Archive for June 21, 2010

I am

Posted: June 21, 2010 by Marya in Poems
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I am …
A woman
With a full heart, hidden
Somewhere in an empty room …
With eyes not quite of autumn’s gold, and yet
Neither all of summer’s green;
I wonder …
If love is a tale made for children —
A granting of sweet dreams in their innocence —
A honey-coating to help their throats
Choke down the bitter draught …
I hear …
A voice that whispers warnings, half-formed,
Bodiless as hope, until I swear I cannot draw
Another breath unless this spectre be unmasked,
His lies mangled ‘neath my righteous tread;
I see …
A woman, proud, uncompromising,
Diaphanous as air — less, even, than the tears
That fall in desolation about her weary feet,
Salt poison pooled upon the withered ground …
I want …
A measure of quietude, a certain silence,
The echo of alone which heals me of dreaming,
The nothing that stills the wanting,
The numb, the cold that laughs at pain;
I am
A woman,
hidden …

I pretend …
That I can live forever — that Time
Has no puissance but that which I afford Him —
And so, I can wait, I can be happy tomorrow,
Sleep is for the dead; but its ghosts haunt my waking …
I feel …
Too much — too deeply to be directionless,
Too real for imagining, and yet the familiar eyes
Hold nothing of recognition — only my reflection —
A meeting of shadows in sunlit glass;
I touch …
The downy wings of hope, in wonder,
In reverence, in need, in hunger;
Alas, it burns my fingers as a flame,
A sacrilege, self-defined …
I worry …
That I am alone; that in my longing
I have forsaken all — but oh, what reward,
What smile divine should light the path to freedom —
And how can I but heed the siren’s call?
I cry …
For having too much, for fear of bursting,
And then, when by the pouring of my soul
I lie, a vessel emptied, I cry again
For what was had, and lost;
I am
A woman,
empty …

I understand
That life is what you make it,
That sometimes, the coat of many colors
That marks your triumphs brightly, blends only
To loneliest of grey …
I say
That we are made by life, shaped,
Broken, perhaps — unmade and voided —
But always, the core of us remains, waiting
With only faith, with trust, to be reborn;
I dream
Of bluest waters, reaching
With unnatural hands toward the faded sky,
Of dolphins that wander in seas without limits,
Carrying me water-breathing past corals and clouds …
I try …
To lead by example, knowing
That merely the telling holds no power;
A gift of giving is merely a day, while
A gift of knowing spans forever;
I hope …
That my darkness holds you gently,
That pain is halved by sharing, that feeling
Wields nothing past the words it summons,
Except that it touch you with only healing …
I am
A woman,
only.

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A poem I read and wanted to share…

Posted: June 21, 2010 by Marya in Poems
Tags: , , , ,

The soldier boy was sitting calmly underneath that tree.
As I approached it, I could see him beckoning to me.
The battle had been long and hard and lasted through the night
And scores of figures on the ground lay still by morning’s light.

“I wonder if you’d help me, sir”, he smiled as best he could.
“A sip of water on this morn would surely do me good.
We fought all day and fought all night with scarcely any rest –
A sip of water for I have a small pain in my chest.”

As I looked at him, I could see the large stain on his shirt
All reddish-brown from his warm blood mixed in with Asian dirt.
“Not much”, said he. “I count myself more lucky than the rest.
They’re all gone while I just have a small pain in my chest.”

“Must be fatigue”, he weakly smiled. “I must be getting old.
I see the sun is shining bright and yet I’m feeling cold.
We climbed the hill, two hundred strong, but as we cleared the crest,
The night exploded and I felt this small pain in my chest.”

“I looked around to get some aid – the only things I found
Were big, deep craters in the earth – bodies on the ground.
I kept on firing at them, sir. I tried to do my best,
But finally sat down with this small pain in my chest.”

“I’m grateful, sir”, he whispered, as I handed my canteen
And smiled a smile that was, I think, the brightest that I’ve seen.
“Seems silly that a man my size so full of vim and zest,
Could find himself defeated by a small pain in his chest.”

“What would my wife be thinking of her man so strong and grown,
If she could see me sitting here, too weak to stand alone?
Could my mother have imagined, as she held me to her breast,
That I’d be sitting HERE one day with this pain in my chest?”

“Can it be getting dark so soon?” He winced up at the sun.
“It’s growing dim and I thought that the day had just begun.
I think, before I travel on, I’ll get a little rest ……….
And, quietly, the boy died from that small pain in his chest.

I don’t recall what happened then. I think I must have cried;
I put my arms around him and I pulled him to my side
And, as I held him to me, I could feel our wounds were pressed
The large one in my heart against the small one in his chest.

Passions revealed,
desires sedated,
never once believed,
such pleasures awaited.

Romance claimed lost,
desire now greed,
no estatic long nights,
just fullfilling a need.

But with lingering glances,
on satin smooth skin,
through the night we languish,
in the erotica of skin.

A candle lit dinner,
alone to test our will,
champaine on ice ,
inhibitions to chill.

A fire in the hearth,
our only light,
yet hold back the urges,
as passion fills the night.

Caressing your hair,
a masage designed to please,
your breathing grows soft,
a sensual tease.

Lips finally meet,
so tender and hoping,
tounges intertwine,
searching not groping.

Finger tips trace,
from your neck down your spine,
awakening nerves the pleasure ,
devine.

Cloths whisper as they fall to the floor,
bringing pleasure in the skin they show,
no rush no hurry all night,
to take it slow.

A trail of kisses,
the soft backs of knees,
bodys aching yearning,
eager to please.

By the light of the fire,
two bodys join in an ancient rite,
as soft moans of pleasure,
become the sounds of the night.

Well Its day one of my reset on my workout.. I just took some pics and started a video log of my progress, will post them as I  do my day to day workouts.. Cant wait to see the difference from now and 90 days..  So cause I have taken time off from my first start date.. Today will be a cardio day.. So off to my workout and will update later.. Have a good day everyone..

 1. It builds your brain.

The power of the metaphor, simile, parallel… figurative language is not only a good way to put things into perspective, but metaphors are easier to remember than a complex set of interactions.  This is a way to grasp deeper meaning from perhaps a very mundane, or complex identity.  It builds an understandable identity with which to contrast that is easier to grapple and engage in, in the process building pathways in your brain that would have been stopped cold otherwise. 

And poetry exercises this muscle by encouraging figurative language providing a sounding ground for your ideas, feelings, reminiscences by putting them into a concrete perspective.

2. It’s therapeutic.

A dialog of one is still a dialog, and like journal writing provides an amiable outlet to vent our feelings.  Not only that but we end up with something that is tangible and durable product of the struggle while coming to terms with it. 

It is something we can show off, or keep around for a rainy day to either entertain ourselves, work on, or reminisce what you were thinking that day when you wrote it.  It’s a little snapshot of your soul and what you were thinking when writing it. 

This can grow into something new as you revise and/or write more as a poem can be never really finished.  Thus it has the possibility of being exhaustless, while providing a forum for expression & understanding.

3. That tool you’ve developed is versatile.

Once you get the hang of writing poetry, there’s almost nothing you can’t do with it.  It is an alternative form of communication.  If you don’t believe me just look at all the greeting cards out there with this wit or wisdom scrolled up in Gothic lettering on every subject.  It is a font of the English language, it’s just up to you what you want to put it up to. 

I’ve written poems to magazines urging articles, I’ve used them to barter services and better grades in classes, I’ve written them to boyfriends.  I’ve gotten people to laugh.  They can be as complex or simple as you want to make them into, and I’ve found any place that required a logical argument, could always be appended with a poem in favor/or against something as well to clarify the position/picture, because after all, it’s just communication if on a more deeper level.

4. It encourages deeper intrapersonal relationships.

As you write, not only do ideas bloom, but you do also.  Your vocabulary gets broader, your understanding about relationships between ideas grows and how this affects you and the world comes closer together.  My biggest problem in dealing with people was not knowing whom I was, somewhere between egoless and consumer.  Writing poetry enables the I in Identity, from which you can clearly communicate the you to the you in someone else.

People aren’t always going to be able to understand you, but writing poetry gives you an opportunity for personal space in which to critically think while expressing yourself to others in a coherent picture.  Doesn’t mean you’ll come off all-knowing and wise, but that you’ll be given an opportunity to effectively communicate at your own pace which can come at a premium in this busy world.

5. You are opening yourself up to a wealth of human knowledge

By writing, you are doing the legwork in understanding other poets.  There are as many ways to read poetry as there are people, but when you start thinking in a language are you more easily able to understand another in that language.  There are thousands of poets and each of them write to different aim. Figurative language, prosody, sonics, description, narrative are all a language unto themselves and some will come easier for you to write than others, as well as understand.  Poetry is a forum for exchange, not a universal language.

I get really Hyper

Posted: June 21, 2010 by Marya in Marya's thoughts
Tags: , , , ,

Lately I been telling everyone my plans to get fit and start over as new me.. I find my self getting happy thoughts and very hyper as I talk about it.. So I feel like this what I always needed I just needed that lil push to get me started..

 Ty Arse for that, If  it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t of found the p90x workout videos and never feel the need to try to use them.. I have also got my family friends interested in starting the workouts too.. As of today there’s a total of  11 of us taking pics, making video’s and starting our workout today yay!!

And  I have been sleeping better the past 4 or so nights too yay for goodnight sleeps..

Monday June 21st 2010

Posted: June 21, 2010 by Marya in Quote of the day
Tags:

All It takes is one sentence from the right person to change your whole outlook on life!