Archive for March 30th, 2012|Daily archive page

In Love on March 30, 2012 at 3:26 pm

We are needed somewhere,by lot of..go there and be gentle,give Your hand/heart and help when needed.Be blessed my friends

Rebecca Mott

Often as an exited woman, I am told and praised for my courage.

My natural reaction is to deny it – to run away from the words – to reject that it is courage, but just some kind of force to survive, surrounded by pure luck that I was never killed.

But that is my fear doing the talking, the fear of what I had to be and do to get to where I now.

The fear of knowing I do my work through trauma – trauma that is body memories of sickness and pain, trauma that make rest very hard, trauma that replays the reason I know what I write in this blog.

That is courage.

To write to the pain, write to the reality of being tortured, write to the grief, write to find lost memory.

I know I am not alone in this courage – it is…

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In Love on March 30, 2012 at 2:55 pm

Thank You for amazing blessed

From A Humble Servant's Heart

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In Love on March 30, 2012 at 2:15 pm

writer’s thoughts..dreaming or stay awake.That is the qouestion

Greatpoetrymhf's Weblog

The writer huddled in the cold,

afraid to sleep lest the thoughts and courage escape her.

The woman who was telling the story

to the writer would soon want to see the first draft. 

The sex energy is huge.

It attracted all the slugs in out of the rain.

The writer huddled in the cold,

knowing her passion in writing the book would keep her warm

that  the cold would keep her focused.

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In Love on March 30, 2012 at 2:11 pm

Amazing poem I found out today on the web journey.

The Lost Journals

The savages dance in the shadows
the savages dance in the shade
of the jungle and the forest
around the fire we’ve made.

Their shadows go a’leaping
through the shadow and brush
and they dance in a circle
breathlessly we breath in a rush.

Memories come a’creepin’
within the night’s shade
triggered by the dancing shadows
of the savages in the shade.

Whisper words in my ear
words that comfort and bind,
whisper words to the shadows
of the savages in my mind.

Look at them dancing there, whirling around the fire
kicking their legs and tossing their hair
as the flames swirl even higher.
I can’t make out their forms in the darkness there;
their silhouettes against the fire
but their shadows betray
their true forms and desire . . .

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