The Thirst For Revenge (Inspired by Page 8 of Daughter of Fortune by Isabelle)

   THIRST FOR REVENGE

The streets where bodies are sprawled

The wild law-less murder of innocent people

Like a mad-woman running

naked in the streets

The WAR gave

birth to a hatred  that

the people soaked up

inside their hearts

like liquid spilled onto

carpet.

Blood spattered streets,

buildings with ceilings

caved in and a feeling of

little or no hope

 floating in the air.

There remains

a small glimmer

of peaceful thoughts

in the hearts

and souls of those

who are on the outside looking in thinking,

‘If only we can quell the thirst

for  revenge.

                         Andrea Taylor  2013

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New Poems Are On The Way…

New poems are going to be on their way next week! Glad to be continuing the quest to express my heart and soul!

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Page 8 Poems: Time/Steps by Charlotte Vale Allen – Not About Money

       Not About The Money        

Would he take the chance to

be a part of her life?

Would he close the door in her

face?

Had he already made up his mind?

Could he be persuaded

to open his heart?

She had only written the letter

to say “Do not forget me”.

This was not about the

money and it never would

be.

Once she was there on the doorstep

she was sure he would understand.

Then the penny she had been holding

for good luck would take her

right to the place she belonged.

She was there for his love.

After all she was his daughter.

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Page 8 Poems : Inspired By P.8 of Good Wives by Louisa May Alcott

                       The Tale Of  A Thief Who Would Steal No More

           A soul caught between

              worldly ambitions and  true love.

             A robber of hearts was he,

                      yet a nobler soul you could never meet.

                   This is the tale he confessed

                   to me of how his  ambitious nature had

                         tested his convictions and beliefs.

          Glimpses of a fair young maiden

   in a path of moonlight

                                by the river had turned him into a lover of one

                  heart, rather than a thief of many.

The young maiden not like

                     other world-lings seemed to glow and move

                  with ease through the river at night.

The one who told me this tale so desired

her as a companion

that he chose to relinquish

all other hearts he had

once acquired.

Only to find that her heart

was under lock and key to another.

For this young maiden belonged to

the River God who

was not pleased with

others gazing upon her.

So it was the thief laid out

a plan to steal her

away by the light of the day.

He took a net and held her

in it, carrying her away

from the water, from the river.

Soon the River Maiden was

torn inside, her heart

stopped beating, she

was barely alive.

He then realized that

she needed to return to

the river.

He was taking her back by the

moonlight

when the River God

 in anger dared to

pull him under.

The young maiden swam to

his rescue, lay him on the shore

and disappeared into the river.

Returning to his home

he vowed he would search no more

for hearts to be stolen.

Alive, yet his own heart barely beating

in his chest, his soul was undone

by the quest for the heart of just one.

When he passed into the shadows

His other friends and I took it upon

ourselves to lay him in the river

with the fair maiden

whom he loved.

Now when one visits the river

by night, they may

glimpse two glowing forms

in the moonlight

who are sure to be the maiden

and the thief of hearts who shared

his tale with me.

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P.8 Poems: From Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

Taking To The Stage

He defied his mother

by facing the audience

as he took to the stage.

He knew it was time

to stop the blame

and take

responsibility for

that which he had

not achieved as

he took to the stage.

This was the time

for him to remove the

mask freeing himself

from the past

as he took to the stage.

He was going to give a speech, the best

speech he would ever give

as he took to the stage.

He wondered suddenly,

‘What will the world think of me now, will

I hear laughs from them?’

Then he faced the audience,

the curtain was raised,

everyone in their place

and it all went smoothly.

As he took to the stage for

the season.

 Andrea Taylor  2013

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The Page 8 Poems – From page 8 of Spirits of The Ordinary By Kathleen Alcala

A DREAM IN PICTURES

 

Sleeping, in the silence of the

desert

animals grazed nearby

where the weeds

were growing despite

the dry sands.

Something

on the horizon

caught the

girl’s eye

as she awoke

a mare hobbled

toward her and

snorted

as if to call her name.

As she climbed

on the horse

with joy

adventure stirred

in her heart and mind.

The dream was just beginning

to unfold

the dreamer

waiting for the pictures

to flicker across the screen

of her mind.

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A New Source of Inspiration…

As I let you know in my last blog, I took part in some of the daily prompts for Poetry Month in April on Poetry Super Highway’s  Facebook page and I have to say my favorite one was the following:

Find the nearest book (of any kind). Turn to page 8. Use the first ten full words on the page in a poem. You may use them in any order, anywhere in the poem.

Submitted by Maggie Westland from Thousand Oaks, California.

Thanks to Maggie I have been inspired to begin a new project.  What I am going to do is take the books that I own and the ones I get out of the library, turn to page 8 and do this exercise.  Thanks Maggie and I can’t wait to begin….

A poem based on the first  the first ten words on page eight of The Outlander  by Gil Adamson  who is an amazing Canadian author by the way

                                                           The War Widow

Headed down to the market

to sell all her goods

the widow tensed up

as she moved through the

empty and war torn streets

it was not going to be easy

this she knew.

Her cart full of valuable trinkets

that would provide her with food.

She had an uneasy feeling

come over her and she

stopped in the track made

by a tank that looked new.

Dropping to her knees

she offered a prayer to

be saved.

When the tank didn’t move

she got up , walked away,

down to the market for

the widow

would live another day.

by Andrea Taylor – May 2013

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