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david mungoshi Feb 2016
Jeannie
is off to the bus
Jeannie
waltzes to the bus
Ooh what a drag
the conductor says
Jeannie
the bus is full
Jeannie
has a heartbreak
it was
all for nothing
the perfume
the high heels
and
the walk on air
☆♢☆♢☆
Existential awareness
surrounds her being.
Emanating light in
the most magical of ways.

Lythe and lissome,
filled with the essence of Love.
Her smile settles in as a
wave into sand.

The embrace is filled with
compassion and mercy,
touching and dear...
One is blessed by energy received.

Our "I dream of" joyously present.
"Your wish is my pleasure" Genie,
reveals wisdom of
the Ancient ones.

A divine vessel of Being
Words of clarity, knowledge and
understanding, eminating
from a place of otherworld divinity

Her voice is an instrument of
Celestial Beings. A mistress to the
Heavens, She blesses us
with each communication shared.

Grateful for her miracle of
Manna (Mana) We are gifted by
the gentleness with
which she shows the way...
☆♢☆♢☆

☆Jeannie is a Channeler☆

(CHANNELER. : a person who
conveys thoughts or energy from
a source believed to be outside the
person's body or conscious mind;
specifically: one who speaks
for nonphysical beings or spirits.)
(MANNA: the power of the
elemental forces of nature
embodied in an object or person).

Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
This piece is not to be viewed as
anti-faith of any Religion. Rather a
celebration of all spirtuality
that represents Love.
Oh darling I am free
Oh darling I am Croix Rey
Finally I am out of hospital
Despite my brothers still
Being there
Oh darling mighty me
I get to be with my mummy and daddy
Waiting to hopefully see
My new brothers slowly following me
Oh darling the only healthy one
I remember my garbage bag pants
Oh darling I am having fun
Finally home with my parents
Oh darling Out of hospital
Oh darling let me pray
For ezrah and daxon to come out soon
Oh darling let them out
Oh darling oh darling
Pray for my brothers to be free
Oh darling I am glad I am out
Hopefully darling my brothers
Follow soon
Michael R Burch Jan 2022
This is my modern English translation of Paul Valéry's poem “Le cimetière marin” (“The graveyard by the sea”). Valéry was buried in the seaside cemetery evoked in his best-known poem. From the vantage of the cemetery, the tombs seemed to “support” a sea-ceiling dotted with white sails. Valéry begins and ends his poem with this image ...

Excerpts from “Le cimetière marin” (“The graveyard by the sea”)
from Charmes ou poèmes (1922)
by Paul Valéry
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Do not, O my soul, aspire to immortal life, but exhaust what is possible.
—Pindar, Pythian Ode 3

1.
This tranquil ceiling, where white doves are sailing,
stands propped between tall pines and foundational tombs,
as the noonday sun composes, with its flames,
sea-waves forever forming and reforming ...
O, what a boon, when some lapsed thought expires,
to reflect on the placid face of Eternity!

5.
As a pear dissolves in the act of being eaten,
transformed, through sudden absence, to delight
relinquishing its shape within our mouths,
even so, I breathe in vapors I’ll become,
as the sea rejoices and its shores enlarge,
fed by lost souls devoured; more are rumored.

6.
Beautiful sky, my true-blue sky, ’tis I
who alters! Pride and indolence possessed me,
yet, somehow, I possessed real potency ...
But now I yield to your ephemeral vapors
as my shadow steals through stations of the dead;
its delicate silhouette crook-*******, “Forward!”

8.
... My soul still awaits reports of its nothingness ...

9.
... What corpse compels me forward, to no end?
What empty skull commends these strange bone-heaps?
A star broods over everything I lost ...

10.
... Here where so much antique marble
shudders over so many shadows,
the faithful sea slumbers ...

11.
... Watchful dog ...
Keep far from these peaceful tombs
the prudent doves, all impossible dreams,
the angels’ curious eyes ...

12.
... The brittle insect scratches out existence ...
... Life is enlarged by its lust for absence ...
... The bitterness of death is sweet and the mind clarified.

13.
... The dead do well here, secured here in this earth ...
... I am what mutates secretly in you ...

14.
I alone can express your apprehensions!
My penitence, my doubts, my limitations,
are fatal flaws in your exquisite diamond ...
But here in their marble-encumbered infinite night
a formless people sleeping at the roots of trees
have slowly adopted your cause ...

15.
... Where, now, are the kindly words of the loving dead? ...
... Now grubs consume, where tears were once composed ...

16.
... Everything dies, returns to earth, gets recycled ...

17.
And what of you, great Soul, do you still dream
there’s something truer than these deceitful colors:
each flash of golden surf on eyes of flesh?
Will you still sing, when you’re as light as air?
Everything perishes and has no presence!
I am not immune; Divine Impatience dies!

18.
Emaciate consolation, Immortality,
grotesquely clothed in your black and gold habit,
transfiguring death into some Madonna’s breast,
your pious ruse and cultivated lie:
who does not know and who does not reject
your empty skull and pandemonic laughter?

24.
The wind is rising! ... We must yet strive to live!
The immense sky opens and closes my book!
Waves surge through shell-shocked rocks, reeking spray!
O, fly, fly away, my sun-bedazzled pages!
Break, breakers! Break joyfully as you threaten to shatter
this tranquil ceiling where white doves are sailing!

*

“Le vent se lève! . . . il faut tenter de vivre!
L'air immense ouvre et referme mon livre,
La vague en poudre ose jaillir des rocs!
Envolez-vous, pages tout éblouies!
Rompez, vagues! Rompez d'eaux réjouies
Ce toit tranquille où picoraient des focs!”



PAUL VALERY TRANSLATION: “SECRET ODE”

“Secret Ode” is a poem by the French poet Paul Valéry about collapsing after a vigorous dance, watching the sun set, and seeing the immensity of the night sky as the stars begin to appear.

Ode secrète (“Secret Ode”)
by Paul Valéry
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The fall so exquisite, the ending so soft,
the struggle’s abandonment so delightful:
depositing the glistening body
on a bed of moss, after the dance!

Who has ever seen such a glow
illuminate a triumph
as these sun-brightened beads
crowning a sweat-drenched forehead!

Here, touched by the dusk's last light,
this body that achieved so much
by dancing and outdoing Hercules
now mimics the drooping rose-clumps!

Sleep then, our all-conquering hero,
come so soon to this tragic end,
for now the many-headed Hydra
reveals its Infiniteness …

Behold what Bull, what Bear, what Hound,
what Visions of limitless Conquests
beyond the boundaries of Time
the soul imposes on formless Space!

This is the supreme end, this glittering Light
beyond the control of mere monsters and gods,
as it gloriously reveals
the matchless immensity of the heavens!

This is Paul Valery’s bio from the Academy of American Poets:

Paul Valéry
(1871–1945)

Poet, essayist, and thinker Paul Ambroise Valéry was born in the Mediterranean town of Séte, France, on October 30, 1871. He attended the lycée at Montpellier and studied law at the University of Montpellier. Valéry left school early to move to Paris and pursue a life as a poet. In Paris, he was a regular member of Stéphane Mallarmé's Tuesday evening salons. It was at this time that he began to publish poems in avant-garde journals.

In 1892, while visiting relatives in Genoa, Valéry underwent a stark personal transformation. During a violent thunderstorm, he determined that he must free himself "at no matter what cost, from those falsehoods: literature and sentiment." He devoted the next twenty years to studying mathematics, philosophy, and language. From 1892 until 1912, he wrote no poetry. He did begin, however, to keep his ideas and notes in a series of journals, which were published in twenty-nine volumes in 1945. He also wrote essays and the book "La Soirée avec M. *****" ("The Evening with Monsieur *****," 1896).

Valéry supported himself during this period first with a job in the War Department, and then as a secretary at the Havas newspaper agency. This job required him to work only a few hours per day, and he spent the rest of his time pursuing his own ideas. He married Jeannie Gobillard in 1900, and they had one son and one daughter. In 1912 Andre Gide persuaded Valéry to collect and revise his earlier poems. In 1917 Valéry published "La Jeune Parque" ("The Young Fate"), a dramatic monologue of over five-hundred lines, and in 1920 he published "Album de vers anciens," 1890-1920 ("Album of Old Verses"). His second collection of poetry, "Charmes" ("Charms") appeared in 1922. Despite tremendous critical and popular acclaim, Valéry again put aside writing poetry. In 1925 he was elected to the Académe Francaise. He spent the remaining twenty years of his life on frequent lecture tours in and out of France, and he wrote numerous essays on poetry, painting, and dance. Paul Valéry died in Paris in July of 1945 and was given a state funeral.
Along with Paul Verlaine and Stéphane Mallarmé, Valéry is considered one the most important Symbolist writers. His highly self-conscious and philosophical style can also been seen to influence later English-language writers such T. S. Eliot and John Ashbery . His work as a critic and theorist of language was important to many of the structuralist critics of the 1960s and 1970s.

#VALERY #MRB-VALERY #MRBVALERY

Keywords/Tags: Paul Valery, French poem, English translation, sea, seaside, cemetery, grave, graves, graveyard, death, sail, sails, doves, ceiling, soul, souls, dance, sun, sunset, dusk, night, stars, infinity
Robin Carretti Jun 2018
Business the Guinness
of records
Of the
Drunkin drivers
The presidential
audience all
together

We love one
white or dark lie
conifers thinking like
the Beatle song
I'm a loser
having respect for
yourself be the defeated
M-L-M morons, losers,
So nice you are linked
into my millionaires
The marketing scam
You will be broke
Those 69 lovers to
be ******
off shorter life
just smoke  PM
ATM money goes
pop the weasel
painting it dark
drunk
wearing your
heart out on the easel

Not for sale dancers
need exotic drink taking off
their Drunk Zen shirts
Chirp that Chippendale
dance her out
Until she is drunk
Drunk Zen Rocker
of punk

So ***** light thinker side
Phone drinker fantasize
about the trip
Link me on my
mountaintop- stamp
collection glue-stick
philatelic reinvention

Doing my exercise why so
Absentminded
Wow such beauty Judy
sunrise recent
memory-guided
What meeting my heart all
depends to remember
September but October
November Drunk Zen
Thanksgiving food
with crying pillows
Quite the Yam and
marshmallows
before I was drunk

The new navy blouse said
I'm not drunk abbreviated
Inebriated linked-in
private club
Like an initiation or
Sorority only drunk
I'm not sorry invitation

Drunk Club Zen
adventurous men
The hair club Oh! no
shipwrecked
He got her by her
drunk-in neck

The Mediterranean
Going French Canne
Itsy bitsy tipsy bikini
The monk was like
the morning hot flame
Glitch or twitch of the nose
Jeannie
What a Red-Robin Rooster
making

Kevin Bacon lovers
Melted cheese and him
couldn't hold his sneeze
The Bed and breakfast
This wasn't Hamlet
or Camelot just
drunken Dunkin donut
drive-in
For God's sake
(O) outstanding omelet
 drunken sea of eleven
Steven Universe
Glick Pearl chick
Email one universe click
Linked deep-sea hoarder
of junk
At her summer house
Strawberry wild hair he was
drunk forever Irish lad
Like the pub in
London Abby lane

Nancy Drew mystery
tour Zen men pour
In Georgia stays in her
mind what would it be
without nature, we need
air the water the sound

The trees grow in Brooklyn
Robin me birds spoke in
Those hubs on the go
In there Mercedes
having yogurt? Their drunk__

Drunk Zen be brave not
to be hurt his head cocked
A million in none
cars parked
The cheer was in beer the
lover of darkness
sky malt drunk
They were bushy eyed
with a  drunken masseuse
Drunk Zen was having sweet
tooth French kiss mouse  

Hands numb she is falling
over her  tweets of words
So jibberish dumb what
******* but silence
That number lottery Freddy
Halloween what Diva Queen
13 shots
High school drop out

Guilty ever Greek
to ever think cop out
Spiritual caller like the
winding road babes of pigs
in a blanket the helicopter
Head spinner Eifel Tower
Frenc kiss got plugged
drunk never a hug

Hangover flower mugs
The Drunk-Apple* of his eye
computer the Zen dogs'
Alaskan Husky Buddhism
Shiba Uni from Japan
They got the realism

Heavy rain tents you walk
out on me
Woodstock Jefferson Airplane
Or those Cocker Spaniels
Elton John with Daniel

The adoption they were crazed
with high tech gadgets
The adopters named Danny boy
Zoolander commander was drunk
I wasn't really drinking you have
a brain of a sieve

Man, water, the green earth just live
Like the four-leaf clover hey
this isn't over
(The Planet) or her
drunken eyes who wins
I could see a glimpse of
garnet Oh! **** it like
a dragnet or the Zen
The Roobus tea faraway
thought
In Ireland hilly garden

Men with ladies cat milk
purr Kate Perry
Linked into the
materialistic Madonna
lady of silk he's the
hangover she
gave him her soy milk
what a guy
The pry coexisting to
ever think to pray

The super lady drink
never thinking blue
that he ever existed
Not remembering who you're
with he was on the
wanted list
Linked In the army
green wearing
a tank top bullets firing
in his chapel getting
married in his tank
Blue uniform acting
drunk

Disguised as a cop
My acting role for
both like Darth
And hey we are
not drunk!!
In the name of a
drunken love
Before I was drunk

My higher flight parachute
twenty-two jump street right fit
yourself as oneself linked
onto the mountain
the Ancient spiritual awareness
Grecian  love fountain harness
Maybe a lonely shot
of darkness
Maybe a lovely shot
of wellness
Linked into so many things do you feel pressured or you have an acting role but you better be drunk Ay Vey just pray when you show up don't give up we are all friends in the same boat. Let us sail away or no let's show the world what we really need to say
Mohamed Nasir Nov 2017
She's a crazy blonde and she's funny
She can do no right and she can do no wrong
An astronaut and a 2000 year old genie
In a bottle and somehow they've to get along

Barbara Eden and Larry Hagman are the stars
Of the show hilarious in awkward moments
"Is my master upset with me?" She always asks
Yet coy when he can get whatever he wants

Winks and nobs transformed in the blink of an eye
Appear or disappear "your wish is my command"
Or "master I'm at your service." She'd say but sly
Pony tailed girlish genie often can't comprehend

Master's orders disobeyed as he acts a fool
Uncorrupted innocently gazed hands in my chin
On deserted island genie ******* clad beautiful
I was too young to know to wish for to imagine
Original Black and White 1965 tv sitcom that I enjoyed watching so much.
John Romford Aug 2014
I've hauled my boyhood master -
old Mr Television down the stairs  

Now he blinks and stammers on the pavement  
even though he's not plugged in

But someone's tapping at my window -
who is she here - who leans into my room?

Long-limbed she is and dressed in green
as the mountain-ash in summer

And I climb into her arms beneath a single star - O
Mr Television - if you could see me now!
cass May 2016
I watched my cousin throw a rock through that old barn window that stood on my grandma's property
The barn no longer contained an excited horse
It was gone
Along with her
The stone shattered the window to pieces
A representation that things change, so much so that they can never be put back together to look the same ever again
You will always see the cracks
I hated that moment, and i hated her for doing it
It was just a broken window so i never understood why it bothered me so much
Years later i realized it was because that window would never look the same, it wasn't a dream or a joke because it couldn't be undone
That stone symbolized the end of something irreplaceable
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2018
for Jeannie Kristufek Hawrysz who once quoted me Shakespeare -
"Of all the words in the universe, when stated thrice, only one royal above all gleams best, an uncoded mathematical tripartite repetitive stating:
love love love this."

----------------------------

third attempt and just not happening
then recall a Ben Folds hand-me-down
heard on Tuesday, passed onto me by Sara B.
about writer’s block

“Kick the editor out of the room”

the best don’t even flow,
they fall out of ya, rough and tumbling,
screaming did ya get that,
are ya keeping up,
you can be the self-editing-I need-perfection roadblock
or the delivery guy, the one with the towel and the scissors, who brings ya a clean new baby, and/or a veggie pizza,
which ya gonna pick?

another nougat nugget:
when you’re stuck, write about the block,
what’s sticking you; one would have thought
some one thousand five hundred poems later,
this one would have been midwifed a long, long time ago,  
but at 4:32am, it’s all I got

rather than throw false news confetti on myself
from the rafters that don’t exist in a citified apartment,
I’ll reward myself with some
rock n’ pop,
a revisitation to the scene of the crime, and listen quiet like and maybe leak back to prone sleep,
in hopes that the rest of the gang,
hoping the words to a  poem-in-transit,
“confetti is just tomorrow’s garbage”
gets off at my dreamy new subway stop


should the wordy birdies shotgun come sneaking in
thru the correct ear
i.e. not the sunken pillow one,
so I have half a fat chance of
recalling its dimensions in an hour, 
when I wake up-officially,


fat chance

later, like 4:56am

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2471979/confetti-is-just-tomorrows-garbage/
My dreams are dreams of black and white.

I dream of the late Cool Hand Luke,
And Big Daddy in the rain.
I dream of Hepburn, where it's hot,
Of Skelton upon his stage.

I dream of Jeannie,
Of Lucy's man,
Of Hitchcock's crazed suspense,

And of my freckled friend, named Opie,
Relaxing with Papa Griffith.

Jethro swings from chandeliers,
As daddy fends off fiends.
Granny ***** that little hand,
Signaling the end.
Francie Lynch Aug 2019
I believe love has an evil twin,
But I could be losing my mind.
There are petals on thistles,
And thorns on roses;
I can turn 360 or 180
And ride off in any direction.
Tales run like a loop in my brain,
Not recalling who's heard what,
I preface:
I've probably told you this before, but...
Is how any old story begins.
Deja Vu is my new life.
Every thought was once a poem
To be polished and revealed.
Today, they are intermittent.

I've been trolling old television series;
The Monkees were terrible then,
Terrible still;
The Three Stooges were best left in the memory vault;
Bonanza still has Ben wearing his beige vest;
Elizabeth Montgomery is still bewitching;
Jeannie is irritatingly attractive.
I must be leaking grey cells;
Rationality is creaking in my bone-head.
Ryan O'Leary Feb 2021
Am                            G
Ripples are echoes, for those who can't hear
Am                                    G
thunder has light-ning, to tell them its near
Am                                G
The moon is an echo, for no sun in the sky
Am                     G
day is an echo, for night that is why

Am                              G
Guitar’s are in echo, when they are strum
Am                      G
voices respond, re-sounding the hum
Am                               G
Shadows are echoes, at NOON they’re alone
Am                                   G
but the word it reflects, so its called palindrome

Am                                     G
Trains they make echoes, in tunnels with *****
Am                                     G
and though it’s but one, they call them two hoots
Am                           G
A bell has an echo, when ringing the news
Am                            G
anvils have echoes, when horses wear shoes

Am                                  G
Rainbows have echoes, in pots at each end
Am                       G
who was it said, that sunbeams can't bend
Am                           G
Lighthouses flash, with echoes in Morse
Am                                G
for posh sailing boats, and not Viking Norse

Am                            G
A bow has an echo, with a wow at the end
Am                            G
one midnight bark, starts setting a trend
Am                             G
A dream is an echo, of what we once did
Am                   G
hid in a bottle, behind Jeannie’s lid

Am                                    G                
Our words in the ether, will never meet
Am                            G
that’s why an echo, can never cheat
Am                           G
My echo my echo, is loneliest of all
Am                                  G
that’s why they listen, at my wailing wall

Am                                 G
Heartbeats are echoes, like yours and like mine
Am                              G
that’s why this song, must end with a pine.


                             Chorus

        Am                       G
        Echo all echoes, are art on the wall,
        Am                                G
        must be the sadd-est, sounds of them all
        Am                       G
        Echo all echoes, are art on the wall
        Am                               G
        must be the sadd-est, sounds of them all
        Am                       G
        Echo all echoes, are art on the wall,
        Am                                G
        must be the sadd-est, sounds of them all.




Ryan O'Leary ©
25/02/2021
I often scratch her moist, hairy ****** after exploring the crater under her thickest thickset balding patch. Everybody dreams of slanted **** hole a lot ~ which's why in China whites historically fought. I'll never have the gall to leave her as long as she quotes lines from Leave it to ******. Let's watch I Dream of Jeannie with a razor & a ½ foot of a foot-long ******.
Jeannie Palma Oct 2019
To My Granddaughter

Ah!! My granddaughter! My joy.
She lightens my load
She's like a new toy.
She smiles at me, ever so slightly
I grin right back at her but ever more brightly.
She's the light of my life. I love her dear.
Feels just like Heaven when I draw her near.
Bedtime! Yes, a sweet time of
Night, night, precious girl.
Let's you sleep and I pray one night grandma could lay you down and  tuck you in bed kiss your forehead and tell you good night and sweet dreams my grand daughter grandma loves you so dear
By G-Ma Jeannie Palma
Arabella B May 2016
Today you left this world not afraid or alone
but happy and no longer in pain. I miss you so much.
I miss your voice, your laugh
I miss your Hugs ,your Smile
I miss the scolds I miss the Yells
I miss the giggles , I miss the late Night Movies
I miss your Tilapia, I miss the Goodnight Kisses,
I miss everything we did together
I know you aren't in any pain anymore
You fought hard and long
I just wish we had a few more years on this earth Together
You were my second Mother
Someone I trusted
You were tough and beaten
But that smile never left your Face
When asked how you were you'd always reply
" I'm still standing." That was always your reply.
You were my Inspiration.

You tried to Kick Cancer's ****
You gave it a run for its money
Just when we thought you won
Cancer hit back harder
It was a hit you couldn't recover from
You checked into the hospital
Thinking you'd come out
You never checked out
I never said my Goodbye
Or how much I loved you
It's been two years since you left this earth
I've stayed this strong
I miss you every day
My Tears are real and full of Love
I know you can't come back physically
But spiritually you are with me
You will forever Be in my Heart
Love and Miss you
Mrs.Polesovsky ( Jeannie)
From your Bella Bean
Two years ago someone very Dear to me passed away from Stage 4 Breast Cancer. She was like my second Mom. I still miss her Dearly to this Day. I will always love her forever in my heart.
David Ehrgott Nov 2015
Sometimes I act like 2 years old all over again
I sit in sh*t and whine all day
Nothing much constructive to say
The devil's advocate they say I A
I don't know what would you say
Just to make my statement stay
And then to have it all retold all over again
  
Sometimes I feel like 4 years old all over again
There are things I still want to explore
But not like when I'm 3 years old
When I fit the bobby pin in the electric floor
Everything went black and white
It put me in a dimension that was spooky
And met my idol/maker all over again
  
Sometimes I think I'm 15 years all over again
And pack my comb
wear my cowboy shirt
pull my jeans way down
over my boots that hurt
And think I've got a life
instead of just existing lies
that she dreams up about me still all over again
  
All over again
I think she'd still love me
All over again
But, next time not so obsessive
All over again
I don't need that much protection
All over again
When I have such supple affection
  
Sometimes I'm 29 years old all over again
And can't get drunk enough
to relieve the pain that's in my head
I'm not suggesting you drink, no jesting
There's better thinks for a man to ingest
fill your mind with know how
Escape the ignorant
that rant and rave and roar at me
All over again
  
Sometimes I'm 36 I wish all over again
With dreams of Jeannie far behind
and Charlies Angels jet lagged high
I'm using words now just to rhyme
The girl that Lucy step-child right
Is in my mind still all the time
I never had the nerve to die
And here I am not 55 and still
Wishing I could live my life all over again
Jeannie Palma Oct 2019
When unforgiveness lives in us, it eats us up alive
It takes so much wasted energy and time so precious and so short
To carry the pain, to shuck and jive and life abort
To take all the blame, to wear the shame and play the game
It lives in our head rent free and will bring you to your knees
Let it go, make your amends and how the other feels, it all depends
You may find out, they didn't even know, they were living in your head, just breath
Say I 'm sorry and let it go, let God do the rest and continue to grow...by Jeannie Palma
Neville Johnson Sep 2020
It was her first kiss
She’d waited so long
Summer arrived, and with it, John
Such a handsome lad
Fit and with style
A lifeguard at the pool
Working part-time
Jeannie taught swimming
The kids had a blast
It was at the hotdog picnic
John didn’t ask
He just went for it
That was that
Both of them enthused
They left hand in hand
Johnny is off to college
Jeannie is still in high school
They text every day
Everything is cool
I forgot to mention
That for Johnny too
It was his first kiss
Then there were more than a few
Ryan O'Leary Nov 2021
Echoes((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((

Am/Ripples are echoes G/for those who can't hear
Am/thunder has lightning G/to tell them it's near

Em/The moon is an echo D/for no sun in the sky
Em/day is an echo D/for night, that is why

Am/Guitars make an echo,G/ when they are strum
Am/voices respond by G/ resounding the hum

Em/Shadows are echoes D/at NOON they’re in gloam
Em/but the word it reflects D/so its called palindrome

Am/Trains they make echoes G/in tunnels with *****
Am/and though it’s but one G/they call them two hoots

Em/A bell has an echo D/when ringing the news
Em/anvils have echoes D/when horses wear shoes

Am/Rainbows have echoes G/in pots at each end
Am/who was it that said that G/ light cannot bend

Em/A lighthouse when flashing D/is an echo in Morse
Em/for posh sailing boats D/and not Viking Norse

Am/A bow has an echo G/with a wow at the end
Am/one bark at midnight G/starts setting the trend

Em/A dream is an echo D/of what we once did
Em/but hid in a bottle D/behind Jeannie’s lid

Am/Words in the ether G/will never meet
Am/that’s why an echo G/can never cheat

Em/Your echo my echo D/are the saddest of all
Em/that’s why they listen D/at our wailing wall

                           Outro

Am/Heartbeats are echoes G/like yours and like mine
Am/that’s why this song is G/ending with PINE.  

Am/La La La La La  G/La La La La
Am/La La La La La  G/La La La La

Am/La La La La La  G/La La La La
Am/La La La La La  G/La La La La

                         Fading

Am/La La La La La  G/La La La La
Am/La La La La La  G/La La La La


Ryan O'Leary ©
Jeannie Palma Oct 2019
Love is pure like a
white wedding
gown.
Love is honest and
real like your heartbeat.
Love has its own
way of arriving like
the seasons.
Love makes you smile
for no reason.
Love is like your
favorite flower,
which covers the
world with its
fragrance.
Love is a remedy;
It's joy for those
wounded souls.
Love is like a volcano;
it's not apologetic,
and it flows
without resistance.
Love is like fire that
burns in the core
of the earth.
Love is a paradise
where two hearts
overflow with delight.
Love is a beautiful
sunrise.
Love comes and goes
like your favorite song,
wonderful when it begins,
and sad when it
ends.
Love is the light that
shines on the dark
places.
Love is real and not
predictable.
It never tells when
it arrives, and you can
never know when it
will go away.
Love is a mystery.
It's unseen but real,
as the wind is not seen
but felt.
By. Jeannie Palma

— The End —