My Poetry Love In The Wind Magenta Roses All God's Children Shadows of Life Your Soul's Song Indigo Whispers Missing You A Windy Day The Love Nest Hearts Of Glass My Poetry Lura's Song My Man Lover's Kiss A Marriage My Dream Loving You Tender Kisses Amber Caress The Tickle Dance My Love, My Light If This Is Love Magical Journey Our Love The Lover's Sky Why Should You Be Gone The Night Sky My Heart A Safe Place An Old Sweetheart Emerald Wine To The Planets Walk Together Sweet The Birds Sing My Love Two Hearts The Ocean My Hat If Only I Could Tell You God's Bounty Iris Red Moon Rising Bide With Me Frozen In Time My Love, My Light 2 The Seasons Crashes My Model Sister Deep Dreams and Slumber Austin Happiness Heaven Is Found Gossamer Lace To My Love We Belong Together Of Manners Soft Whispered Emotions Upstream To Heidelberg New-found Romance To Paradize Tell Me The Rock And The Falcon My Christmas Home Christmas Carna's Tomorrow My Oriental Poetry

Lura's Poetry Palace "Life is the art that you make." NEW! Join The Poetry Palace Community! Arcanum Cafe Author's Den Click here for Helpful Links Two of My Favorite Poems! Love's Philosophy The fountains mingle with the river, And the rivers with the ocean; The winds of heaven mix forever, With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a love divine In one another's being mingle;- Why not I with thine? See! the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another; No sister flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea;- What are all these kissings worth, If thou kiss not me? ~*Percy Bysse Shelley*~ How Do I Love Thee? How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. ~*Elizabeth Barrett Browning*~ New Poetry This section is always in progress! Options

A man is only half himself. The other half is his expression. Adequate expression is rare. Every man should be an artist, that he could report in conversation what had befallen him. The poet is the person in whom these powers are in balance.

The Universe has three children, born at one time, which reappear, under different names, in every system of thought, whether they be called cause,operation and effect; or, more poetically, Jove, Pluto, Neptune; or theologically, the Father, the Spirit, and the Son; but which we call here, the Knower, the Doer, and the Sayer. These stand respectively for the love of truth, for the love of good, and for the love of beauty. These three are equal.

The poet is the sayer, the namer and represents beauty. His is a subtle mind, whose head appears to be a music box of delicate tunes and rhythms, and whose skill and command of language are to be praised.

It is not metres, but a metre-making argument, that makes a poem, a thought so passionate and alive, that, like the spirit of a plant or an animal, it has an architecture of it's own, and adorns nature with a new thing. Nature offers all her creations as a picture language to a poet.

Poets use nature with such simplicity. It does not need that a poem should be long. A poet can articulate a noun and a verb, giving them a power which makes their old use forgotten, with speach flowing with nature. The poet is the namer, or language-maker, naming things sometimes after their appearance, sometimes of their essence and giving to every one it's own name and not another's. The poet names the thing because he sees it, or comes one step nearer to it than any other.

The poet has great imagination, which is a very high sort of seeing which does not come by study, but by the intellect being where and what it sees. Sublime vision comes to the pure and simple soul of a poet in a clean and chaste body. Imagination intoxicates the poet, a beholder of emotion and joy. We love the poet, the inventor, who in any form, whether in an ode, or in an action, or in looks and behavior, yeilds us a new thought. He unlocks our chains, and admits us to a new scene.

The poet pours out verses in every solitude. Most of the things he says are conventional, no doubt; but by and by he says soemthing which is original and beautiful. The necessity of speech and song; these throbs and heart-beatings that come from the poet. Nothing walks, or creeps, or grows, or exists, which must not in turn arise and walk before him as exponent of his meaning.

A poet has the whole land for his park and manor; the sea for his bath and navigation, the woods and the rivers he owns. Whenever snow falls, or water flows, or birds fly, wherever the blue heaven is hung by clouds, or sown with stars, wherever there is danger and awe, and love, there is beauty, plenteous as rain, and though he should walk the world over, he would not be able to find a condition inopportune or ignoble.

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