I would ike to dedicate this poem to KwansPrayerWarrior for her friend's 1st year death anniversary.....i am so sorry for your loss Kwan...

I started out my journey
A destination clear in mind
Adventure, success and excitement
Was what I was sure to find

My travels took me far and wide
The progress though sometimes slow
And the longer it took to   more...move ahead
The larger my baggage would grow

With every challenge and obstacle
The harder I would struggle and strive
I came to expect the hardships
And my expectation diminished my drive

I then found myself at an impasse
Unable to move ahead
But it wasn't the path that blocked my way
It was my baggage that had stopped me dead

The road ahead was unobstructed
It was my beliefs that held me back
If I would only drop my baggage
I would find myself on track

I had to make a decision
How would I live my life?
As an easy going experience
Or one full of pain and strife?

So I repacked my belongings
And left behind what I didn't have to take
The choice was rather simple
Once I understood it was mine to make

I now move ahead unencumbered
It's not necessary to travel through Hell
For life is simply a choice my friend
Just let go and choose well


This poem suppose to be a collaboration from different members of livevideo members like Thebrownduke, lafwthme, Buliwif, missmercy87, punkr0ckpr1nc3ss, anotherbrianne and others but unfortunately I didn't able to have enough time for the preparation of the sound bytes they suppose to give me so instead, I put my voice for the whole poem... hope you like it.  less

This is my mantra.
Generally, the poem is interpreted as a feminist call for women to rediscover their authentic selves outside the roles given them by a largely patriarchal society.

However, I put it in   more...the context of my own life, as someone who basically lives in a reflective stance, always willing to mine the past for treasures, while choosing not to live there.

While I appreciate and understand Rich's intent, I don't see the meaning as being valuable only to women.

It's for anyone who's not afraid of the darkness, and can see the book of myths for what it is.

<b>Diving Into The Wreck</b>
by Adrienne Rich

<i>First having read the book of myths,
and loaded the camera,
and checked the edge of the knife-blade,
I put on
the body-armor of black rubber
the absurd flippers
the grave and awkward mask.
I am having to do this
not like Cousteau with his
assiduous team
aboard the sun-flooded schooner
but here alone.

There is a ladder.
The ladder is always there
hanging innocently
close to the side of the schooner.
We know what it is for,
we who have used it.
Otherwise
it is a piece of maritime floss
some sundry equipment.

I go down.
Rung after rung and still
the oxygen immerses me
the blue light
the clear atoms
of our human air.
I go down.
My flippers cripple me,
I crawl like an insect down the ladder
and there is no one
to tell me when the ocean
will begin.

First the air is blue and then
it is bluer and then green and then
black I am blacking out and yet
my mask is powerful
it pumps my blood with power
the sea is another story
the sea is not a question of power
I have to learn alone
to turn my body without force
in the deep element.

And now: it is easy to forget
what I came for
among so many who have always
lived here
swaying their crenellated fans
between the reefs
and besides
you breathe differently down here.

I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail.
I stroke the beam of my lamp
slowly along the flank
of something more permanent
than fish or weed

the thing I came for:
the wreck and not the story of the wreck
the thing itself and not the myth
the drowned face always staring
toward the sun
the evidence of damage
worn by salt and away into this threadbare beauty
the ribs of the disaster
curving their assertion
among the tentative haunters.

This is the place.
And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair
streams black, the merman in his armored body.
We circle silently
about the wreck
we dive into the hold.
I am she: I am he

whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes
whose breasts still bear the stress
whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies
obscurely inside barrels
half-wedged and left to rot
we are the half-destroyed instruments
that once held to a course
the water-eaten log
the fouled compass

We are, I am, you are
by cowardice or courage
the one who find our way
back to this scene
carrying a knife, a camera
a book of myths
in which
our names do not appear.</i>  less

a simple poem.. i always tell this poem to myself... to remind me of what my goals and dreams in life...

Hangin' poolside w/a crush!! A beautiful day needs a poem to match...I'll save the political/social pieces for another day......take care!!

<b>Transplanted Eclipse:</b> 1st poem in the series.
"Cellulite Tongue" is not a video diary but a digital poem that employs jolting linguistic imagery to capture the emotional intensity   more...of its subject matter. Many folks use this medium as a means to Vlog about their daily life (quite brilliantly!); however, this is exclusively an endeavor of artistic expression regarding the misuse of language. There is no need to concern yourself about my emotional wellbeing. I am fine! :~) Please enjoy, reflect, or respond if it moves you to do so--and thank you for watching!  less

poem digital = poeital

Here's a poem that I wrote for a special substitute boyfriend I've come to know very well latley, lol!
xo,
Leah

To The One You Love

<b>Transplanted Eclipse:</b> 2nd poem in the series.
Usage Note: The pronunciation of banal is not settled among educated speakers of American English. Sixty years ago, H.W. Fowler recommended   more...the pronunciation (bnl, rhyming with panel), but this pronunciation is now regarded as recondite by most Americans: no member of the Usage Panel prefers this pronunciation. In our 2001 survey, (bnl) is preferred by 58 percent of the Usage Panel, (bnl) by 28 percent, and (b-näl) by 13 percent (this pronunciation is more common in British English). Some Panelists admit to being so vexed by the problem that they tend to avoid the word in conversation. Speakers can perhaps take comfort in knowing that any one of the last three pronunciations will have the support of a substantial minority and that none of them is incorrect. When several pronunciations of a word are widely used, there is really no right or wrong one.  less

An unhappy vampire searches for divinity in an oak tree.

I felt bad about this whole Anjelica not liking Brady thing that I wrote a poem for her.
xo
Leah

A poem to get people thinking

For the man I love. Love and life isn't always easy, but love, if you hold it close to your heart, continues to grow and deepen and take on new meanings.... Have you said, "I love you" today?

A video I put together in tribute to our troops on YT. I'm thinking about how to say my piece on the Cold War, and thought this should go up first.

the salve (rebirth)
d-oem

People can be dumb

I wrote a poem for my senior research project

A tribute to art

This has a great message

Wishes for a happy spring from Dickens123! Mozart Divertimento # 11

a love poem...

Sweet Ignorance