Archive for the ‘dream’ Tag

~~ The Page ~~   5 comments

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Now is a quiet time

A place for verse

A space for rhyme.

What better way

In heart and mind

To end the day.

The day is ended

Work is done

Wrongs are mended.

The evening sky

In star filled dark

Asks not why

We search for love

‘neath silver moon

And stars above.

In this blissful peace

We find solace

(and) all else will cease.

The spirit inside

Finds its release

And no longer hides.

Words flow easily

The dream begins

And the page is filled.

cns-therese1

GOOD NIGHT EVERYBODY !

Posted January 18, 2017 by PapaBear in Experiences, Personal, Poetry, Uncategorized

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~ Eventide ~   3 comments

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Now is a quiet time

A place for verse

A space for rhyme.

What better way

In heart and mind

To end the day.

The day is ended

Work is done

Wrongs are mended.

The evening sky

In star filled dark

Asks not why

We search for love

‘neath silver moon

And stars above.

In this blissful peace

We find solace

(and) all else will cease.

The spirit inside

Finds its release

And no longer hides.

Words flow easily

The dream begins

And the page is filled.

*****

pen-and-inkwell[1]

GOOD NIGHT EVERYBODY !

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P1a

Posted August 1, 2016 by PapaBear in Personal, Poetry, Uncategorized

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Could I ?   4 comments

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The familiar strains of a melody

Drift lazily ‘round the room

Taking me off to the dream I see

And filling my mind like perfume

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Romantic turns as we glide past the door

Eyes locked in each other’s

Feet ne’er touch the floor

.

A smile, sweet caress

Then a soft, gentle kiss

Open a door to love’s tender bliss

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….Could I have this dance ?

Posted November 8, 2013 by PapaBear in A Little Romance, Experiences, Personal, Poetry

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Footsteps – Part 1   11 comments

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The Evening Mist

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It had been an overall difficult day.  Work was hard and neverending and, rather than join the after-work group at the bar he just wanted to get away…, from everyone, and everything.  After a short drive down the coast highway he stopped at a familiar beach, one he often frequented just for this purpose.  It was unimproved, without all the modern conveniences, and not too many people frequented its environs.  For him, it was like a private sanctuary, a retreat for a tired mind and an aching heart. He finished his beer, spread a blanket on the sand and stretched out to sleep.

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The red sun resigned itself to settling below the distant horizon.  Evening mist drifts silently, slowly, across  the water to the blanket where he lay dozing.  Out of the mist, like a shadow, a slyph glides to his side to caress his weary brow and kiss the eyes now closed in sleep.  He stirs, reaching, but doesn’t find the object of his quest, the subject of his dream.  She touches her lips to his, tenderly, and then drifts back into the mist, seemingly leaving no trace of her visit.  As quietly as it came, the mist drifts back out across the bay.

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It’s after midnight when he wakes, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  The night is absolutely clear, with a bright silvery moon hanging overhead.  As he carefully folds the blanket, he notices footprints leading from where he slept back into the water, all the while thinking of the strange dream he’d had.  Leave it be, he thought.  It was just a weird dream, nothing more.  Forget it!  …but what about those footprints…?  Nah, it was just a dream…

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or was it ???

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The Garden   6 comments

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Was working in the planting beds around the house this afternoon.  As I tended the flowers, pruned the shrubs, worked the soil, the analogy came to me that life is so very much like a garden.  In both, a seed is planted and after a period of germination or development, life emerges…, a shoot or plant from the germinated seed…, a human life from the impregnated egg.  Both have a growth cycle during which they pass through juvenile stages to maturity.  Both bloom or blossom, each in their own ways to continue their development and bear fruit.  The fruit then produces the seed for new plants or in the case of humans, a new life.

It’s the time from the bloom/blossom stage to the fruit bearing stage that both are most at risk.  During this period, with plants, we tend to fertilize, water, aereate, weed, dust/spray to prevent damage from insects and disease, and watch over them til the fruit is borne.  How is the human life less important than the life of a plant.  There are times, too often actually,  I’ve observed that, during that critical period from blossoming to bearing fruit, too many gardeners (parents) are “too busy” and not tending these human seeds they have planted and brought to life.  There are real losses when this happens, both to the children involved in these damaging relationships, and to the rest of the community around them.

The “gardeners” of this world must understand the responsibility they incur when they plant a seed and bring life into the world, be it plants, or more importantly, human.

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Ok, I’m finished rambling.  This was my monthly editorial page.  30 from the PapaBear. 
Good night, everybody !

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Life is a garden

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Live in it !

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Dream in it !

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Love it !

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Rapture   8 comments

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I come to her in anticipation and she welcomes me into her embrace.

The intimate warmth of her envelops me.

I feel the softness of her currents as she gently caresses me.

The scent of her flows through the mists of my conciousness as a heady perfume.

She tastes of life, and power, and serenity.

She cools my fevered brow with a gentle tenderness, and I am reborn in her loving arms.

As we part, I return to the shore to the soft warm sand to dry and dream of my lover…,

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The sea

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Quiet Time   3 comments

Now is a quiet time

A place for verse

A space for rhyme.

What better way

In heart and mind

To end the day.

The day is ended

Work is done

Wrongs are mended.

The evening sky

In star filled dark

Asks not why

We search for love

‘neath silver moon

And stars above.

In this blissful peace

We find solace

(and) all else will cease.

The spirit inside

Finds its release

And no longer hides.

Words flow easily

The dream begins

And the page is filled.

PJB

Posted August 17, 2012 by PapaBear in Poetry

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