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 Aug 2011 Elisa
Patrick Kavanagh
I do not think of you lying in the wet clay
Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see
You walking down a lane among the poplars
On your way to the station, or happily Going to second Mass on a summer Sunday--
You meet me and you say:
'Don't forget to see about the cattle--'
Among your earthiest words the angels stray.
And I think of you walking along a headland
Of green oats in June,
So full of repose, so rich with life--
And I see us meeting at the end of a town on a fair day by accident,
after the bargains are all made and we can walk
Together through the shops and stalls and markets
Free in the oriental streets of thought.
O you are not lying in the wet clay,
For it is harvest evening now and we
Are piling up the ricks against the moonlight
And you smile up at us -- eternally.
 Aug 2011 Elisa
Loraine Fromm

Walk in softly to this room
Turn the pages with extra care
Lest they crumble beneath your touch
Tis fragile paper laying there

For one who blunders through this world
No thought of despair, hope or fear
Be aware how you tread; the mark you make
Will be the footsteps you leave here

Be careful when you open the door
Look for pages that lay upon the floor
Pick them up gently then, one by one
And take note of how the pages run

The fingerprints you leave in here
Indent on parchment fine forever
When you leave please keep in mind
To close the door quietly behind

There's so many lessons we must learn
And for many they will go unheard
For to go where angels fear to tread
The road stretches out too far ahead
This poem was written for "The Poetry Room" where people had so many problems with health and life. I can no longer find this site, so I am leaving this poem here
 Aug 2011 Elisa
Matt Jursin
I fell in love with a girl.
And when I say fell, I mean crashed, heart-first.
Immersed every inch of my self.
Into this love...

We went swimming.
So willingly.

And I held you...
So close.
So tight.
And we slept so sound in those surroundings.
In silence.
In the dark.

You didnt need a TV those nights to keep the boogeyman at bay.

So willingly...
I quenched you in my arms...
So that our hearts could perpetuate perfect pulses.
In a symphony of moving atoms.
And we produced thermal fusion.

I see you.
My reflection.
That first time we locked eyes...
We saw souls.
Such a beautiful collision...
And formed one heavenly body.
That's why I cried over this division.
This imperfect perfection.

And I never gave 2nd thought when you told me i'd never lose you.
I believed you.
But then...I wanted to.
I wanted you.
I still do.

I'm still trying to brush away the dust as it settles into sentiment.

This reflection...
Rippled but real...
Forms rings of imperfect perfection...

When we're both looking in the same direction.

— The End —