~The Dragon Flies' Lair~Thread XV~

September 8, 2004 | bentfeather and Poets of the Lair

[Soaring Feather]

My Dragon Fly and Me

If I could be a Dragon Fly
and wing my way through the sky
I would never be shy
just me and my Dragon Fly!

By moonlight we ride the wind
chase the comets tail for fun
by day we would hide from the sun
our fragile wings would come undone

On darkest nights we would use
fireflies as our guide
we would dip and we would glide
through the heavens open wide
and scatter diamonds in the night sky
my Dragon Fly and me...

And we would wing past our lovers
silent in the night...
to kiss their face in our flight
much to their surprise and delight
my Dragon Fly and me in sight...

Such a view do we share
away up here in the air
of breezes soft through our hair
my Dragon Fly and me a pair...

bentfeather©

[Soaring Feather]

~The Dragon Flies' Lair was first posted August 27, 2003 ~

~A place to write a few lines of poetry or prose.~

~ Links to all threads.~

The Dragon Flies' Lair ~ Thread I
The Dragon Flies' Lair ~ Thread II
The Dragon Flies' Lair ~ Thread III
The Dragon Flies' Lair ~ Thread IV
The Dragon Flies' Lair ~ Thread V
The Dragon Flies' Lair ~ Thread VI
The Dragon Flies' Lair ~ Thread VII
The Dragon Flies' Lair ~ Thread VIII
The Dragon Flies' Lair ~ Thread IX
The Dragon Flies' Lair ~ Thread X
The Dragon Flies' Lair~Thread XI
The Dragon Flies' Lair~Thread XII The Dragon Flies' Lair ~ Thread XIII
The Dragon Flies' Lair ~ Thread XIV

[Soaring Feather]

New Thread everyone.

[MoJo2001]

Me! I want number 3!!

WooHoo!

Hi Queenie! You've got email!

[Soaring Feather]

~Fall has arrived so it's time we came in to the warmth of the hearth.~
~My home is your home.~

[Darksheare]

I saw a door upon the hill
And so I entered inside
The thing in there that I saw
Were fragments of some dream..

[Darksheare]

Oops.. thing should read 'things'.

[snippy_about_it]

New thread, yippee!

[Soaring Feather]

ooooo snippy he is beautiful! Thank You.

[Soaring Feather]

Some dreams are like that
bits and pieces
this and that
some times old poets
sit in corners wearing hats!!

[Soaring Feather]

Hi Little Diva!!

LOL!!

[Darksheare]

LOL!

[SAMWolf]

[Soaring Feather]

Oh my, this is gorgeous. Thank You Sam.

[HiJinx]

In fields of green with saber drawn
Or chilly climes 'neath Arctic dawn;
As celestial mother of a growing brood
As traveling Diva of patriotic mood;
FRiends ask, "Who are we?"

Whether Royal Dame of upstate abode
Or fabulously tanned Diva of the open road;
As seafaring warrior defending bygone honor
Or plains bred soldier documenting newfound valor;
FRiends ask, "Who are we?"

Be she talented artist of many names
Or a panhandle girl enjoying games;
Be he steadfast scourge of journalists biased
Or irreverent peddler of garments to hide us;
FRiends ask, "Who are we?"

Do you know?

[Soaring Feather]

It's wonderful!! I love it!!!

Thank You so much Jinx.

[HiJinx]

Aw, shucks...I'd say 'tweren't nuthin', but the fact of the matter is this took about 5 rewrites before I was satisfied!

[Fawnn]

I'd say, "Neeners, neeners....
"We be the ... Canteeners." ;)

[Soaring Feather]

Picky aren't you??

[Soaring Feather]

Hi Auntie Fawnn!! Fancy seeing you here. :-)

[HiJinx]

Indeed, but who?

And, it need not be limited to that motley crue.

One could expand it with a verse or two to

Describe other FReepers with obtuse clues.

[Soaring Feather]

See Post #14

:-)

[Colonel_Flagg]

I stand corrected!

[Soaring Feather]

I was nicely surprised to see the post. :-)

[HiJinx]

I was nicely surprised to see the post. :-)

As you should have been (surprised, that is), given my previous attempts!

I just happened to catch the Lair posting right before leaving for lunch today. I decided to give it another go, and the riddle is what came out!

Anyway, I'll try not to be a stranger.

[Soaring Feather]

You're most welcome here Jinx. Your work is really cleaver and so much fun. Good idea.

[Soaring Feather]

~Whispers In the Dark~

[HiJinx]

Thanks, and you're welcome.

I believe I'm about to call it a night.

See you!

[Soaring Feather]

Good nite, Jinx.

[radu]

Good morning y'all! I hope everyone is doing fantabulous these days!!!

[Soaring Feather]

radu!! How nice to see you. Oh WOW wonderful dragonfly!! Thank You..

[Soaring Feather]

Good morning everyone.

[SAMWolf]

Looks like the muse hit you HiJinx. Nice job!

[SAMWolf]

Good Morning Everybody.

You Know The Drill
Click the pics

Coffee & Donuts

Johnmiserable failureKerry

[SAMWolf]

A newspaper is a collection of half-injustices



A newspaper is a collection of half-injustices
Which, bawled by boys from mile to mile,
Spreads its curious opinion
To a million merciful and sneering men,
While families cuddle the joys of the fireside
When spurred by tale of dire lone agony.
A newspaper is a court
Where every one is kindly and unfairly tried
By a squalor of honest men.
A newspaper is a market
Where wisdom sells its freedom
And melons are crowned by the crowd.
A newspaper is a game
Where his error scores the player victory
While another's skill wins death.
A newspaper is a symbol;
It is feckless life's chronicle,
A collection of loud tales
Concentrating eternal stupidities,
That in remote ages lived unhaltered,
Roaming through a fenceless world.

Stephen Crane

Johnmiserable failureKerry

[SAMWolf]

Hi Radu! How's the cat herding going?

[Colonel_Flagg]

Good morning, Lair! I hope this finds everyone well today ..

The Portrait
Dante Gabriel Rossetti

This is her picture as she was:
It seems a thing to wonder on,
As though mine image in the glass
Should tarry when myself am gone.
I gaze until she seems to stir,--
Until mine eyes almost aver
That now, even now, the sweet lips part
To breathe the words of the sweet heart:--
And yet the earth is over her.

Alas! even such the thin-drawn ray
That makes the prison-depths more rude,--
The drip of water night and day
Giving a tongue to solitude.
Yet only this, of love's whole prize,
Remains; save what in mournful guise
Takes counsel with my soul alone,--
Save what is secret and unknown,
Below the earth, above the skies.

In painting her I shrin'd her face
Mid mystic trees, where light falls in
Hardly at all; a covert place
Where you might think to find a din
Of doubtful talk, and a live flame
Wandering, and many a shape whose name
Not itself knoweth, and old dew,
And your own footsteps meeting you,
And all things going as they came.

A deep dim wood; and there she stands
As in that wood that day: for so
Was the still movement of her hands
And such the pure line's gracious flow.
And passing fair the type must seem,
Unknown the presence and the dream.
'Tis she: though of herself, alas!
Less than her shadow on the grass
Or than her image in the stream.

That day we met there, I and she
One with the other all alone;
And we were blithe; yet memory
Saddens those hours, as when the moon
Looks upon daylight. And with her
I stoop'd to drink the spring-water,
Athirst where other waters sprang;
And where the echo is, she sang,--
My soul another echo there.

But when that hour my soul won strength
For words whose silence wastes and kills,
Dull raindrops smote us, and at length
Thunder'd the heat within the hills.
That eve I spoke those words again
Beside the pelted window-pane;
And there she hearken'd what I said,
With under-glances that survey'd
The empty pastures blind with rain.

Next day the memories of these things,
Like leaves through which a bird has flown,
Still vibrated with Love's warm wings;
Till I must make them all my own
And paint this picture. So, 'twixt ease
Of talk and sweet long silences,
She stood among the plants in bloom
At windows of a summer room,
To feign the shadow of the trees.

And as I wrought, while all above
And all around was fragrant air,
In the sick burthen of my love
It seem'd each sun-thrill'd blossom there
Beat like a heart among the leaves.
O heart that never beats nor heaves,
In that one darkness lying still,
What now to thee my love's great will
Or the fine web the sunshine weaves?

For now doth daylight disavow
Those days,--nought left to see or hear.
Only in solemn whispers now
At night-time these things reach mine ear;
When the leaf-shadows at a breath
Shrink in the road, and all the heath,
Forest and water, far and wide,
In limpid starlight glorified,
Lie like the mystery of death.

Last night at last I could have slept,
And yet delay'd my sleep till dawn,
Still wandering. Then it was I wept:
For unawares I came upon
Those glades where once she walk'd with me:
And as I stood there suddenly,
All wan with traversing the night,
Upon the desolate verge of light
Yearn'd loud the iron-bosom'd sea.

Even so, where Heaven holds breath and hears
The beating heart of Love's own breast,--
Where round the secret of all spheres
All angels lay their wings to rest,--
How shall my soul stand rapt and aw'd,
When, by the new birth borne abroad
Throughout the music of the suns,
It enters in her soul at once
And knows the silence there for God!

Here with her face doth memory sit
Meanwhile, and wait the day's decline,
Till other eyes shall look from it,
Eyes of the spirit's Palestine,
Even than the old gaze tenderer:
While hopes and aims long lost with her
Stand round her image side by side,
Like tombs of pilgrims that have died
About the Holy Sepulchre.

[Soaring Feather]

Good morning, Sam.

Interesting poem today -so true. Listening to the tunes as I type. I have not heard Girl Watcher in a while. Catchy tune.

Thanks for all Sam. :-)

[Soaring Feather]

Good morning, Colonel. What a wonderful poem today so rich with images.

Have a great day!

[Soaring Feather]

I MISS YOU

Far we traveled, thee and I,
singing for our suppers,
watching spray and water pass you
peeking through the scuppers,
I sat at the tiller, holding you tight,
breezes gathered in your ivory sail,
humming a tune along with your voice
in the shrouds and the halyards and rails.

Sparkling waters playing before us,
diamonds shimmering in your wake,
dreaming of the things we do,
the clouds we'd chase, the course we'd take.

But now, I'm gone, and you're still there,
are you leaping on a starboard run,
another lover to sea you bear,
or lying idle in a blistering sun?

Are you cared for, are you well?
or do you strain at the mooring lines?
Are you battered by the monster's swell,
or hiding 'neath the sheltering pines?

For I will never, ever know
how you fare forever more,
my first, forgiving, playful love,
USSV Troubador.

(c) 09-09-04 by JSR

[Old Sarge]

Oh, FEATHERS!!!

It - SHE - is beautiful!

[Soaring Feather]

Enjoy! :)

Glad you like it.

[Soaring Feather]

Good morning everyone.

[SAMWolf]

Good Morning Everybody.

You Know The Drill
Click the pics

Coffee & Donuts

Johnmiserable failureKerry

[SAMWolf]

NOTICE



Advertising poem from 1859

Step up ye gallant fair and brave!
Step up, Torn, Jake and Kate,
Unto my store in Norwalk town,
In Main Street, number eight!

In Main street, number eight, good folks
Things very cheap are sold,
To fat and lean, to rich and poor,
And to the young and old.

It is the cheap Cash Store, my friends:
At J. W. Renoud's, please call,
And find things sold at reason's fee,
To one, to ten, to all!

Yes, find things sold at reason's fee,
Bread, butter, candles, cheese,
Salt, Onions, Crackers, Coffee, Brooms,
And choicest, best of Teas!

Sugar and Allspice, Flour and Pork,
And matches, not the kind
The young folks often, often make,
So pleasing to the mind;

Theirs will light up their future hopes
And gratify desire!
While mine on a cold winter's day,
Will soon light up a fire.

There's Yeast, Molasses, Eggs & Ham
Not Ham, of olden days,
Who lived with Noah in the ark,
And sang sweet sacred lays!

No, this is Ham that fills us up,
And gives us strength to work,
And flog the French, the Spanish and
The Russian and the Turk.

I've fine Codfish, Mackerel & Starch,
Tobacco, choicest brand,
And Ginger, Pepper, Chocolate,
As good as in the land,

And Blue and Oats, & Colgate's Starch,
Made from good Indian Corn
And fit for Shirts of any man,
Of any woman born.

But oh to name all things I keep
Would puzzle even Mars,
But I must not forget to state
I sell the best Segars.

And come my friends my goods are
cheap,
True, true, what I relate,
All kinds of Groceries you'll find
In Main Street, number eight!

J.W. RENOUD.
Norwalk, August 16th, 1859

Johnmiserable failureKerry

[Soaring Feather]

Sorry Colonel, I forgot to ping you this morning.

[Soaring Feather]

Good morning, Sam!

A wonderful poem and graphic today! This man was clever to combine poetry and advertising as a selling tool.

Good tunes today.

Thanks

[Conspiracy Guy]

Morning!

Three Years Later




It’s been three years since we all saw,
The sneak attack unfold.
The cowards killed the innocent,
But fear did not take hold.
We mourned the lost and then set out,
To stop these creatures vile.
We knew the fight would not be quick,
No this would take a while.
Yes just three years have passed since then,
But many have forgot.
They think that we should just come home,
They do not think a lot.
Some say, “Respond if we’re attacked”,
They did not learn a thing.
If we sit back and wait again,
More horrors it will bring.
We can’t forget, we can’t back down,
We must maintain our stand.
Yes, Nine Eleven happened here,
Not in some foreign land.
Please pray for peace and for our troops,
For freedom they do fight.
The Lord will guide us through this all,
If we follow His Light.

Conspiracy Guy aka DIF 9/10/2004

[Colonel_Flagg]

It's okay. :) I'm having fun watching CBS implode. How about you?

[Soaring Feather]

Hi, Colonel,

I am fine thanks. Been busy with typesetting duties again this afternoon. Finally have the booklet ready to go to full committee. Up to this point the chairwoman and I have been doing the heavy lifting-well, mostly me. I am the typesetter and designer.


I have been reading the CBS threads here at FR. I can remember watching CBS years ago and believing everything they said. Ugh, can not believe I did that. BC before cable news.

[Soaring Feather]

~Alison Moore~A Softer Place to Fall~