The Squadron of Poets' Lenses
Well, this is the Squadron of Poets web space, where your theme-focused lens has a chance of exposure and a chance to win the Squadron of Poets' Silver Emblem plus a sum of $100US. Critics are invited to review and criticize those poetries I intended to publish here.
I encourage poets to submit some of their poetry to the Squadron of Poets. They will get their poetry in the contest by posting them to this lens, and drive traffic to their pages from Khalid Osman's entire Network at the same time. If you do not have pages for your poetry, why not build them lenses at Squadron of Poets here.
I encourage poets to submit some of their poetry to the Squadron of Poets. They will get their poetry in the contest by posting them to this lens, and drive traffic to their pages from Khalid Osman's entire Network at the same time. If you do not have pages for your poetry, why not build them lenses at Squadron of Poets here.
Squadron of Poets' Table of Contents
This is the Squadron of Poets' Table of Contents. It helps you organize your browsing the Squadron of Poets' lens thoroughly and save you time.
- Preamble on Useful Spelling Mistakes
- The Squadron of Poets
- The Second Birth of the Tree!
- Symbolism in the Second Birth of the Tree!
- Great Stuff on Amazon Recommended by The Squadron of Poets!
- Realism and Mysticism in the "Second Birth of the Tree"
- Shooting Back with the "Second Birth of the Tree"!
- With that said dialectic ...
- Poetry and Perfectionism!
- Squadron of Poets on Amazon!
- A Whisper!
- Flesh of the Night
- My Lovely City
- Normal leisure day in Silkeborg
- Destiny
- The Sigh
- The Pity of Love
- To the Nightingale
- Pantisocracy
- On a Discovery made Too Late
- The Squadron of Poets' Contest
- Squadron of Poets' Collective Feeds
- Ezine Act's RSS Feed!
- The Squadron of Poets on CafePress
- Great Stuff on eBay
- New Orbitz!
- Twitter Follows Squadron of Poets!
- Khalid Osman's Network!
- The Squadron of Poets recommends Good Lyrics and Songs!
- Readers Feedback on Squadron of Poets!
- Homestead
- iTunes!
- RSS Feed!
- Melancholy - A fragment!
- Squadron of Poets' Collective Feeds!
- Children's Poetry! Poetry from "A Child's Garden of Verses"!
- Young Night-Thought
- Foreign Lands!
- RSS Feed from HOA Political Scene
Preamble on Useful Spelling Mistakes
Spelling Mistakes Inspire Sometimes
The idea beyond the creation of the Squadron of Poets' Lenses has emerged from the Squadron of Poets' group I have created here. I clicked accidentally on a wrong link that I have written somewhere to my group. Instead, and thanks to squidoo.com, a new page loaded to encourage me to claim and build the lens for the Squadron of Poets.
This accident reminds me of another wrong link I mistakenly wrote somewhere and clicked on it to go to My Love Nature at blogspot.com. Instead of that Blog, I found myself inspired to build another blog using that wrong word to connect My Love Nature, which is a Blog for photography to reflect the Beauty of the Earth, with My Love Natutre, which is a blog for poetry. I should laugh of my spelling mistakes. However, those mistakes inspired me to connect some themed Blogs together.
The Squadron of Poets
is all about Creation!
Since it is about creation your wording and imaging count! They count because they belong to that world in which all of your lifetime experiences lay different shadows and colours on its background. It is only that when you move inspired by something in the surroundings, those words and images emerge to colour and build a beautiful world. Einstein was right when he said, "Nothing happens, until something moves". You make the move; other people move to get together. This is why I have created the Squadron of Poets' Lenses, the Squadron of Poets' Group, and the Squadron of Poets' cafepress.The Squadron of Poets' cafepress aims to support the Squadron of Poets' Lenses and the Squadron of Poets' Group. It is all a network environment created by enthusiast and activist member in the Blogging euphoria, to motivate and get some smart people inspired.
The Second Birth of the Tree!
The forgotten philosophy and the poetry!
When I wrote "Second Birth of the Tree" some years ago and published it in Baghdad, my feeling that we are living our second life, not the first one, inspired me! That feeling rose from different readings in Philosophy. I had no time to write about it at the time and to analyze the impact of those philosophies I read, on that poetry. By now, I have forgotten much of them. However, they became my cultural way to understand life and the world.The "Second Birth of the Tree" is a long verse. It is that kind of long verses the French call couplet. I have written it structured in four, sometimes five couplets. It goes through pure teenager's feeling of love to a woman and to life. His sweetheart was part of him that Allah (God) has taken to create Eve. Eve was originally one of his ribs. This fact indicates the existence of potential masculine and feminine hormones in any human being. This is why we see some masculine women and some feminine men in life. In addition, that happens when one of a specific hormone in one of them raises over that other natural hormone of his or her.
Symbolism in the Second Birth of the Tree!
So, the "Second Birth of the Tree" symbolizes life as a Tree. We have roots as the Tree has. That Tree is a symbol in my couplet. Families have roots. Those roots go wild back in history to the creation of life on this planet and beyond. In the circle of life and death, we come to know there is a second life. Some people do not believe on this. However, if we take the first life and the second one, then the question may still rise about which one is the first one? We do not know. However, in philosophy, I symbolized the first life on that life we had lived and we had gone in the memory of Allah (God). Where we had gone? Allah knows. Nevertheless, I have a feeling we exist there in that area Allah only knows and that area may exist forever. We do not exist any more in that first life on earth.WOW, this topic is getting interesting! I have so many clues I will continue, to your pleasure and good understanding only.
Great Stuff on Amazon Recommended by The Squadron of Poets!
The Squadron of Poets opens the store of great poetry readings supported by Amazon!
Realism and Mysticism in the "Second Birth of the Tree"
I have a feeling we exist there in that area Allah only knows and that area may exist forever. We do not exist any more in that first life on earth. This line brings my attention to the terms: the First Life and the Second Life. Religious people from different kinds of religions divide life in those terms. However, others do not believe in the second life. These are discussable points of views of course. In this manner, I have brought my statement in to say through the "Second Birth of the Tree" that we are living our second life now. In reality, some people call it the first life. However, in the mystic world it is not.Comparing between realism and mysticism, the mental efforts symbolize life as a fountain that extends beyond the metaphysical world to create arts and enrich life itself, whether it is the first life or the second. This could possibly be sophism. However, as a sophist in the "Second Birth of the Tree", I symbolize all the knowledge and the emotions towards life, love and politics as the second birth.
To give some examples to this idea, some people could possibly feel sometimes that they had been at a place before (mystery), even though they may get there for the first time (reality). When somebody says an idea about something in some kinds of fantastic expressions, some people may immediately say, "Oh Ye, I have said that before" although they did not.
Interested people who love to read such poetry can download the e-book version of the poetry from the Wakening of the Phoenix page and support the peep of these multicultural projects. If they cannot read Arabic, they can download it and give it as gifts to those who read Arabic they know. Alternatively, they can use the donation button to bring their support in to the projects. Thanks.
Shooting Back with the "Second Birth of the Tree"!
One of the couplets talks to my sweetheart in a Sufi-way. It explores the existence of love since the birth of the sweetheart. It says aiming to that love; I have seen her, the moment of her birth. When she was first born, that child she was, was not like any child. It has no physical organs. It was just a thought of a beautiful, clever, and charming child that goes into my mind and through it from the seed of creation to another seed.
The verse connects between those seeds since they are human seeds and says there is common nectar of feelings in those seeds that gets two couples together to live as man and wife in the future. This seems as we have born with specific orientation to follow unknown and unseen destiny. In other words, that nectar works as a campus to direct each of the couples towards each other.
However, when we decide to connect in the real life, when we look for our soul mates, it seems to us we met for the first time. The verse says we have met before we knew each other in the real life. That world belongs to the first creation of life.
That could possibly indicate the idea of the "Second Birth of the Tree", which becomes a norm of philosophy in the entire couplets.
The verse connects between those seeds since they are human seeds and says there is common nectar of feelings in those seeds that gets two couples together to live as man and wife in the future. This seems as we have born with specific orientation to follow unknown and unseen destiny. In other words, that nectar works as a campus to direct each of the couples towards each other.
However, when we decide to connect in the real life, when we look for our soul mates, it seems to us we met for the first time. The verse says we have met before we knew each other in the real life. That world belongs to the first creation of life.
That could possibly indicate the idea of the "Second Birth of the Tree", which becomes a norm of philosophy in the entire couplets.
With that said dialectic ...
I am not going materialistic! Am I?
I am not going materialistic in that mentioned dialectic, I reckon! Am I? However, notwithstanding this philosophy, "Second Birth of the Tree" sophisticated some couplets to go Sufism. It is natural when our feelings indulge in the creation circle and be united with the creation of this fountain we call life! We feel ourselves running smoothly in this harmony to attract new impulses and colour the way we are doing small details in our day-to-day life! Poetry and Perfectionism!
Perfection in daily small duties!
This cultural background inspires me in every aspect of my living; in the way I talk, the way I walk, the way I feel, the way I eat and drink, the way I cook, the way I sleep, the way I clean and even the way I go to toilet. Those are day-to-day activities some people actually do sometimes without even thinking of them. I take those activities seriously; and when I see somebody missing the perfect way to do that or this activity, I found myself obliged to bring her/his attention to it.I do this actually while I am enjoying a poetic feeling of some verses in the making, some other literal topics in the making, or even when I want to demonstrate the best way somebody could do this or that task.
To me and some other brilliant people, life deserves perfection in small details. Of course, some other people do not care and they are free to act that or this way. However, it is still to be essential for others like some people I know and me to go perfectionists in those small details.
The "Second Birth of the Tree" takes the level of creation a standard up to seek perfection to some Romantic Hugs, through a Sufi love experience.
Squadron of Poets on Amazon!
Here are some poetry books from Amazon.
A Whisper!
Khalid Osman
This is a whisper,Deep in your soul,
I hear it jumping,
And twisting like a ball,
To make me remember:
The beautiful world lies
Between your tongue
And breathless ties!
Flesh of the Night
Khalid Osman
I tore the curtain,
Between your bedroom,
And the library,
To catch a book,
Instead my eyes,
Caught your stripped thighs,
Flaming like my knowledge desire,
Free like this night's air.
I jumped softly to the library,
Just like a cat,
To catch a book,
I caught a warm flesh!
Between your bedroom,
And the library,
To catch a book,
Instead my eyes,
Caught your stripped thighs,
Flaming like my knowledge desire,
Free like this night's air.
I jumped softly to the library,
Just like a cat,
To catch a book,
I caught a warm flesh!
My Lovely City
Come to Silkebo(rg),
And have a nice bow.
You'll see the beautiful city.
I like it like my little kitty.
Our city, is not so big,
But it is quite and nice to dig,
Your way everywhere,
Where you can see all those happy faces,
Passing by as dreams that in many cases,
Come true.
Come to Silkeborg.
See the God's river and the long lake.
You have so many pleasures in your way to take,
The beautiful nature and the nice culture,
And clap your hands twice,
People will think you are very nice,
Greeting them or otherwise,
You are so gentle and wise.
And have a nice bow.
You'll see the beautiful city.
I like it like my little kitty.
Our city, is not so big,
But it is quite and nice to dig,
Your way everywhere,
Where you can see all those happy faces,
Passing by as dreams that in many cases,
Come true.
Come to Silkeborg.
See the God's river and the long lake.
You have so many pleasures in your way to take,
The beautiful nature and the nice culture,
And clap your hands twice,
People will think you are very nice,
Greeting them or otherwise,
You are so gentle and wise.
Normal leisure day in Silkeborg
Normal leisure day in Silkeborg! I Love Nature! Presseklubben i Silkeborg!
Destiny
Omar Khayyam
With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead,
And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
And the first Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.
No one has called this piece of poetry "destiny", but I did. It is one of Omar Khayyam's rubaiyat. Macmilan published Edward Fitzgerald's translation to this poetry in 1915.
And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
And the first Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.
No one has called this piece of poetry "destiny", but I did. It is one of Omar Khayyam's rubaiyat. Macmilan published Edward Fitzgerald's translation to this poetry in 1915.
The Sigh
When Youth his faery reign began
Ere sorrow had proclaimed me man;
While Peace the present hour beguiled,
And all the lovely Prospect smiled;
Then Mary! 'mid my lightsome glee
I heav'd the painless Sigh for thee.
And when, along the waves of woe,
My harassed Heart was doomed to know
The frantic burst of Outrage keen,
And the slow Pang that gnaws unseen;
Then shipwrecked on Life's stormy sea
I heaved an anguished Sigh for thee!
But soon Reflection's power imprest
A stiller sadness on my breast;
And sickly hope with waning eye
Was well content to droop and die:
I yielded to the stern decree,
Yet heaved a languid Sigh for thee!
And though in distant climes to roam,
A wanderer from my native home,
I fain would soothe the sense of Care,
And lull to sleep the Joys that were,
Thy Image may not banished be ---
Still, Mary! Still I sigh for thee.
S.T. Coleridge
Ere sorrow had proclaimed me man;
While Peace the present hour beguiled,
And all the lovely Prospect smiled;
Then Mary! 'mid my lightsome glee
I heav'd the painless Sigh for thee.
And when, along the waves of woe,
My harassed Heart was doomed to know
The frantic burst of Outrage keen,
And the slow Pang that gnaws unseen;
Then shipwrecked on Life's stormy sea
I heaved an anguished Sigh for thee!
But soon Reflection's power imprest
A stiller sadness on my breast;
And sickly hope with waning eye
Was well content to droop and die:
I yielded to the stern decree,
Yet heaved a languid Sigh for thee!
And though in distant climes to roam,
A wanderer from my native home,
I fain would soothe the sense of Care,
And lull to sleep the Joys that were,
Thy Image may not banished be ---
Still, Mary! Still I sigh for thee.
S.T. Coleridge
The Pity of Love
A pity beyond all telling,
Is hid in the heart of love;
The folk who are buying and selling,
The clouds on their journey above,
The cold wet winds ever blowing,
And the shadowy hazel grove
Where mouse-grey waters are flowing,
Threaten the head that I love.
W.B. Yeats
Is hid in the heart of love;
The folk who are buying and selling,
The clouds on their journey above,
The cold wet winds ever blowing,
And the shadowy hazel grove
Where mouse-grey waters are flowing,
Threaten the head that I love.
W.B. Yeats
To the Nightingale
Sister of love-lorn Poets, Philomel!
How many Bards in city garret pent,
While at their window they with downward eye
Mark the faint lamp-beam on the kennell'd mud,
And listen to the drowsy cry of Watchmen
(Those hoarse unfeather'd Nightingales of Time!),
How many wretched Bards address thy name,
And hers, the full-orb'd Queen that shines above.
But I do hear thee, and the high bough mark,
Within whose mild moon-mellow'd foliage hid
Thou warblest sad thy pity-pleading strains.
O! I have listen'd, till my working soul,
Waked by those strains to thousand phantasies,
Absorb'd hath ceas'd to listen! Therefore oft,
I hymn thy name: and with a proud delight
Oft will I tell thee, Minstrel of the Moon!
"Most musical, most melancholy" Bird!
That all thy soft diversities of tone,
Tho' sweeter far than the delicious airs
That vibrate from a white-arm'd Lady's harp,
What time the languishment of lonely love
Melts in her eye, and heaves her breast of snow,
Are not so sweet as is the voice of her,
My Sara ---best beloved of human kind!
When breathing the pure soul of tenderness,
She thrills me with the Husband's promis'd name!
S.T. Coleridge
How many Bards in city garret pent,
While at their window they with downward eye
Mark the faint lamp-beam on the kennell'd mud,
And listen to the drowsy cry of Watchmen
(Those hoarse unfeather'd Nightingales of Time!),
How many wretched Bards address thy name,
And hers, the full-orb'd Queen that shines above.
But I do hear thee, and the high bough mark,
Within whose mild moon-mellow'd foliage hid
Thou warblest sad thy pity-pleading strains.
O! I have listen'd, till my working soul,
Waked by those strains to thousand phantasies,
Absorb'd hath ceas'd to listen! Therefore oft,
I hymn thy name: and with a proud delight
Oft will I tell thee, Minstrel of the Moon!
"Most musical, most melancholy" Bird!
That all thy soft diversities of tone,
Tho' sweeter far than the delicious airs
That vibrate from a white-arm'd Lady's harp,
What time the languishment of lonely love
Melts in her eye, and heaves her breast of snow,
Are not so sweet as is the voice of her,
My Sara ---best beloved of human kind!
When breathing the pure soul of tenderness,
She thrills me with the Husband's promis'd name!
S.T. Coleridge
Pantisocracy
No more my visionary soul shall dwell
On joys that were; no more endure to weigh
The shame and anguish of the evil day,
Wisely forgetful! O'er the ocean swell
Sublime of Hope, I seek the cottage'd dell,
Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray,
And dancing to the moonlight roundelay,
The wizard Passions weave an holy spell.
Eyes that have ach'd with Sorrow! Ye shall weep
Tears of doubt-mingled joy, like theirs who start
From Precipices of distemper'd sleep,
On which the fierce-eyed Fiends their revels keep,
And see the rising Sun, and feel it dart
New rays of pleasance trembling to the heart.
Some other poetry by S.T. Coleridge here.
On joys that were; no more endure to weigh
The shame and anguish of the evil day,
Wisely forgetful! O'er the ocean swell
Sublime of Hope, I seek the cottage'd dell,
Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray,
And dancing to the moonlight roundelay,
The wizard Passions weave an holy spell.
Eyes that have ach'd with Sorrow! Ye shall weep
Tears of doubt-mingled joy, like theirs who start
From Precipices of distemper'd sleep,
On which the fierce-eyed Fiends their revels keep,
And see the rising Sun, and feel it dart
New rays of pleasance trembling to the heart.
Some other poetry by S.T. Coleridge here.
On a Discovery made Too Late
Thou bleedest, my poor heart! And thy distress
Reasoning I ponder with a scornful smile,
And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while
Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness.
Why didst thou listen to Hope's whisper bland?
Or, listening, why forget the healing tale,
When Jealousy with feverous fancies pale
Jarred thy fine fibres with a maniac's hand?
Faint was that Hope, and rayless! --- Yet 'twas fair,
And soothed with many a dream the hour of rest:
Thou shouldn't have loved it most, when most opprest,
And nursed it with an agony of care,
Even as a Mother her sweet infant heir
That wan and sickly droops upon her breast!
S.T. Coleridge
Reasoning I ponder with a scornful smile,
And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while
Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness.
Why didst thou listen to Hope's whisper bland?
Or, listening, why forget the healing tale,
When Jealousy with feverous fancies pale
Jarred thy fine fibres with a maniac's hand?
Faint was that Hope, and rayless! --- Yet 'twas fair,
And soothed with many a dream the hour of rest:
Thou shouldn't have loved it most, when most opprest,
And nursed it with an agony of care,
Even as a Mother her sweet infant heir
That wan and sickly droops upon her breast!
S.T. Coleridge
The Squadron of Poets' Contest
Enter your verses here
This module is different from the guest book module. You can enter your poetry or that of those you know here. Please do not enter copyrighted materials here unless you won them. By doing so, you entitle Squadron of Poets all rights to publish those verses without limitation.
I will run those verses and will give other people approaches to rate them. A team of critics either from my Danish journalist colleagues or colleagues from my Squidoo's work environment will evaluate those verses or determine the verse to win the money prize and the Squadron of Poets' Silver Emblem.
By entering your verses here to win the prize, you entitle me also rights to use the winner verse and/or those verses in this competition collectively, translate and publish them in a Squadron of Poets' Publication. Your rights to publish your name attached to the poetry entered in this poetry contest are intact.
To submit your relevant themed lenses use the Squadron of Poets' group here.
praise wrote...
CRYSTALS
Stones of light
kept within
formed under
heat
formed under
pressure
emitting waves
of healing
Revealing
Crystals color
and design
Debra Praise (1994)
Posted February 02, 2009
Squadron of Poets' Collective Feeds
These are Squadron of Poets' Collective Feeds pulled from one of Khalid Osman's networks. They show you an example of how your feeds could get here into this network when you submit your poetry to the Squadron of Poets.
Fetching RSS feed... please stand byEzine Act's RSS Feed!
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just to fund the Squadron of Poets' prizes
I fund The Squadron of Poets' prizes at the Squadron of Poets' CafePress
Tote Bag
The Squadron of Poets looks beautiful on my tote bag! I can take some poetry books inside this bag!
Price: 19.99
Women's Raglan Hoodie
I reflect my love to the Squadron of Poets on my Raglan Hoodie! You can do too, by only wearing a Women's Raglan Hoodie like this.
Price: 36.99
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Poets will feel you are so smart on Squadron of Poets Sweatshirt! In addition, you will support some poets cause on this Squadron of Poets Sweatshirt!
Price: 38.99
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I support the Squadron of Poets by only wearing their Hooded Sweatshirt.
Price: 44.99
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New Orbitz!
Twitter Follows Squadron of Poets!
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Khalid Osman's Network!
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Fetching RSS feed... please stand byThe Squadron of Poets recommends Good Lyrics and Songs!
The old golden days' legendary songs by Ben king!
Readers Feedback on Squadron of Poets!
Like the Squadron of Poets lens? Want to share your thoughts about poetry or just give a thumb up? Do all of that here and enjoy. Please do not forget to rate this lens. Thanks.
praise wrote...
Very good lens! Have favorited you and please visit my lens here on Squidoo and feel free to comment.
Debra
Posted February 02, 2009
1verse wrote...
I just wanted to say thanks for having this group and lens. I've added a module specific to the Squadron of Poets to encourage more members and to show my appreciation. Keep up the excellent work!
Posted January 08, 2009
Africano wrote...
My Lovely City is my poem. Thanks to dad :-) I like this lens.
Posted October 29, 2008
Here's my favorite link:
iTunes!
RSS Feed!
Fetching RSS feed... please stand byMelancholy - A fragment!
Stretched on a moldered abbey's broadest wall,
Where ruining ivies propped the ruins steep ---
Her folded arms wrapping her tattered pall,
Had melancholy must herself to sleep.
The fern was pressed beneath the hair,
The dark green adder's tongue was there;
And still as past the flagging sea-gale weak,
The long lank leaf bowed fluttering o'er her cheek.
That pallid cheek was flushed: her eager look
Beamed eloquent in slumber! Only wrought,
Imperfect sounds her moving lips forsook,
And her bent foreheads worked with troubled thought.
Strange wad the dream. ---
Some other poetry by S.T. Coleridge here.
Where ruining ivies propped the ruins steep ---
Her folded arms wrapping her tattered pall,
Had melancholy must herself to sleep.
The fern was pressed beneath the hair,
The dark green adder's tongue was there;
And still as past the flagging sea-gale weak,
The long lank leaf bowed fluttering o'er her cheek.
That pallid cheek was flushed: her eager look
Beamed eloquent in slumber! Only wrought,
Imperfect sounds her moving lips forsook,
And her bent foreheads worked with troubled thought.
Strange wad the dream. ---
Some other poetry by S.T. Coleridge here.
Squadron of Poets' Collective Feeds!
These are Squadron of Poets' Collective Feeds pulled from one of Khalid Osman's networks. They show you an example of how your feeds could get here into this network when you submit your poetry to the Squadron of Poets.
Fetching RSS feed... please stand byChildren's Poetry! Poetry from "A Child's Garden of Verses"!
Bed in Summer
By - Robert Louis Stevenson
In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?
Read about Robert Louis Stevenson, other poets and more poetry at My Love Natutre!
However, if you want the complete collection sent to your free, get yourself a free lens to build content and make additional income here. When you did, send me a message through this platform or through the comment form here saying that you have done. I will then send you the collection and some e-books to help you build content and attract free traffic to your website.
In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?
Read about Robert Louis Stevenson, other poets and more poetry at My Love Natutre!
However, if you want the complete collection sent to your free, get yourself a free lens to build content and make additional income here. When you did, send me a message through this platform or through the comment form here saying that you have done. I will then send you the collection and some e-books to help you build content and attract free traffic to your website.
Young Night-Thought
All night long and every night,
When my mama puts out the light,
I see the people marching by,
As plain as day before my eye.
Armies and emperor and kings,
All carrying different kinds of things,
And marching in so grand a way,
You never saw the like by day.
So fine a show was never seen
At the great circus on the green;
For every kind of beast and man
Is marching in that caravan.
As first they move a little slow,
But still the faster on they go,
And still beside me close I keep
Until we reach the town of Sleep.
Stick to your theme and go deep in your imagination as a man who walks on the clouds to capture the essence of your theme and perfect your creation.
When my mama puts out the light,
I see the people marching by,
As plain as day before my eye.
Armies and emperor and kings,
All carrying different kinds of things,
And marching in so grand a way,
You never saw the like by day.
So fine a show was never seen
At the great circus on the green;
For every kind of beast and man
Is marching in that caravan.
As first they move a little slow,
But still the faster on they go,
And still beside me close I keep
Until we reach the town of Sleep.
Stick to your theme and go deep in your imagination as a man who walks on the clouds to capture the essence of your theme and perfect your creation.
Foreign Lands!
Up into the cherry tree
Who should climb but little me?
I held the trunk with both my hands
And looked abroad in foreign lands.
I saw the next door garden lie,
Adorned with flowers, before my eye,
And many pleasant places more
That I had never seen before.
I saw the dimpling river pass
And be the sky's blue looking-glass;
The dusty roads go up and down
With people tramping in to town.
If I could find a higher tree
Farther and farther I should see,
To where the grown-up river slips
Into the sea among the ships,
To where the road on either hand
Lead onward into fairy land,
Where all the children dine at five,
And all the playthings come alive.
Who should climb but little me?
I held the trunk with both my hands
And looked abroad in foreign lands.
I saw the next door garden lie,
Adorned with flowers, before my eye,
And many pleasant places more
That I had never seen before.
I saw the dimpling river pass
And be the sky's blue looking-glass;
The dusty roads go up and down
With people tramping in to town.
If I could find a higher tree
Farther and farther I should see,
To where the grown-up river slips
Into the sea among the ships,
To where the road on either hand
Lead onward into fairy land,
Where all the children dine at five,
And all the playthings come alive.
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