Baby Footprint Poem - How to Make it?There is another unique way to memories every moments with our beloved baby beside using baby handprint crafts, its called baby footprint poem. In baby footprint poem, we combine our baby footprint with baby poem on a cute frame together with our baby photos. We could make our baby looks more special with this footprint poems for baby.How to make baby footprint poem?Are there steps by steps instructions to make it with ease?Yes, you could make your own baby footprint poem by your own hand and own creativity. But for your basic ideas, you could read the tips from Pamella Neely, she is mom who expert with baby footprint and handprint.She has wrote a really clear instructions to make baby footprint poems with 4 easy steps. The first step, find a baby poem or any of great poem and print it out. Second, prepare some craft supplies needed. Third, make the baby footprint with poem using her step by step instruction. Fourth, Finishing up. And you have got a
What is the best Elias Tobias love poem?
With Valentine’s Day coming up this month, the best Elias Tobias love
poem is up for grabs as readers of the poetry blog, World of Words by Elias
Tobias have an opportunity to vote for their choice. After all it is an election
year. Three poems are nominated by the Webmaster, [...]
For the last three days, few of readers were kind enough to write to advice that my Blogs third column was not aligned properly when viewed with their Internet Explorer. They tried to use Mozilla Firefox and the Blog display perfectly. Hence, the problem was only isolated to IE. I did the tests myself [...]
WOMAN’S POEM
Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for a man, who’s not a creep,
One who’s handsome, smart and strong.
One who wants to listen all day long,
One who thinks before he speaks,
One who’ll call, not wait for weeks.
I pray he’s gainfully employed,
When I spend his cash, won’t be annoyed.
Pulls out my chair and opens [...]
ThisispostedmainlybecauseDaveFoleyisacomedicalgenius.
Also a very underapriciated comedian, and haha this poem is so silly.
Hope you like it a little anyway. I suggest watching some other Dave Foley
videos posted here! There are some really good ones…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ysc_T3B9Ciw
Newsletter of the World of Words by Elias Tobias
Hope everyone had a great Christmas and a Happy New Year holiday. Mrs. Claus and I had a chance to visit relatives in several states after my big night of the year. Here is a picture of us.
We got a chance to catch-up with folks we [...]
I got this in an email today. I thought I would share it. The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,My daughter beside me, angelic in rest. Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,Transforming the yard to a winter delight.The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve. My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream. The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow. My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,And I crept to the door just to see who was near.Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight. A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty
Information from the World of Words by Elias Tobias
Cash!Cash!Cash!
Now that I have your attention, the World of Worlds by Elias Tobias has an offer that may be just as good as cash.
Do you have a favorite poem among the 140 or so poems written by Elias Tobias posted on this [...]
The newsletter for the World of Worlds by Elias Tobias
Welcome tot he World of Words by Elias Tobias, for those who have never been to this Web blog. For those who have dropped by earlier andnot returned, there have been several changes to note. Every month a Poem of the Month is posted, [...]
On Saturday night, my friend David LaMotte and I did a special performance at the Grey Eagle Music Hall in Asheville, NC. Though we’ve been friends since forever, we rarely perform together.
The show was totally sold out. And I’ll go ahead and let you know that you missed a riveting version of [...]
I saw Bob Dylan on VH1 last night,Gemini handsfluttering about his mouth.A long time ago,in what seemed my last year of youthI lingered at a party,listening to “Like a Rolling Stone”and then sailed for Southampton,6000 miles from home,seeking the shelter of Mars and Neptune:the muffled clangwithin a forge in the fog—a misty nimbus around each spark.(How did he seewhat we could barelyglimpse, a futurewith no prophet,least of all himself,merely a skilledand borderless Mercury)?Once, when Uranus floated like a beach ballpast my Neptune,I painted a sun on my wall—it was always rising, just abovethe level of the window sill;staring into its yellow acrylic corona,listening through headphones to “Love Minus Zero,”I was only 20 and thought the futurewould never get here.It seemed to be always receding,a highway 61 shimmeringin my rear view mirror,and out of the far backwards gaze:heat waves from a poetwho once wrote songswith Gemini fingerstrembling above the keys.
I'm not much of a poet, but its 12:25 am right now and I really want to post something compelling and thought-provoking. Something that really represents the human condition. So, here it is.A Depressing Poem of SortsBy GaryIm so depressed I could beat a cat,With my metallic baseball bat.I could walk down the street with pants on my head,And chew on a piece of poisonous lead.Im so depressed I could walk out on my job,And hang with my friend, special needs Bob.Life means nothing, to me anymoreBecause I found out my mom is a whore.
She wanders in and through meSo lonely, so lostShe seems to be a piece of meI hope to god she's not:"These scars you see run deep, my friend.They began long ago and I don't see an endThey're filled with sharp edges, sharp edges my friend."She trips and falls almost rhythmicallyHer steps are timid, unsteadyI reach to help her to her feetShe speaks softly and cautions me:"Can't you see I'm dangerous, my friend?I'm broken like glass, I break when i bendI'm filled with sharp edges, sharp edges my friend."Her scars are deep and dirtyHer eyes are empty, hollowSuddenly I too feel emptyI ask her if she's me:"I am not you and I'm not your friendI'm a remnant of scars that did not mend.I am your sharp edges, I am not your friend."She still wanders in and through meSo lonely, so lost...
Newsletter of the Worldof Words by Elias Tobias
It’s November already.
It has been good to see change of seasons with the different
colors of leaves in Indiana,and that’s different than the trees
along the Mexico border in Texas. Next will come colder
weather and snow. We’re getting ready with new coats
and getting our cars winterized like we did when [...]
Here's a short poem I just wrote and wanted to share.Nicked by NeptuneBreathe in, deeplyMumtaz incense, soft harmonium,herehere was the white fig tree blossom I broughtto lay on a blue altar carpet.nicked by Neptune21right thereI spun,saw lights, entered gold,didnt movebut sat straight in a soft yellow chairmy heart soaredexhale
For my love, for my beautiful wifeI love you more, so much more,in missing you, wanting you with mefeeling the distance melt in the soundof your voice, in my phone, my earWishing I could collapse time, spacepull you into my experiences,my memories, the conversations,sights, sounds, the newness of this daythe glowing sunset, the haze,the food at the buffet, the walking,the talking, the sharing of your story,our story, our blessings, our walkin faith, following our callsHow much more it would befor you to be here with meto share our lovein the telling of our story togetherBut we are on different roads this week.following our own paths. Soonwe will be together againOh how happy I will be!July 25, 2007 21:09
Britney Spears has put her fury with her mother into verse. The “Toxic” singer has been angry with Lynne Spears because she felt her mother pushed her into rehab. Now, Spears has written a bitter poem entitled Dear Mama and delivered it to her mother, according to the Star.
In the poem, Spears lamented that she didnt have a mom anymore and she couldnt imagine a mother doing what she did to her child, a source told the tab. Spears delivered the verse, along with legal papers, to her mother on June 28 on the set of kid sister, Jamie Lynns television show, Zoey 101. The two are reportedly also battling over the affections of Jamie Lynn.
Britney said, Here Momma, I just wanted to see your face, a source told Star. Then she got into her car and drove off. Lynne went into the trailer and broke down in tears. The CD reportedly contained recordings of phone conversations between Lynne Spears and Britney’s estranged husband, Kevin
I’m Still Here
Friend, please do not mourn for me.
I’m still here, though you don’t see me.
I’m right by your side each night and day
And within your heart I long to stay.
My body is gone but I’m always near.
I’m everything you feel, see or hear.
My spirit is free, but I’ll never depart.
As long as you keep [...]
Adopt a poem
When I write my poems,
the sentences of the letters
are set free to be read, felt
and with your experiences,
they can become your own.
When you adopt a poem,
though, dont put it in
your mind that I am
the poem. I am just
the author, and like
children, the poems have
a life of their own.
So here we are, the parental empty-nesters, sandwiched once more on the late spring calendar between Special Days for mothers and fathers. Our adult offspring (the term we substitute in recent years for the word "children" when describing our small but matured brood) live far away and it's easy to misplace even the memory of the satisfaction and anguish of having actively, presently, physically been someone's parent so long ago and far away.Now I will readily confess that I have a curmudgeonly and cynical opinion of these parental "holidays" as being manufactured for the bottom line of the likes of Hallmark Cards and Russell Stover Candies.But I will also admit that at times, to be remembered in the small way of a special phone call, a hand-written letter or a cross-country trip on these designated days of appreciation are, well, genuinely appreciated.Saved, Remembered, Found: a father's day poem-a toast (and cleverly veiled roast) for Father's Day 2004, received from our son, Nath
Links: None
This is the poem I mentioned in my last post, It is about studying the psychology of writers
The Story Of The Smarter Monkeys
Sometime way back when Before we had a historyA new and smarter monkey was bornA monkey who made toolsAnd fires at nightA monkey who could thinkA monkey who dreamsWhat a great tale it isSomeone should write it down
But for a long time they didn'tThey told stories insteadStories of livesDiscovering cycles of moons and sunsStories of their families Births and deathsTales of the journeysOf the myths of their tribes
Sometimes spirits and gods would Come to their camps And speak through the monkeysAbout where the world came fromAnd what made it workThe monkeys they spoke throughThey gave special namesThey called the female monkey A muse and The male a shaman
Their stories got betterAs they repeated themNight after nightThe tales grew taller when The fires grew brightAs one monkey told a great storyThe others picked up Wooden sticks and banged ou
The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,Transforming the yard to a winter delight.The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know, Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,And I crept to the door just to see who was near.Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.Alone in the
Abraham to kill him—
Emily Dickinson
1317
Abraham to kill him—
Was distinctly told—
Isaac was an Urchin—
Abraham was old—
Not a hesitation—
Abraham complied—
Flattered by Obeisance
Tyranny demurred—
Isaac—to his children
Lived to tell the tale—
Moral—with a Mastiff
Manners may prevail
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