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Poetry Corner / For Annie
« Last post by Joe Piazzo on July 29, 2013, 06:11:52 PM »
Thank Heaven! the crisis-
The danger is past,
And the lingering illness
Is over at last-
And the fever called "Living"
Is conquered at last.

Sadly, I know
I am shorn of my strength,
And no muscle I move
As I lie at full length-
But no matter!-I feel
I am better at length.

And I rest so composedly,
Now, in my bed
That any beholder
Might fancy me dead-
Might start at beholding me,
Thinking me dead.

The moaning and groaning,
The sighing and sobbing,
Are quieted now,
With that horrible throbbing
At heart:-ah, that horrible,
Horrible throbbing!

The sickness-the nausea-
The pitiless pain-
Have ceased, with the fever
That maddened my brain-
With the fever called "Living"
That burned in my brain.

And oh! of all tortures
That torture the worst
Has abated-the terrible
Torture of thirst
For the naphthaline river
Of Passion accurst:-
I have drunk of a water
That quenches all thirst:-

Of a water that flows,
With a lullaby sound,
From a spring but a very few
Feet under ground-
From a cavern not very far
Down under ground.

And ah! let it never
Be foolishly said
That my room it is gloomy
And narrow my bed;
For man never slept
In a different bed-
And, to sleep, you must slumber
In just such a bed.

My tantalized spirit
Here blandly reposes,
Forgetting, or never
Regretting its roses-
Its old agitations
Of myrtles and roses:

For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies
A holier odor
About it, of pansies-
A rosemary odor,
Commingled with pansies-
With rue and the beautiful
Puritan pansies.

And so it lies happily,
Bathing in many
A dream of the truth
And the beauty of Annie-
Drowned in a bath
Of the tresses of Annie.

She tenderly kissed me,
She fondly caressed,
And then I fell gently
To sleep on her breast-
Deeply to sleep
From the heaven of her breast.

When the light was extinguished,
She covered me warm,
And she prayed to the angels
To keep me from harm-
To the queen of the angels
To shield me from harm.

And I lie so composedly,
Now, in my bed,
(Knowing her love)
That you fancy me dead-
And I rest so contentedly,
Now, in my bed,
(With her love at my breast)
That you fancy me dead-
That you shudder to look at me,
Thinking me dead.

But my heart it is brighter
Than all of the many
Stars in the sky,
For it sparkles with Annie-
It glows with the light
Of the love of my Annie-
With the thought of the light
Of the eyes of my Annie.
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Poetry Corner / Re: The Undertaking
« Last post by Joe Piazzo on June 19, 2013, 08:52:47 PM »
reply
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Poetry Corner / The Undertaking
« Last post by EAM on March 25, 2013, 04:14:20 AM »
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/undertaking/view/

Thomas Lynch, 58, is a writer and a poet. He's also a funeral director in a small town in central Michigan where he and his family have cared for the dead -- and the living -- for three generations. For the first time, Lynch agreed to allow cameras inside Lynch & Sons, giving FRONTLINE producers Miri Navasky and Karen O'Connor rare, behind-the-scenes access -- from funeral arrangements to the embalming room -- to the Lynches' world for this film, The Undertaking
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VIDEOS / Re: Lean On Me
« Last post by mikelrobert on February 09, 2013, 05:18:36 AM »
I like this song, We’re making it easy for everybody to listen to the music they love in every room of their home. To hear the songs they love, to discover new music they never knew existed, and to appreciate it all with the highest sound quality.Please visit our site  http://www.exclusiveaudio.org/  and see our products, share with your friends!!!
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Art & Music Therapy Discussion Board / Re: Music Therapy
« Last post by lilijohn on January 02, 2013, 12:20:12 AM »
I was so moved by Lenny's story
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Reverend Purdy's Place / Our Grieving Nation
« Last post by wapurdy on December 17, 2012, 09:49:59 AM »
What language can I borrow to express sadness like this sadness?  Indeed while all grief makes us feel that our words are inadequate, this grief renders us speechless.  Hope comes in the reaction from others, the families, neighbors, friends and strangers.  Hope comes in the feeling of unity of purpose -- to accompany the sorrowing, in the resolve to make our society safer.  Hope comes in the words of the President. 

Last night's memorial service broadcast from Newtown was viewed around the world.  And the world, dismayed at America's culture of violence, witnessed a contradiction: Clergy representing Christianity and Islam, Judaism and other faiths, joined together to give witness to grief and hope in a way that is unthinkable in many places, joined together to show unity, joined together to show the US at its best.

That may not seem like great comfort to those whose lives have been altered by gun violence, but it's a sign of hope nonetheless.  If we can feel the pain of one another and reach out to each other when tragedy strikes, surely we can see the necessity of preventing whatever grief can be stopped before it happens. 

     
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