Damn that is gorgeous. Really.

Alicia you have mail.....

?

I just checked my hotmail Zannie...?

ur mail is here....

No mail here but you have some

It absolutely is isn't it?

Well, I dont expect any less from my gorgeousgurl!

It's there Alicia...I see it my sent box..

Want it set again..tell me how to resend???

Just copy it and paste it baby. Im waiting patiently

i send you my cell #

To Alicia

"I do not know you well, but what I know
Enchants me, like a song sung far away.
I cannot hear the words, but what they say
Hangs softly on the hills where I must go.

I see you furtively and note your eyes,
Hazel and dreamy, your spirit half elsewhere;
I note the sheen of your dark, lustrous hair
And wish I knew your thoughts and shared your cries.

This love brings me sweet pain, but I want more,
Driven by a dream I can't control.
I want the truth of you, untamed and whole;
In frantic hope I haunt your open door."

-Nicholas Gordon

"This is the first time I have ever loved;
Yours, the first face I can not forget.
I think you are afraid, perhaps, and moved
To wonder whether you should do this yet.
I also am afraid, and yet I know
That wonder is a thing that needs a yes;
Should you step back and let this moment go,
Both you and I will have to live with less.
Please trust my love, as I must trust in yours.
It's strong as steel, as delicate as lace,
Immovable as battered granite shores:
I feel its power and unremitting grace.
So come, my love, and try this love with me;
Let your love speak, and then you will agree."

-Nicholas Gordon

<<------------signing with dreamy eyed pleasure...

ohhhhh (((((s1ow))))) ... perfection in the morning! Thank you for the additions ...

I am all agog and it is before 8:30 ... beautiful pieces to warm my soul in the face of an overnight skiff of snow ...

<<<<<<<<<< basking in such beauty,, taking a moment of Pauseeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Monsoon Season

- Vivienne Ledlie

When the season of the monsoon on the tin roof strummed its pop tune,
I would lie in bed and listen to its steady rhythmic beat,
To the down-pipes' noisy clatter of the raindrops splitter-splatter,
And enjoy a welcome respite from the humid summer heat.

As it hammered its crescendo void of any innuendo
That this peppered pelting on the roof was just a passing phase,
This new cleansing of the gutter, of the field and drain a-splutter,
Left a legacy of mem'ries which no passing years erase.

When at times the rain abated, I lay still in bed and waited –
For this was just an interval, a short pause in Nature's play;
I could hear the green frogs croaking, welcoming this summer soaking –
While my mind turned to the puddles I'd be wading in next day!

Kandukur

Alex Skovron

She travels across her atlas every day,
loves all the shades and shapes, the way they often
uncannily echo each other.

New Zealand, for instance,
is Italy upside-down, but flopped and chopped.
Or Madagascar, sliced with a surgeon’s panache
from Mozambique.

Such thoughts sometimes remind her
of Kezelco, a map she could never quite follow.

The experts come, but nothing seems to change.
The monitor winks like an understanding uncle, the drip a laconic sentinel over the bed.He used to say her voice was a fobwatch swinging, it soothed and hypnotized; she never really believed it.

A world ago her classmates
would tease at her stutter, a childish thing she ditched
along with Ludo,
but the damage was done.

She’d never told Kezelco,
and never mentioned the reason
behind her ’shyness’ (his awkward euphemism
that only made things worse).

Three or four months, they say,six at the most.

She folds her shoulder into the too-soft pillow,
she’d like to sleep but the memories won’t let her.
The channel up above flicks and flickers, the anchorwoman brushes the wind away, some urchins crowd around her,
some helmets grin.

Zoe resists the urge to listen in,picks up the atlas again, screws up her eyes,
opens a page
at random, taps a spot.

Where has she landed this time?
Kandukur! He would have known - or galloped at once for Google to look it up.
It sounds exotic.

She must remember to ask her Indian oncologist.

Our Revels Now Are Ended (from "The Tempest")

William Shakespeare


Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
is rounded with a sleep.



Sweet sleep mom

wow!!! haven't seen this for a long time.... hi (S) how are you sweetheart?