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  • Edward Webb (12/7/2013 11:04:00 PM) Post reply

    Life's Accident
    -e.webb

    life's own awareness,
    made by its will to survive,
    yet survival of the fittest,
    not all what paved man kind

    For if one is to think
    a course of planned divine,
    then accident be awareness
    given to life in mind,

    for whom could survive the chance,
    galactic untamed wonder,

    that came with out a glance,
    killing most found on her,

    The fittest can not adapt
    to such a timeless blow,
    for surviving that death bared hour,
    earths fittest, died under such power,

    the weakness then grew to strongest,
    and then so climbed the trees,
    then when climatic changes,
    forced apes to ground-ward eves

    they dropped their fur and tail,
    and stood two legged with hands,

    They then seemed undefended, pink and weak compared,
    yet brains that grew tremendous,
    imagined past the body, over came weakness, and created self-awareness,
    then through sounds of meaning
    passed in taught, to new
    the knowledge age had taught,
    through a divine gift of human thought.

    SO to be here and aware of it, an accident or luck,
    should count the lucky stars above, for we be life's mistook,
    of not so luck to be,
    aware of all around,
    as then you contemplate compared,
    when you are in the ground.

  • Edward Webb (12/7/2013 10:53:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    The knowing -
    E.Webb

    When light ebbs away from a livings eyes,
    and livings age, pays its wage,
    so the body to soul no longer does engage.

    A moment of life; a livings spend
    for all life; to live, it must come to an end.

    after the last breath of the air we depend,
    this moment
    of knowing livings end.

    knowing indues of its own timely demise,
    death comes to all and never in disguise,

    a moment that no memory can contain,
    as time is at the last link of its chain,

    sub to conscience combine in a mind,
    conscience aware of time is made blind,
    an eternal moment that lasts for a flash,
    contains a life sfilled memory stash.

    the knowing will bring no fear from life,
    as life has lived and has no strife,

    the eternal moment, the tunnel of light,
    caused when deaths scythe delivers with smite,
    life's whole is contained within deaths winning
    remembered from
    an end to a beginning,

    a divine book so written,
    unique to each living,

    so live in love and start forgiving.

    Replies for this message:
    • Doris Cornago (12/11/2013 1:09:00 AM) Post reply

      This is a similar poem on what Edward Webb adroitly explored: All Alone In The Dark Sitting by the window out of reach I have been thinking of past sorrows and joys, and so many thing ... more

    • Doris Cornago (12/11/2013 1:05:00 AM) Post reply

      This is so gently said, almost a welcome to life's inevitable end. Thank you for this reminder not to waste another moment. You are a fine poet, the same keen eyes you give to your photographs are ref ... more

  • Edward Webb (12/7/2013 10:50:00 PM) Post reply

    Atom
    e.webb

    so small the world that is its home
    no science can exacting define,
    yet all around including me
    are made up of them deep down,

    properties do suggest that realities no just as found,
    So ponder the question in minds of great,
    of atoms common ground,

    At this level an, alien world, magic can unfurl,
    and particles behave in know to humans observe,

    a atom is as known, mainly void of parts,
    and then questions of how any solid is apart,

    simple energy attraction, is this crafted rule,
    + and -, attraction the cladded rule, opposites that sculpted all,

    then weak
    but universal; time, in now, as present
    gravity makes binding inset mass in crescent

    any that are reality made,
    bend the space on which it sits.
    Yet man is alone in aware that nothing else is it
    With all known man uniquely does own, what is made from such a power, ?
    a bomb to end all other, in earths possible final hour.

    We take in blind, through a measure, interpretation in mind,
    the factual patterns that we as man can find,

    Yet could we be the children to a universe sat forever,
    whom sat alone is aware of all, forever and forever,

    but wants to exist so set a plan to make a brain of great,
    who was so beautiful in its design
    so a eternal they could contemplate,

    and through a fact based theory made by minds of great assembly
    bring forward understanding of what all may be to date,

    such as E=mc2 is life laws formulae,
    yet the mind who crafted this,
    stated reality an illusive display,

    so to know an answer to a quest,
    that seems man does invest,

    almost seems as life is being given a conscious test

    live for life aware in your slot,
    as present now real and never can be forgot,

    the rest is made up in the mind of you,
    and morality is what makes me and you,
    so its quality is the thing I pursue, making reality as I want true





    e.webb

  • Edward Webb (12/7/2013 10:47:00 PM) Post reply

    as soon the mind to be as self,
    it doesn't stop to rest,
    but instead makes room for mass,
    until sleep that is,

    such small control in aware to be,
    the rest is but for your souls selection
    and she dictates as thoughts to thee,
    the way to heaven or hells direction,
    your tongue has no say on what she lets you see,
    we battle thorough of times one way course
    worry in youths eyes when we pass the fold no mind knows,
    but is the truth to life told,
    so forward to it we close
    yet when are bodies are aged and worn,
    by times cruel hand, we shall creep homeward bound,
    content in knowing what any alive knows,
    as sure as come nights dark cloak to chase away the day,
    weary flocks come in to a shepherds arm
    a time to indulge in deep repose,
    for never is time in dreams a fiend,
    and best to lands eternally housed,
    time as stood deceased shall be,
    for we can sleep to repair our selves,
    in sleep not unlimitedly,
    yet come times in night when bodies work is done,
    the minds work is just begun,
    she take's time and makes it hers
    and makes feeling free, and operates in imagined eyes,
    in places far away, yet none sits to be a truth,
    in dreams until so we awake,
    like natures beauty to wakened eyes, death is the only truth to be,

    the beauteous of the Rose to eyes,
    isn't seen when I with Daises lay,

    but used to garnish thy repose when old acquaintances remember thee,
    they rest but by thy side of grave,
    in woeful regret or past thoughts sincerely,
    until like the cresting waves obliged one day they lay with me

  • Edward Webb (12/7/2013 10:44:00 PM) Post reply

    Truth is but the point sat great,
    ultimate and above debate,

    should be what guides living souls,
    to their true enlightenment,

    truth sat before any lie,
    and will sit after the last lie dies,
    as mans mind is what made deny,
    truth in unconscious state alive,
    through presence of self aware through eyes,
    rarely see I- to -eye,

    life now aware must find again,
    by death and the journey felt within,

    living by a mortal lesson,
    souls are angels fallen from heaven,
    we are God all apart,
    and each is a divine fine art

    Eternity is are Death in essence,
    flying back in Deathly presence,
    when once more our wings spread out quintessence,
    and fly our souls back to the heavens

  • Doris Cornago (12/7/2013 4:03:00 PM) Post reply

    " Blazing Fingers" - Phoenix

    Touched your face as in a dream
    You make my waking hours seem
    Like a lucid dream, so real
    Are the emotions that haunt
    Tumultuous feelings that sends
    Me drifting, falling, circling
    As in a whirlwind traipsing...

    You cannot know pain and need
    Until you own up to them
    I see more sense in hurting
    If feeling them will make me
    See him again, and again
    A placid insensitive rogue
    Incessant with his taunts...

    The lovely melody is ending
    The radiance of his face
    Diminishing...Letting hands
    Linger longer, rolling over
    Highlights of my life etching
    He is the most cultured
    Person I know who feels my pain...

    He jumps about as one scalded
    He grimaces in my discomfort
    He scolds, he cries out loud
    Brown eyes staring in anger
    And yet, he makes me suffer less
    His blazing fingers to my frozen spirit
    Give me hope and eventual forgiveness...
    _______________

    Please criticize content, clarity, and style. Thank you.

  • Edward Webb (12/6/2013 10:09:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    if death were the end
    - e.webb

    If death were the end
    then why do care
    and give love that we solemnly share

    If death were the end
    then why be born,
    birth would be the beginning of death
    like a morning risen, just to set
    mendacious a thought
    for days way means they connect

    Like sunrise we appear in our window of time
    risen a nurture draped in loves shine
    as though warmed by the sunshine from a divine

    The thought of our own setting day
    can draw the heart to distraught a way

    so to sooth the torment of a self aware
    man thinks only
    for what Man does care,

    We live and gain riches
    yet gain nothing we can keep
    Objects aren't the reason loved ones shall weep

    What value can we place upon a persons soul
    This un measurable half,
    that makes people whole,
    A value of none if death were the end

    Golds worth the value placed on its head,
    Gold is worthless, when we are dead!

    value of values determines wealth,
    no life sees diamonds worth, more than health.

    We seek knowledge to reinforce fact,
    constructed on nothing more than a theoretical Act.
    all a wonder at
    if death were the end

    Theory's strength relies on credo,
    so putting meaning into a know, meaning man as one can grow,

    so if mans growth if from a pasts know
    this not so, were be it
    if death were the end

    Replies for this message:
    • Doris Cornago (12/7/2013 4:13:00 PM) Post reply

      Hi Edward: First impression - I think I like you as a person because of your direct, uncomplicated manner of talking. Also, I like you poem based on content - your observations are commonsense but ... more

  • Marianne Soher (12/5/2013 5:41:00 PM) Post reply

    TWO HOMELANDS
    The Avila mount arise
    Above the bright golden beaches
    Of my Jewish Tel Aviv
    And I no more can discern
    Whether the green is Galilean
    Or from Venezuelan plains

    The shrill humming of the streets
    Speckle my nomadic steps.
    I keep seeking synagogues
    Along the streets of Caracas
    And the little Christian churches
    Are so few in Tel Aviv

    Those are the same indigents
    And I walk the same street corners
    The same sun shines them all over
    And the same sweet morning dew
    Hints at a brand new day
    In Tel Aviv and Caracas

    In both markets I can sniff
    The condiments and fine herbs.
    The same scents of rosemary
    Sage and parsley, and cilantro
    Augurs hot soup in Caracas
    And Friday meal in Tel Aviv

    And those two twins are like daughters
    I often confound their names
    And when I melt into darkness,
    While into my dreams I merge
    Both the mountain and the sea
    My heart’s home has no clear name.

    When dark night invades my sunsets
    And my mornings become shadow
    My lingering motions find
    Their hidden spaces within
    And my aged body forgets
    The feverish pace of life

    My being becomes ever lesser
    And the planet ever smaller.
    My spaces then become wider
    Leaving behind all the bends,
    Bulges and gloomy cliffs
    Along the pathways of time

    And my twins forever coupled
    Clinging to my weary hands
    From both extremes of my life
    Keep tearing apart those loves
    - Far apart and yet so linked =
    That coined my life’s destinies.

    Oy! I do have two hearts
    Owned by a single soul

    And I have but one short life
    To fulfill my rival dreams!

  • Marianne Soher (12/5/2013 5:23:00 PM) Post reply

    Oersonnally I like the simplicity, the first flow of either poem or prose. Maybe it is not very proffessional, but I can feel when a kitterary creation has been " worked on" and then I loose interest. For me, a message should be the inspiration and an intense feeling about it carried in the poem. It would not occur to me to try and " correct" a poem and if I give an opinion about it, it would only be " what feelings it awoke and to what degree of intensity" .

  • Hanan Ahmed (11/30/2013 12:56:00 AM) Post reply

    L O S T

    They don't get it
    so she fakes it
    A frown on the inside
    A smile on the out
    Life's obstacles
    have her decisions
    On drought
    which way to go
    She doesn't know
    all she wants is for her
    Dreams to unfold

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