ruth poetry

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princess ruth

Age: 124
Total Posts: 77
Points: 0

Location:
Canada, Canada
A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.

I will give you no more hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.

Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.

The Rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.

Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.

Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more. Come,

Clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the stone were one.

Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your
Brow and when you yet knew you still
Knew nothing.

The River sings and sings on.

There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.

So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.

Today, the first and last of every Tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the River.

Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River.

Each of you, descendant of some passed
On traveller, has been paid for.

You, who gave me my first name, you
Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of
Other seekers--desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.

You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot ...
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.

Here, root yourselves beside me.

I am the Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.

I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree
I am yours--your Passages have been paid.

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.

History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.

Give birth again
To the dream.

Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.

Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.

Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.

No less to Midas than the mendicant.

No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes, into
Your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.
Posted 25 Nov 2007

Posted 26 Nov 2007

ok i'will introduse my self
Posted 26 Nov 2007

we r living in canada(toronto)my name is ruth and thats my real name ok
                hmm... your self
Posted 26 Nov 2007


              i like that friendship poetries do ya like natasha
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Posted 27 Nov 2007



aww ya r queen of dream too my good friend
                    
                       
                           
Posted 27 Nov 2007

Posted 27 Nov 2007

This red roses fo ya LAMHA
Posted 27 Nov 2007

~CHANDNI~ says
what   is    this      this   is poetry???
Posted 27 Nov 2007

eshajam says
@
princess Ruth


plz if you want to post any pictures post
it in


Phix!/JOKES Box

or

Cool/ Classic/ Amazing/ Artistic Pictures

and if you want to talk with her you can
talk in PM

this is a poetry section

thanks..
Posted 27 Nov 2007

ya this is poetry sec ruth ya're new here so ya don' know.use private messenger for me
essayeez mol!
Posted 27 Nov 2007

oh oh mistake guys hmm.... im new member so i dont know rules but still i know
Posted 27 Nov 2007

Posted 27 Nov 2007

Posted 27 Nov 2007

I am a creature of darkness,
Walking the long cool night
I look in at other mens houses,
Stood well away from the light.
I see them dull from their working,
Sat in a chair half asleep,
And I'm glad I'm not them
Till it hurts me,
Glad I'm not them till I weep.

I am a creature of darkness,
Walking a rising field,
Moved by waves of feeling,
Waves to which I yield.
I'm lonely despite the shadows
Like fear that run by my side,
I'm lonely despite the darkness,
In which I am lost and can hide.

I'm lonely to share my vision
Of things I can see in the dark,
With someone who'll hear what I'm saying,
With someone who will hark
To the deep dark unuttered sayings,
The things that rise in the gut,
With a girl who's as lonely as I am
And just as much of a slut
Posted 27 Nov 2007

        THE FLOWING SMILE
Who Am I?
That is the question
I am forever
In each moment.
And I am the hunted,
For they chase me
With their snares,
And surround me
With their traps.
These strange creatures
Who call themselves people
Forever try to capture me.
They strive to imprison me
With their words.
They throw them at me
Like nets,
Telling me who I am
And what I must think.
They describe me and
Surround me with meanings
Which I twist and turn within
Writhing to escape.
Injecting words like death
With fears and terrors
To entrap me.
They put before me mirrors
Full of images the people
Tell me reflect myself,
Thereby trying to hold
Fragments of my spirit
As if in magic spell.
And if one tiny part of me is
Held they dance away
Singing – Now I have you.
Now I have caught you
And you are mine
To do my will,
To seek what only I
Can give or sell to you.
For you have lost your
Soul to me.
See, here in this bottle
Is your beauty
That you so long for
And must pay me to regain.
Here is your confidence
That I captured in my
Mesh of words
That only I can give you back –
For a price.
Your love is mine,
And only with me
Can you regain it.
And here is the secret of
Your very existence
That I took from you
In the hunt.
And now here I stand
Like a holy light
That you surround
Like flies seeking
The honey of your very life.
And I, looking at the people
Singing their siren’s songs,
knowing myself beyond their traps
Undress, until, naked, I am free
Of their false images,
Their clever snare of words.
As a living flame
I burn away their trickery
That tries to make of me
A searcher of myself – a seeker
Of my own identity.
And here, formless
Beyond words and images
I exist in the
Immensity of a flowing smile.
Posted 27 Nov 2007

             THE PRINCESS                             Is this what it’s like to be with a princess?
To stand near to someone,
To be sometimes touched by fingertips,
To look into the shining eyes of a woman
Apparently so innocent of the world,
With so much quality,
That I experience a constant delight?

Of course I have loved before,
But with my Princess the love
Is for a beautiful person
Who can be looked at,
But not owned,
Not picked up and held.
Yet the reserve,
The slight remove,
Is part of the continuing pleasure
Of shared laughter,
Of a special wonder
In watching her move and speak.

Strange though that
Princess is an ordinary woman,
And these special feelings
Take me to a world
I have never known before.
It is a world of royalty and courtiers.
It is a place where the time
Is not crowded with duty,
And people can be together without hurry.

Though you may not guess it,
This is how I am with you,
As if in some past age in which
I am a special companion to you –
And you – well,
You are a princess I love and serve.

Strange, isn’t it,
That there are no kings and queens here?
Posted 27 Nov 2007

              Butterflies
I guess they are signs of change,
Those butterflies in the wind.
Who would think such fragility,
Such anxious fluttering
And felt frailty,
Can, in the season,
Fly miles in the thousands
To find their needs?
And this is the season.
The winds change.
There is warmth
Touching us.
And the butterflies
Take wing
For new homes.
So my heart takes wing too,
Anxious for their success
In the winds of fortune
And the changing seasons.
Fragile as they are,
Life in them knows
The way.
Posted 27 Nov 2007

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