Writing Unleashed with Laura M. Harkins

jazzagemusic.blogspot.com Ah! Sweet Mystery of Life By Rida Johnson Young AH! sweet mystery of life, at last I've found thee; Ah! I know at last the secret of it all; All the longing, striving, seeking, waiting, yearning, The burning hopes, the joys and idle tears that fall! For 'tis love, and love alone, the world is seeking; And it's love, and love alone, that can reply; 'Tis the answer, ti's the end and all of living, For it is love alone that rules for aye!

famouspoetsandpoems.com Dreamers Seigfried Sassoon 
 S OLDIERS are citizens of death's gray land, 
 Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows. 
 In the great hour of destiny they stand, 
Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows. 
 Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win 
Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives. 
 Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin 
 They think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives. 

 I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats, 
 And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain, 
 Dreaming of things they did with balls and bats, 
 And mocked by hopeless longing to regain 
 Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats, 
 And going to the office in the train. 



burnhamplan100.uchicago.edu On the Train By Harriet Monroe          I THE lady in front of me in the car, With little red coils close over her ears, Is talking with her friend; And the circle of ostrich foam around her hat, Curving over like a wave, Trembles with her little windy words. What she is saying, I wonder, That her feathers should tremble And the soft fur of her coat should slip down over her shoulders? Has her string of pearls been stolen, Or maybe her husband?            II He is drunk, that man -- Drunk as a lord, a lord of the bibulous past.             [sic] He shouts wittily from his end of the car to the man in the corner; He bows to me with chivalrous apologies. He philosophizes, plays with the wisdom of the ages, Flings off his rags, Displays his naked soul -- Athletic, beautiful, grotesque. In the good time ...

This poem reminds me of  my grandmother. Enjoy! niralon.wordpress.com Beautiful Hands By Emma M. H. Gates SUCH beautiful, beautiful hands, They're neither white nor small; And you, I know, would scarcely think That they were fair at all. I've looked on hands whose form and hue A sculptor's dream might be, Yet are these agéd wrinkled hands Most beautiful to me. Such beautiful, beautiful hands! Though heart were weary and sad These patient hands kept toiling on That the children might be glad. I almost weep when looking back To childhood's distant day! I think how these hands rested not When mine were at their play. Such beautiful, beautiful hands! They're growing feeble now, And time and pain have left their mark On hand, and heart and brow. Alas! alas! the nearing time-- And the sad, sad day to me, When 'neath the daisies, out of sight, These hands must folded be. But, oh! beyond the shadowy lands, Where all is bright and fair, I know full well these d...

rattle.com April is National Poetry Month . So, I thought I'd give  erasure poetry  a try. I chose an article about dating and race in The Philadelphia Inquirer .  Reading through the article, I underlined words that caught my eye. Then, I created a poem and title from my found words. Unfortunately, it was easier to type the words than scan the article. Enjoy! Talk About Dating First contact          Attitudes affect the messages Cut off from the real world          See the imbalance Healthy partners          Work together, no exclusions