white
In the early morning light.
She weaved around about the moor
Yet we were the only ones who saw
Her beauty which, as pure as snow,
Was never seen by those below.
For we sat upon a lonely hill
And from my cozy windowsill,
I always saw her going by,
But now her time has come to die.
Train smoke billowed across the way.
'There she goes,' my Pa would say.
Her emerald body glistened white,
Now forever hidden from my sight.
rachita biswas 
               the ring of church are silent-
               the play on the stage has come to an end.
               the place where the river has taken a bend,
                     near that shore,
               i stand silent with the burden of life
                  with a big sack full of memories.
             and besides those cropless fields nearby
                  stood an old woman-
              praying for eternal relief,
             saying "give me relief-
               from this life,from all sorrow
                 take my life,make me free
              but return my lost son to me".
            she cried and cried and hearing to her sad story ,
             the river said,
           "your tears do not reach god's ears
              your cry cannnot be heard-
           but o' for the blooming little bud,
            live the moments,lead the life."
            the sky above silently said-
            "is death a question or itself an ultimate answer,
           is it a host of race or itself a racer
               but it's the end,
           above all clouds and rain".
              the end of the river speaks out breaking the silence-
           "where birth is the source, death is the end"
           but the world says,
             "it ends up all bonding
            it doesn't destroy but sings the joy of ending
          through the very call of the word "DEATH". 
You Call This Love I've Had Better Hates
Kristian Cole 
The puckered burlesque of a hunter's glove,
Totting up butter to the knife for maintenance,
To moisten absent the glow of the maritime sift, 
Somnolent to the bedrooms lathe we traverse in coitus,
Implausible coils,
Naturally assuming positions in humid lamp light,
That presents the female with belly in the bloat,
Potential the reference,
Never concrete the use in a justify, 
If you scrawl back the crust expect juice to flow,
Amid your teeth the carriers of syphilis shine,
We linger for months 'neath the auburn oak floorboards
For the hints,
Of weather or not, 
The firmament date breaks
Or cloud dispersion, 
Partitioning your legs in fever,
Like the gut of a bloated swine,
But your chops has breathing machinery in it,
Not a cherry red apple,
And you are not basted in apple sauce,
But the sweat of your pores, 
And the blood spat from your wound,
Replays an ignorance in myself,
That childbirth could not be as natural,
As the setting of the sun,
Raindrops brimming over in a sleeping tramps cup,
The nature of a foreign dictator,
The flea in the dog scalp,
The mother in law from the anguish state,
But truly these gifts are carried in sacks,
Or ovaries,
From the birthday date,
Till the menopausal drought,
And wasted in cotton bullets,
With the fuses lit,
Goodbye to career ladies,
Goodbye to male charm,
For having more than one baby,
Will raise no alarms.
Sergey Merkuliev
A pool measure light
A pale green tomato
Again is dreaming
Faces turning back
Cross out trees crowd
Swallow’s trenchant flight
From screen is sailing
Cello Behind wall - WC
Door is applauding
Hieroglyphs’ net
As if cotton at daybreak
Spoke up with you
Tina Peden
Friends will fight sometimes
Make up all the time because
Menstrual Cycles end
Seeing him with her, is heartbreaking,
Her flirting with him, is breathtaking,
Thinking of them together, is heartaching.




Poems Copyright © designated authors 2006.
Page Copyright © 2006.

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