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" Complete Life "     Love is not always a broken heart, when you meet, Two Hearts in Love will make your life so complete. A sharing of a Rose, a kiss, a hug, your feelings will be, Those true feelings of love, in life that you see. All days shared, as father time enters ones heart, Remembering all love shared from life's early start. Even passing of loved ones and days that were sad, Some ups and downs through life that you had. That special bond of love, those days will pass by, Sharing together in support when both you may cry. Those loving memories you gathered through time, Two hearts in Love, completes your life you will find.   By John E. Mingo Sr   Ramu Garg

 

 

 

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if madeline was a...chihuahua

if madeline was a...chihuahua, originally uploaded by daniellehampton.

genius

for as long as i can remember really loving literature, i have loved sylvia plath. throughout my undergrad career as an english lit major, i researched her like crazy. my coming-of-age seemed to find a new connection in every poem the woman wrote. to this day i find something new everytime i read one of her poems, and i am taken back to being 16 (oh the angst-filled teen years) and feeling like this women, this crazy women, really got me. granted, she did stick her head in an oven to kill herself, but as a teenager who really reveled in feeing depressed (it's when i wrote the best), sylvia plath was my it girl. and she still really does it for me. there's a poem for every season, every mood. here is one of my favorites. ladies just try not to feel depressed about growing older. old age rising like a terrible fish from the mirror everyday? yikes. this one is called mirror.

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.