An Awful Big Rabbit

Back in 1969 during the height of the Vietnam War, we lost a gentle loving person who also happened to be our medic. Seven months earlier when he first reported into the platoon we called him Doc, but after a short period someone dubbed him 'Bones' in honor of Doctor McCoy of the famed Star Trek Television series. The name stuck.Bones was a conscientious objector. For those not familiar with military jargon, a conscientious objector is a person who refuses to carry a weapon, refuses to kill, but still wants to serve their country. Consequently, the only thing Bones carried that even resembled a weapon was a hunting knife that he used to cut bandages, or in worse cases, clothing from the wounded.Of course Bones carried other things, like a medical bag that probably weighed fifty pounds and most of the time he carried at least half a dozen canteens that he used to wash wounds. These canteens invariably found their way to members of the platoon who didn't know how to properly conserve their own water.As any good Infantryman knows the three people who usually gravitate together and become the tightest group in the platoon are the medic, radio operator (RTO), and the platoon leader. Therefore, being the platoon leader, it was preordained that Bones and I should become very close friends.One evening before going out on a particularly dangerous ambush patrol, I noticed that Bones was bowing his head in prayer, which he often did, but he was also talking to someone next to him.This struck me as rather strange because, as hard as I searched I could see no one next to him. When he finished and noticed that I had been silently watching, he offered an explanation."Some years ago I had difficulty praying," he stated. "I could talk the words and for the most part mean them, but I had difficulty visualizing to whom I was praying. I simply could not visualize so powerful a being as our Creator."Our minister told me to think of God sitting next to me when I prayed, however, I still could not do it because I could not visualize so perfect a being as God.""You're not gonna believe this," he smiled, "but I finally realized that I did not have to visualize an ancient gray bearded man overflowing with wisdom, or a perfect Christ like the great masters painted. I was taught to believe that God lived in everything and everyone, that his presence is omnipotent, everywhere.""So, what did you settle on?" My question to him was."I see a happy, soft, cuddly little bunny rabbit," he replied, "the same one who turned my life completely around.""You see," he continued, "when I was in my early teens, like most youngsters, I didn't give much thought to what I did or the consequences of my actions. One day I decided to go hunting, to get a big fat rabbit for our dinner. Naturally we didn't need it, the supermarket shelves were overflowing with meat of all kinds and we were a well-off family. Even the thought of eating a wild, once living thing, sort of turned my stomach.""But, I was successful in my hunting. I pumped at least a dozen small rounds into that soft ball of fur from no more than ten feet away. I blew that young bunny all to smithereens.""However, when I saw its bloody, mutilated, stone cold body; then suddenly aware of what I had done, I cried and cried so much I didn't think I would ever stop. Right then and there I swore to God that I would never intentionally kill a living thing again so long as I lived and I pray to keep that vow.""I talk to that invisible bunny rabbit next to me because I know God has the power to undo the horrible thing I did and in that little bunny lies the eternal spirit of the Creator."Bones never made it back from Vietnam. This gentle person was killed the same day I was medically evacuated for severe wounds. I guess we were not all devils in baggy pants, there were some lambs among the wolves. But, I often think of him and his story and have tried to visualize God next to me when I pray.Maybe that's why when my wife catches me talking to myself and asks, "Whom are you talking to?"My reply is - a mighty big rabbit!

By Gene Ladnier [ 11/05/2006 ][ viewed 188 times ]

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Cold War In A Country Kitchen

Back when I was a young whippersnapper, our refrigerator (then called an icebox) remained empty most of the time. I reckon that's because granny couldn't afford to pay the iceman and what went into the icebox had to be consumed rather quickly before it spoiled. But, with the advent of the modern refrigerator, empty is certainly a word of the past.One of my implied chores around our house (meaning that I'm just about the only one who bravely undertakes the chore) is cleaning out our refrigerator. This is a considerable undertaking when you take into account that it is not done very often and that my family is a certified den of pack rats.My wife inherited these survival traits from her mother and passed them down to our daughters. The reason I use the word survival is the fact that quite often I find things in the refrigerator that must have been stashed there in fear of a coming famine, a nuclear holocaust, or in anticipation of the end of civilization as we know it.For example; a bowl with half a spoon of peas. A bag with one old scrawny carrot. A jelly jar with less than a teaspoon of jelly in it. A butter dish with enough butter sticking to the sides for one good scrape. A pack of bologna with one very lonely slice in it. I am certain these items were stored there to hold starvation from our door in a just-in-case situation.During my latest mission to clean the fridge, which had to be done before the holiday season so room could be made for a shopping binge to get all those goodies for our holiday feasts, I ran into some remarkable things.In the freezer I discovered one fossilized pork chop, two bagels the consistency of ceramic pottery, a half melted tub of ice-cream that I remembered buying for Memorial Day eight months earlier, a spoon (with nothing on it), and some odds and ends I simply could not identify. I was lucky this time, I've previously found a pair of eyeglasses, set of earrings, a used Band-Aid, a collapsed tennis ball, a new writing pen, A TV Remote (That's where it went), a golf ball (I don't golf) and other unusual items in the freezer.Moving down to the more difficult mission of the refrigerator in general, which was so filled, I couldn't see the shelves or back walls, I strengthened my resolve and charged ahead like a good trooper.Some items I removed I cannot even attempt to describe. There was one jar in the back, the label long since gone, which contained a pungent growth of mildew, enough to make a ton of penicillin.My wife must have been collecting pickle jars for I removed over half a dozen of them of all sizes. The reason I say jars is that most of them were either empty or contained one lonely pickle or part of a pickle or what may have once been a pickle.The salad crisper was the hardest job. I don't know why they call it the crisper because the things I found there were far beyond any description of crisp. In fact, just about everything I found I know I had seen in Vietnam for it looked as if it had been sprayed with Agent Orange, all slimy and falling apart.By the time I finished my odious chore, both the dishwasher and sink was full of empty dishes and I had filled two large garbage bags with empty jars, boxes, and unidentifiable items. Some of the left-overs (I think they were once edible) I gave to the pets, while other items not even the animals were brave enough to eat.When my wife came home to see a sparkling clean and 'empty' refrigerator, her first remark was, "did you throw away that creme cheese I was saving?"What creme cheese? I remember a small block of something that resembled a hairy bar of soap, but no creme cheese! I was afraid for a second she was going to ask what happened to that piece of wedding cake I discarded. I couldn't even remember which wedding it came from.Could it have been ours from 25 years ago?

By Gene Ladnier [ 11/05/2006 ][ viewed 210 times ]

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Am I that Forgotten Soldier

Am I that forgotten soldierThere is a graveyard both far and near where a forgotten soldier lies. No flowers there are sprinkled nor tears from mourners eyes.For there I stood not long ago in remembrance of these brave, when suddenly I heard a weeping voice speaking softly from the grave."Did we win our freedom that we fought so hard to achieve? Do we still respect that tiny flag above that empty sleeve?""I died in youth without a chance to see my children play. Yet, I prayed to God with all might to help me through that day.""My son," God said, oer the weeping winds and gently swaying field, "The price you paid your life for theirs, this I cannot yield.""But it's not fair!" he cried in vain, "I did not volunteer. My name was picked by lot and chance, misfortune brought me here.""Freedom is a costly thing to be cherished, to be wanted, to be won. The price of freedom is paid by some so others may live in peace. You, my son, have paid that price, this graveyard is your lease.""But, my people have forgotten me Lord, of us their memories wan. Beneath this cross of brilliant white, I feel I have died in vain.""So long as one remembers you and what you did for all, so long as freedom stands and peace abides your memory I will recall.""Upon the field of duty a terrible price is always paid.""You are not alone on this hallowed ground, my son you're not alone. Throughout the history of your land, brave acts and deeds were sown. To your left and to your right, in front, behind and near, the spirits of your fallen friends, lie sleeping but all can hear.""But my Lord is it not fair, for those who never bled, to live in bliss and harmony and a tear they never shed?""The loss you paid your eager youth your children never born, your hopes and dreams and everything, through you their price was born."And my Lord, of those who live for those veterans' whose memories weep, will you give them peace of mind in their final rest and sleep?""Just as you, they've earned that right and their minds I will put to rest, their tears I will dry and their hearts I will heal as I hold them to my chest."As I listened to these gentle words which filled my eyes with tears, my sight beheld a shining flag that's flown throughout the years.Each star that shined was multiplied at least ten thousand fold, to embrace the lives of those who died, whose lives that God now holds.And as the voice continued a feeling of pride and honor spread, for here is what the weeping spirit of that forgotten soldier said."I am that forgotten soldier and maybe I died in vain. But if I were alive, and my country called, I'd do it all again.""For I believe in America, for the rights of all free men, so If I were alive, for freedom, I'd do it all again. Yes! I would stand up, and take my place, among the soldiers of the free, I would die again for America, for the land of liberty."Have you hugged a Veteran lately?

By Gene Ladnier [ 11/05/2006 ][ viewed 291 times ]

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Our Fathers Place

Our Father's PlaceThere is a house upon yon hill they call our father's place, the windows there are broken, the lawn a sad disgrace.Was there we grew for many years, our lives and memories blessed, was there our father lived and died, and was sadly put to rest. Uncle John and cousin Jim are buried by his side, with the tears and prayers that momma shed, but vainly tried to hide.In the house upon yon hill, my Dee and I were wed, the day was bright and flowers bloomed, and tears of joy were shed.Our lives were blessed with little Bill, with Mary and baby Sue, our home we built with loving care, our fortune and family grew.In the house upon yon hill, young Bill made up his mind, to devote his life to church and God, to work for all mankind.For many months and years he toiled, to seek the living word, to learn the things God meant for us, though many seldom heard.In the house upon yon hill, Bill took God as his guide, and as he stood before the crowd, my eyes were filled with pride.It was God's will, he said one day, that he leave us for a while, to spread the hopes and dreams and love, and the words of the young Christ child.This boy of God, my child of peace, marched boldly off to war, not with a gun or deadly thing, but with his bible at the fore.In the house upon yon hill, we laid young Bill to rest, he went to war and in God's hands, he passed his final test.We were told by men in shiny brass what happened to our Bill, a man of God, a man of love, whose memory we cannot fill.A terrible fight, and many men, upon that field of honor lay, their cries of fear and prayers to God, our son did hear that day.No one to them, could make their way, for the enemy was all about, but our Bill walked boldly onto the field, 'In the name of God!' They heard him shout.In the house upon yon hill, were a hundred men that day, they came to show their love of Bill, and to his family say.When we were down, and prayed to God, to spare us from the grave, it was your Bill who heard his voice, and through him us God did save.For across that field of death and fear, with a bible in his hand, walked our Bill with the light of God, and he talked with every man.Our foes did flee this blessed sight, but of one we did not know, who aimed his gun and in his sight, he laid our Billy low.There sets a house upon yon hill they call our father's place, for in this lonely house of God, we rest our final case.God made men and men make war, and the graves are filled with tears, and the weeping voices of the slain, have cried throughout the years."Together we weep, my enemy and I, but not for ourselves you know, we weep for peace among all mankind, that we pray someday will grow."

By Gene Ladnier [ 18/05/2006 ][ viewed 288 times ]

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We fought the bloody British

We fought the bloody British 'til our ranks were mighty thinOn July fourth of 76 we signed a document, we scratched our names and made our marks and to the King it went.We took our time and made it known that our resolve would stand, for life and freedom and for liberty, in our newly chosen land.We called upon the bravest men throughout the Colonies, to drop their plows their hoes and rakes, and head into the trees.For many days and many years, we fought the British red, we gave our lives, our homes, our land, and mostly went unfed.Oh! We fought the bloody British 'til our ranks were mighty thin, then we got some more recruits and started in again. We fought with knives and possum guns, with our fists and all our might, 'til the British threw away their arms and then refused to fight.We lost our homes and families and our fortunes disappeared, we marched all day and fought all night, but the British only sneered.We lived off wormy fat back and biscuits that were stale, but when the British fought us, we sent them straight to - well.A friend of mine name Hancock and one called Henry Lee, roused the men with words and deeds, of a land they called the free.Of the many battles fought very little did we win, but the British must admit, we fought hard 'til the end.Oh! We fought the bloody British 'til our ranks were mighty thin, then we got some more recruits and started in again. We fought with knives and possum guns, with our fists and all our might, 'til the British threw away their arms and then refused to fight.At a place called Valley Forge we thought the end was near, the British troops were too well trained, it seemed they had no fear.In perfect lines and perfect step they advanced across the field, and when they opened up at us, our ranks began to yield.But from our left and from our right, even from our rear, marched an army dressed in blue and the men began to cheer."Those, by God, are Regulars," our rugged Captain said, as they marched on to the open field to face the bloody red.From that day on until the end we pushed the redcoats back, across the fields and through the towns, to a place called Hackensack.The British ran for many miles and made it to the sea, then boarded their ships at Yorktown, and left us tired but free.Oh! We fought the bloody British 'til our ranks were mighty thin, then we got some more recruits and started in again. We fought with knives and possum guns, with our fists and all our might, 'til the British threw away their arms and then refused to fight.And now the war is over and the story can be told, about the Yankee soldiers and the mighty men of old. The British are our friends today but a story they will never tell, of the day they fought the stubborn Yanks, who sent them straight to - well.For those who fought and those who died and live in memory, we offer praise and give our thanks, to you who made us free.

By Gene Ladnier [ 01/06/2006 ][ viewed 364 times ]

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Oh say can you see by the dawn's eary light

This is what an old Rebel from Mississippi would say about today's fight against terror:Yes sir, I fought with Stonewall, and faced the fight with Bobby Lee; but now this Union's gone to war, make one more gun for me!I didn't shrink from Sherman, as he galloped to the sea, but now this Union's gone to war, make one more gun for me!I was with'em at Manassas, the bully boys in gray, I heard the thunder roaring, round Stonewall Jackson's way. And many times this sword of mine, has blazed the way for Bobby Lee, but now this Union's gone to war, make one more gun for me!I'm not so full of o' fighting, nor half so full o' fun, as I was back in the sixties, when I shouldered my old gun. It may be that my hair is white-such things you know must be, but now this Union's gone to war, make one more gun for me!I ain't forgot my raisin' nor how in sixty two, or thereabouts with battle shouts, I charged the boys in blue.And I say, I fought with Stonewall, and blazed the way for Bobby Lee, but now this Union's gone to war, make one more gun for me!This is the answer to that old Reb from a New York Yankee:Just make it two, old fellow, I want to stand once more, beneath the old flag with you, as in the days of yore. Our fathers stood together, and fought on land and sea, the battles fierce that made us, a nation of the free.I whipped you down at Vicksburg, you licked me at Bull Run, on many a field we struggled, when neither a victory won. You wore the Gray of Southland, I wore the Northern Blue; like men we did our duty, when the screaming bullets flew.Four years we fought like devils, but when the war was done, your hand met mine in friendly clasp, our two hearts beat as one.No North, No South, for us we know, once more we stand together, to fight one common foe.My head, like yours, is frosty - old age is creeping in; Life's sun is slowly sinking, my days are soon to end.But if our country's honor, needs once again her son, I'm ready too, old fellow - so get another gun!And then a British Red Coat answers each in turn:We fought two hundred years ago, at Yorktown and places in between, your fight was for the Colonies, I fought for the English King.With Washington you made your stand, with Cornwallis I did as well, but now that terror has hit us all, we've joined to give them hell!United in a common cause, two nations fight as one; we'll show the terrorist that our war, has really just begun.For when the evil deeds were done, and the graceful towers fell, for now that terror has hit us all, we've joined to give them hell!You wore Blue, and some wore Gray, and I've worn my Red with pride, and now that the war on terror has begun, they'll find no place to hide.For now at last a common foe, we join to fight my friends, and I'll stand faithfully by your side, until the terror ends.And when you make those guns, in your fight for liberty, you'd better count me in, make one more gun for me!

By Gene Ladnier [ 15/06/2006 ][ viewed 201 times ]

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Poetry in the Newspapers

According to Dana Gioia, Chairman of the National Endowment for the Arts, "Daily newspapers no longer review poetry. There is, in fact, little coverage of poets or poetry in the general press." (Can Poetry Matter, The Atlantic Monthly, 1991). John Timpane, Philadelphia Inquirer Commentary page editor, adds: "Today, in my opinion, most newspaper people are afraid of poetry. They're afraid readers won't understand it, especially poetry they (these newspaper people) find "hard" or "experimental." It amounts to a fear of the verbal. (Kelly Writer's House, 1999).One could barely argue Gioia and Timpane's claims today, as print media seemingly loses ground with technological advances in communications, and as the art of poetry and its society becomes increasingly associated with the limited scope of the "academic elite." However there is, even today, life for poetry in the press. This article addresses the newspapers that currently accept poetry from the general public; listed below are the following newspapers in the United States (compiled by poet Melanie Simms) that presently accept poetry submissions.(If anyone has information on additional listings, please e-mail them to Melanie Simms at moonspinner@pa.net or contact her at her website: www.poetmelaniesimms.net).Current List of Newspapers that Publish Poems:The Philadelphia Inquirer: Contact: John Timpane: jt@phillynews.comThe York Daily Record: Contact: Bill Diskin: bill@billdiskin.comThe Oregonian: Call 503-221-8100 and ask for the poetry editor.The Santa Cruz Sentinel, Santa Cruz, CA: Contact 831-423-4242 and ask for the poetry editor.The Pittsburgh Post Gazette: Contact: 412-423-4242 and ask for the poetry section.The Christian Science Monitor: Contact: 617-450-2000 and ask for the poetry section.Clearly this list is small, which only forwards the concerns of the American public that poetry in the newspapers is a dying breed, but thanks to the "die-hard" efforts of those remaining voices in today's newspapers, listed above, America still has hope to see the art rekindled.Every poet at home has an opportunity and obligation as well to assist. The newspapers depend upon the people. Share your voices of concern so that people like Dana Gioia, John Timpane, and your humble author, Melanie Simms are not so alone in their desire to see this once fluent art revitalized. You can do so by submitting poetry to the newspapers listed above, writing to the editors of your local papers to request they create a poetry page, or, if you're creatively (and financially) inclined, start your own small newspaper press that publishes poetry.Let the voice of the people be heard in the art of poetry, and thrive once again in the news!

By Melanie Simms [ 22/06/2006 ][ viewed 168 times ]

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County Laureates Carry the Poetic Torch of Pennsylvania

Don Mclean wrote a song years back about a world where the music didn't play. Has the music stopped playing in Pennsylvania?In late 2003, Sam Hazo, Pennsylvania's first and only Poet Laureate was asked to resign his post by Governor Edward Rendell, and "not a word was spoken," to offer hope of revision.Out of respect and protection for the historical integrity of Poet Laureate, APPL (The Association of Pennsylvania Poets Laureate) was founded by poet Melanie Simms (www.poetmelaniesimms.net) and is now home to over 12 county poet laureate representatives, including the counties of Dauphin, Bucks, York, and Perry to name a few. (See the APPL website at papoets.blogspot.com)APPL rekindles and renews the historical flames of the post, carrying the torch of poetry by reading together at various venues including library events, radio shows, museums, university forums and private readings. They share stories about their experiences as laureate, and about how the post of laureate and poetry has been significant to their lives, and of equal importance, how poetry enriches the lives of the citizens of Pennsylvania.The post of Poet Laureate is not a trivial post; its roots span over 400 years, beginning with King James of England in the 1600's who attached an office of the poet by appointing Ben Jonson. Today in the United States over 38 states recognize the post of laureate, and the United States appointed Joseph Auslander as its first U.S. Laureate in 1937; Donald Hall is the newest Poet Laureate of America.It is not yet known if Rendell will ever revise the songs of the laureate; it may well go unsung until a new governor is elected and returns the post of Poet Laureate to its rightful place in Pennsylvania. Until then, perhaps Don Mclean sings it best when the music dies:I met a girl who sang the bluesAnd I asked her for some happy news,But she just smiled and turned away.I went down to the sacred storeWhere I'd heard the music years before,But the man there said the music wouldn't play.And in the streets the children screamed,The lovers cried and the poets dreamed,Not a word was spoken, the church bells all were broken,And the three men I admire the most:The father, son and the holy ghost,They caught the last train for the coast,The day the music died.

By Melanie Simms [ 24/08/2006 ][ viewed 152 times ]

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To Rhyme is not a Crime

You may republish this article, but must keep the resource box and copyright at the end.(388 words)I have a confession to make. I love reading poetry, but when I hear it read aloud I am filled with embarrassment, so much so that I squirm and suffer until the reading is over. It is nothing to do with the reader - it is just me. Why should this be, I wonder. Shakespeare’s plays don’t affect methis way, but almost everything else does.Perhaps someone can explain this.I try to write a little poetry myself and dread anyone reading it in my presence because of the embarrassment factor.Now that is off my chest, I would like to talk about modern rhyming poetry. In my view, this is considered far too often as the poor relation of free verse ‘real’ poetry. So many of the most highly commended and prize-winning modern poems are to me more like prose, arranged as poetry.Poets in earlier generations contrived to produce great poems, which rhymed and scanned. Why not now? However, there were exceptions, as in the case of the Scottish poet, William McGonagall.An example of his style?? (see below) might beenough to give someone an aversion to rhymes, or even poetry altogether!“An Excursion Steamer Sunk in the Tay byWilliam Topaz McGonagallAnd they left the Craig Pier at half-past two o’clockNever thinking they would meet with an accidental shock”As far as I can ascertain, rhymes are now, in the main, reserved for humorous verse and children’s poetry. Alliteration and onomatopoeia are not neglected in the same way as is rhyming, and yet good rhymes do at the very least make a verse much easier to recall. A well-constructed poem with shapeand form provides a certain satisfaction not always found in free verse.Poets who write in a natural voice are not restricted by a rhyming mode. Robert Burns wrote some of his most powerful poetry in natural voice, and rhyming verse.These thoughts on poetry are personal impressions only, - perhaps some readers may be of the same mind.

By Evangeline Auld Auld [ 29/10/2006 ][ viewed 104 times ]

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Second Childhood

You may republish this article, but must keep the resource box and copyright at the end. ( 452 words)Do you remember any of the nursery rhymes you heard when you were little? I know I do, and recently I have been looking again at some of them and discovering a few reasons why they stay so long in my memory. Partly, I expect, it is because our minds, as children, are so receptive, and like sponges, absorb ideas and impressions so well. But the rhymes themselves when looked at again in later years, have a lot to offer, such as:* Vivid imagery and imagination* Rhymes to aid memory* Rhythm* Memorable characters* Story tellingAll these elements combine, in some nursery rhymes to produce very interesting poetry. The words may be simple, but the overall effect can give pleasure, touch the emotions, or even in some rhymes produce an atmosphere of tension or threat. Here I am thinking in particular of two which affected me deeply as a child and which I still find quite disturbing. ‘Oranges and Lemons’ in its final lines about the candle to light you to bed, and the chopper to chop off your head refers to the unhappy fate of felons in London’s gaols many years ago. The other rhyme , ‘A man of words and not of deeds’ builds to a rather gruesome climax, but somehow it is one of my favourites.There are rhymes which are progressive, adding one layer on another. In ‘The House that Jack Built’ it is necessary to remember the preceding lines as one progresses through the verses. This rhyme has a particularly interesting rhythm and cast of characters.There are rhymes too built around specific characters, ‘Little Miss Muffet’, ‘Little Boy Blue’, ‘Jack Sprat’ and ‘Little Jack Horner’, where the giving of names fixes the verse more firmly in the mind.For a compact, economical rhyme it is hard to beat ‘Solomon Grundy’, whose entire lifetime is summed up in a few lines. This is in contrast to ‘There was a Crooked Man’ where the effect of the rhyme depends on the constant repetition of the word ‘crooked’.I feel that nursery rhymes have an important part to play in opening and preparing young minds to appreciate more complicated poetry as adults. Quite apart from this virtue, they give a great deal of pleasure. Certainly, I found revisiting them a lot of fun.I hope that they will continue to flourish and that they will never go out of fashion.

By Evangeline Auld Auld [ 05/12/2006 ][ viewed 97 times ]

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Send Love SMS Messages To Your Loved Ones On This Valentine's Day

Candies, flowers and gifts are exchanged between loved ones on every Valentines day. Why do we celebrate this Valentine's day, it is still a mystery. But it is always in our mind that February is a month of Romance. How to celebrate this lovely day and with whom, is always a question of every young boy or a girl. When we did not had mobiles, we used to send love messages to our loved ones via Love Cards, Greeting cards, Emails etc. But now things change, we prefer to show our emotions by sending sms messages. In every country, on valentines day, there is exchange of millions of love sms messages on this romance day. I have collected some beautiful cute love and romantic sms messages here. You may just copy and send these cool Valentine's sms messages to your beloved ones on this romance day.Without Love -- dayz are Sad day moan day tears day waste day thirst day fright day shatter day... so be in Love everyday...Wish u a Happy Valentine's DayDays may end, night may fall, but i will be there for you till we won't see each other at all. sun may rise, moon may fall, but i think my life would never be this nice if i never knew you at all.All i ever wanted was some1 to care for me. all i ever wanted was someone who would be there for me.all i ever wanted was someone who would be true.all i ever wanted was someone like youLoving is not how you forget but how you forgive, not how you listen but how you understand, not what you see but how you feel, and not how you let go but how you hold on.Every Hour I think of youEvery Minute I think of youEvery Second I think of youI live for you and I die for youIt's not for days, It's not for weeks,It's not for months or years, It's for ever.Love is what I see in, your smile every day.Love is what I feel in, every touch you give.Love is what I hear in, every word you say.Love is what we share, every day we live.Seasons will Change,Colours will Fade,But....One thing that will Never Change...The way that I Feel about you..And....One thing that will Never Fade that is My LOVE 4 you.....I LOVE U SO MUCHTo be honest with you, I do not have the words to make you feel better, but I do have the arms to give you a hug, ears to listen to whatever you want to talk about, and I have a heart; a heart that is aching to see you smile again.The way you look into my eyes, It scares meThe way you say "I love you", It scares meThe way you know just what to say, It scares meThe ways you scare me, I love it I have seen angels in the sky,I have seen snowfall in july,I have seen things you only imagine to see,But I have not seen anything sweeter than you.your love is like a river peaceful and deep,your soul is like a secret that I never could keep,When I look into your eyes I know its true,you were made for me and I for youHere is my heart, it is yours so take it,Treat it gently, please do not break it.Its full of love thats good and true,So please keep it always close to u.I Promised you once, I promise you twice, this love will never end that i feel so deep inside, I loved you yesterday and even more today and i never want this feeling to go away, Baby you are my Everything, my Angel from above, you feel my life with so much love.If you have a boy friend or a girl friend and you have a mobile, don't wait, just write these lovely romantic sms messages on your mobile phone and send to your loved ones. If he or she really loves you, you will get a reply with more romantic sms message. Exchange these love sms on this Valentines day.If you want to see more Love sms Funny sms Urdu Hindi sms , visit our site. www.lovesmsfun.com

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Online Poetry Communities: 10 Tips to Finding the Right One for You

Online poetry communities, in their simplest sense, are sites you join to share poems and to meet other poets who also share an interest in poetry. However, finding an exceptional poetry site, dedicated to its poets, is not quite that simple. With so many poetry sites out there, how do you choose which one is best for you? 1. Membership Fees: Some poetry communities say they are free, once you join, however, you have to “upgrade” for additional features. Other poetry sites rely on donations, and advertisements. Look for a site that is no more than $35.00 annually. Bottom Line: Find a site that only charges you ONE fee to use EVERY feature on the site.2. Site Features: Look for a site that has tons of features, not just a few lame areas of posting and reading poetry. A good rule of thumb is this: For every $2.00 you spend annually, you should find ONE UNIQUE Feature of the site. If you are willing to spend $40.00, then you should get at least 20 UNIQUE Features. Bottom Line: Find a poetry site that offers as much bang for your buck as possible.3. Communication System: An online poetry community should be a community. An internal mail system, and an active Bulletin Board—a place where poets share ideas—is a must. Bottom Line: Find a site that has a few ways poets can communicate.4. Feedback System: Examine not only HOW you receive feedback, but the QUALITY of that feedback. Will you simply be getting brief comments? Is there a point system in place? Does that point system address areas of analysis that are important to you? Bottom Line: Find a site that has a quality review system that provides you the feedback you are looking for.5. Recognition Programs: Most poetry sites function as a fancy bulletin board for posting poetry. A solid poetry site encourages friendly competition, and a way for you to measure your progress. Being able to rise up the ranks, gain recognition from your fellow poets is not only fun, but rewarding. Bottom Line: Find a site that encourages several recognition programs and poet rankings.6. Site Layout: A poetry site should be clean, inviting, friendly, and easy to navigate. Many sites are just the opposite: laden with ads, thousands of words, and links that bring you everywhere but where you ought to be. Bottom Line: Find a site that is clean, fairly devoid of ads, strong linking and ease of organization.7. Poetry Database: Most online poetry communities lack meaningful poetry research tools. A site that provides its poets with as many links to resources as possible, is one has your best interests at heart. Bottom Line: Find a site that helps you learn poetry forms, movements, history, poets, etc., one stop shopping if you will.8. Awards: Poor sites have either no award system, or a poor awards system. Quality sites invest in their members. Would you rather win a quality award, or receive certificates, magnets and bumper stickers in the mail? Bottom Line: Find a site that is dedicated to giving back to its community in the form of quality, timely awards.9. Support: So often I hear poets lament the fact that “no one seems to be behind the wheel.” A quality site responds promptly to its members, usually less than 48 hours. Send a trial email, see how long it takes to hear back. Bottom Line: Find a site that responds to your concerns, questions, or suggestions within 48 hours.10. Free Trial: Avoid any poetry site that does not give you AT LEAST a 7 day free trial. You should be able to access ALL the site features, not just a few teasers. Bottom Line: Find a site that allows you a generous, all access FREE TRIAL, so you can fully understand its community.Finding the right online poetry community doesn’t have to be difficult. If you asked me what ONE thing I would look for it is this: The more features a poetry site offers its poets, the more likely your experience is going to be a great one.

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TOP 10 SEO Firms and Promotional Resources

TOP 10 SEO Firms and Promotional ResourcesPromoting a website through search engine optimization, viral marketing, paid search or social media channels requires an understanding of how these systems work, a strong focus and the willingness to measure everything — from hits and page views all the way down to unique impressions by geographic IP. To beat out the competition you must use the best tools, partner with the best companies and be relentless in the pursuit of potential customers1 submizseo.com EYE LOGIC MEDIA2 1,eyelogicmedia.com eye logic media3 wordtracker.com Rivergold Associates Ltd Wordtracker4 submitplus.com5 marketleap.com Marketleap.com, Inc.6 submitnet.net Subminet, Inc7 bruceclay.com Bruce Clay Executive Consultants8 morevisibility.com MoreVisibility9 seoimage.com SEO Image, Inc.10 highrankings.com High Rankings Research for this report comes courtesy of Ranking.com, the Web's largest provider of website popularity metrics and detailed website information for more than one million online destinations.http://scripts.ranking.com/data/report_category.aspx?topicid=112958Eye Logic Media is a full service, professional Search Engine Management Solutions that specializes in helping companies of all sizes to get their web sites highly ranked in the search engines. They have been involved in the field for ten years and have been applying their expertise and knowledge to boost traffic to numerous sites. Eye Logic Media has offices in Richmond Hill , Canada and Tamil Nadu, India . For more information visit http://www.eyelogicmedia.com or call 905.508-3164.

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Gerard Manley Hopkins

Gerard Manley Hopkins was born in England in respective family with successful business of his father. It gave him the opportunity to gain very good education which improved and perfected his natural talent. Being very delicate person in nature Hopkins began writing as early as his study at college. His early poetry was easy and light and assessed well by college teachers. The Hopkins’ life greatly changed after his converting into Catholicism under the influence of John Henry Newman in 1866. He was completely devoted to the Catholic Church and decided to become a priest. By that time he burnt out all his poetry. The poem “Spring and Fall” was written in 1880 after four years of starting new writing in 1875. His last poetry is not as aesthetic and beautiful as the early one and that is why it is not so easy to understand. The poems of the 1880s are the author’s philosophical attempts to cognize and describe the only immortal thing in the world – human soul. All the poems are full of religious ideas which Hopkins uses as basis of life sense understanding and instrument of getting prepared to meet the God.The answer to the question of what we live for is the main idea of Hopkins’ poetry. His last poems answer this question through belief in human affiliation with the Christ deeds, prove of human body mortality and mind and expression of human soul as the only thing to be cared for because it will never die and always be the concurrent part of our God. Hopkins’ origin is in unusual use of words and their combinations which change the initial and usual meaning of the words: “just…justices”, “plays…places”. The words and phrases repetitions make the poem sound like a song. Such technique is widely used by Hopkins in many poems. The perfect example of like song poem is “Spring and Fall” which from the first reading is perceived as nursery child’s song due to specific rhythm and use of questions.This poem is not a usual child’s song that is aimed to console; it is a lesson to direct the young person to immortal thing. Hopkins was unsatisfied with his poem. His great talent and deep ideas could not be caught even by original techniques and rhythm invented by him. May be Hopkins’ ideas about human life sense were so bright and limitless that he could not express them with the help of words born in mortal mind…

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The Clare Poem

The poem I will examine is “First Love”. In this poem Clare strives to illustrate the over-whelming power and strength of the love he is feeling for the woman. We can see this when he says “I was never struck before that hour”. The use of the word “struck” is significant because it emphasizes the intensity and force of the love that has hit him. Here he is comparing love to a single blow, un-expected and usually negative.Clare often refers to the effects of his love as a physical illness. This gives us the impression that to Clare the love is negative. This becomes clear when he says such things as “My face turned pale as deadly pale” and “My legs refused to walk away”. He is trying to show the extremes the love sets on him and the lack of control he has over them. Additionally, he uses personification saying that his legs refuse to walk, when it is him that controls his legs. So he is consequently saying that he does not have control over his love.Many times Clare exemplifies love as a negative emotion. This becomes apparent when he says “And blood burnt round my heart”, this presents us with the idea that his heart is burning because of her. Maybe because he is really in love with her and so his heart is in pain (on fire). It could also mean that he is burning with passion for her and therefore is feeling lust as well as love. He also portrays a negative view of love when he states “And can return no more”; here he is talking about his heart. He is expressing to us that his heart is too deeply in love to come back out and as a result his heart is trapped. Clare feels negative towards the love because the love is not returned.In the poem he describes the woman he loves as a “sweet flower”. A flower is beautiful, fragile, sweet, and delicate it needs looking after and blooms and wilts with the seasons. Here he mentions her beauty blooming like a sweet flower.The poem is used to show Clare’s feelings of true love. This becomes obvious when he says “My heart has left its dwelling place”. This makes us believe that she has an effect on his heart.

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Shakespeare's Sonnet

In “Sonnet 74” Shakespeare uses two metaphors to represent death. At the beginning of the poem, Death is portrayed as a powerful authority. The persona uses personification to describe death as an official who takes him away: “when that fell arrest/ Without all bail shall carry me away”. Here the use of the adjective “fell” gives readers a cruel and notorious impression on Death. “Without all bail” again reveals the cold-heartedness and the powerfulness of Death that it would not free anyone once it takes them away. Shakespeare aims to present the sensory image of sight that the persona is behind bar with the arrest of the Death.In addition to the bossy official, Death has another incarnation: “wretch’s knife”. Both time and Death are cruel while the former kills people with “coward conquest” and the latter kills people with violence. The adjective “coward” suggests that time uses a not-aggressive, unintentional way to attack people. Shakespeare wants to reveal the cunning side of the death by saying time would not kill people directly but it would make them old and then those people would visit Death automatically. Since Death is so cunning and powerful, it is hard to resist and being dead is inevitable. Thus, Shakespeare suggests that “The earth can have but earth, which is his due” which means everything, including our bodies, belongs to the world and it is ephemeral and has its due date.The perplexity of being dead makes Shakespeare think of his love towards his beloved. Will their love be terminated with his death? How can he show his eternal love towards his beloved?In the poem, Shakespeare incessantly gives promise and confidence to his beloved that his love towards her would not be terminated even with the attack of Death. Shakespeare mentions the phrases “with thee”, “to thee”, and “of thee”. Shakespeare deliberately uses the same pattern (preposition plus thee) to emphasize and show his promise to her. What Shakespeare tries to promise is that although his body will be gone one day, his spirit which is laid in the poem would accompany her beloved forever: “My life hath in this line some interest/ which for memorial still with thee shall stay”. In line 4 Shakespeare aims to stress the value of spirit with the idea that spirit is more worthwhile to memorize than physical bodies. As long as the beloved read the poem, she can sense the spirit or love of the poet: “When thou reviewest this, thou dost review/ The very part was consecrate to thee”. In line 6, the word “was” is past tense, which may suggest the idea that the persona’s love and spirit have already been given to the beloved, but one thing she has to do is to read and review the poem so that she can notice his love. In these two lines, the persona not only offer a promise to his beloved, but he also asks for a request that his beloved should read the poem. The request for the beloved to read the line simply asserts the value or importance of her by suggesting that his spirit or his real life become meaningful only when his beloved read the poem. If she does not read the poem, there is no point for him to write it. The line itself has no intrinsic value, only when she reads the poem, she gives the poem its value and thus gives the persona his value (his spirit is connected with the poem).Shakespeare is so thoughtful that after giving her his promise and build up her confidence towards their love, he also tries to comfort his beloved by saying that “My spirit is thine, the better part of me. /So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life”. What he means is his body is nothing, it is only a body and is perishable, so it is not worthwhile for her to remember: “too base of thee to be remembered”. In this poem, what Shakespeare tries to do is to show us how powerful love is by portraying the authoritative Death and how he and his beloved’s love can conquer Death finally.

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The Frost Poems

One of these tenets reflected in ‘The Tuft of Flowers’ is the human loneliness as the cause of individual’s inability to understand or just accept others’ views and values. The world is so variable in cultures, traditions, values and attitudes that it could hardly find the bond which would unify people. Therefore, loneliness is an inescapable and natural law: And I must be, as he had been,—alone,"As all must be," I said within my heart,"Whether they work together or apart."The Frost’s genius in ‘The Tuft of Flowers’ is in his ability to represent the definite answer to this question. Although humankind is not able to unify and everybody is alone in nature there is a bond which can reconcile individuals. This bond is the beauty of nature, which speaks the only common language of peace and harmony. Frost uses two symbols of nature: the first one appears in the form of butterfly which awakens the speaker from the ‘questions that have no reply’ and leads his eye to the second symbol – the tuft of flowers left by mower nearby the river. These flowers were not mowed because of their beauty which Frost describes as ‘A leaping tongue of bloom’. Here his values and the mower’s values come together when they both can see the ‘message from the dawn’; and here Frost finds the answer to the universal question of human loneliness. Humane who is able to see and value the natural beauty and has willingness to save it ‘not for us’ but for ‘sheer morning gladness at the brim’, this humane will never be alone in his heart:"Men work together," I told him from the heart,"Whether they work together or apart."Another Frost’s poem ‘Mending Walls’ has considerably more doubts and does not provide any answer to the question given in the poem: ‘What I was walling in or walling out’? The speaker is wondering why people have to keep an old tradition to build the walls among their lands. While in ancient times people had to construct boundaries to protect their lives and families the modern world can hardly demonstrate the necessity of such boundaries. When Frost could not find the answer he forwarded the question to his neighbour who makes him renew the wall every year. His neighbour does not know the answer either and ‘He only says, “Good fences make good neighbours.” The Frost’s mention of mythical ‘elves’ gives the idea of walls’ ancient origin which became also mythical for modern times. Paradox is evident: the ancient mythology died because it had not had any evidences in real world, but it still exists in human minds:[…] I see him thereBringing a stone grasped firmly by the topIn each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.The human’s offensive nature makes him protect himself from mythical enemies while this offense makes him bounder himself from other humans. Why should we bounder from each other? Why the ancient memories of offense are so firm in human mind? Although Frost does not give direct answers to these questions he starts discussion which will be able to provide the answer: He will not go behind his father’s sayingAnd he likes having thought of it so wellYour neighbours are significantly more important than mythical beliefs of your fathers. Like in ‘The Tuft of Flowers’ Frost encourages people to see the real values of this world.

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Alice Meynell - Poet and Friend of Poets

Alice Meynell was born on 11 October 1847 at Barnes, England. She was the younger daughter of Thomas and Christina Thompson. Her father was a widower with a son and daughter when he married Christina. He was educated privately and at Trinity College, Cambridge but had no need to pursue a career, thanks to an inheritance from his grandfather. The family travelled and lived a great deal in Europe and when Alice was 4 they moved to the Ligurian coast, moving house frequently. This country of vineyards and olive groves, bright sunshine and blue sea was the place where Alice and her sister felt most at home as children.Alice was an intelligent child, speaking both French and English at an early age. The two sisters were educated at home by their father, who was an enormous influence on Alice in particular. Life was bohemian and free and the children were included in many adult parties and expeditions. Alice read voraciously and at 9 or 10 was engrossed in the works of Dickens, Trollope and Charlotte Bronte and the poetry of Shakespeare, Keats, Tennyson and others.At this time Alice was drawn to writing poems of romance and did submit one for publication, which was rejected. However she continued writing romances and poems and seemed to recognise the urge within her to pass on her thoughts to others.When she was 17 the family settled for a time in the Isle of Wight. At this time she was confirmed and became a regular attender at church. She frequently felt a failure in herself of remaining a little apart from the world, even from her own family, though she loved them deeply. She wanted something more from life which religion might supply. She also felt strongly that as a woman she could not employ her intellect as usefully as she might. Fortunately she now started to create more poetry, though the poems of this period were rather morbid and melancholy.The family meanwhile had been moving house, as they so often did, and for a time Alice lived in London, where Ruskin showed an interest in her poetry. In 1868,while in Malvern with her mother, Alice became a Catholic. She felt the need for discipline and a way to shape and control her nature and this she found in the Catholic church and was from then on the basis for all her thinking and writing. She recognised the strengths and weaknesses of her writing and worked towards the economy of words and focused thought that became the hallmark of her later poetry.After another period in Italy the Thompson family returned to London. Alice sought criticism and advice from people like Allingham and Aubrey de Vere and in 1875 her first book of poems “Preludes”, was published. A journalist, Wilfred Meynell, was so impressed by these poems that he wrote to Alice, they became close friends and in April 1877 they were married. Although they had 7 children Alice continued her writing and poetry throughout the remainder of her busy life.Her work was much admired by writers such as de la Mare, Rossetti and Oscar Wilde. She had time, though, for her family and her many friends, including Coventry Patmore and Francis Thompson and was invited to carry out a lecture tour in the United States of America.Alice Meynell was a sincere and uncompromising writer, eloquent but disciplined and always produced quality rather than quantity. Her strong religious faith underpinned all her work. Although perhaps not as popular nowadays, at one time she was mentioned as a possible Poet Laureate. She died in 1922 and her final work, “Last Poem” was published in 1923.

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Figures Of Poetry - What Is Metaphor?

A metaphor is a comparison between essentially unlike things without an explicitly comparative wordsuch as like or as.“that red shirt,stained from sweat, the crying of the armpits” —Ai, from “Why Can’t I Leave You?”“If it were May, hydrangeas and jacarandaflowers in the streetside trees would beblooming through the smog of late spring.Wisteria in Masuda’s front yard would beshaking out the long tresses of its purple hair” —Garrett Hongo, from “Yellow Light”“if I can’t make you happy,come close between my thighsand let me laugh for you from my second mouth.” —Ai, from “Why Can’t I Leave You?”“I press a button,and this black flowerwith its warped pistilbroods over me,tears dripping from a dozensilver stamens.” —Duane Ackerson, from “Umbrella”“You lay there, fastened to the tracks…You waited for the thunder of wheel and bone,the axles sparking, fire in your spine.” —Jay Parini, from “Coal Train”“by the black river,by mud water in which no one ever swims—time is distant music; is echoof a broken thing; yanks us muddied upfrom sleep” —Paul Guest, from “Tuscaloosa”“the softinsides of your thighs. What I wantI simply reach out and take, no delicacy now,the dark human bread I eat handfulby greedy handful. Eyes, fingers, mouths,sweet leeches of desire.” —Dorianne Laux, from “This Close”“the indifferent sun, that seed-heavy sack” —Judy Jordan, from “A Short Drop to Nothing”“the white smoke of your breathrising like a ghost.” —Chris Tusa, from “Coma”“It hangs deep in his robes, a delicateclapper at the center of a bell.It moves when he moves, a ghostly fish in ahalo of silver seaweed” —Sharon Olds, from “The Pope’s Penis”“full-breasted tulipsopen their pink blouses” —Brigit Pegeen Kelly, from “Doing Laundry on Sunday”“whose eyes were always coveredwith the bruised petals of her lids” —Anita Endrezze, from “The Girl who Loved the Sky”“I sleptas never before, a stoneon the riverbed” —Mary Oliver, from “Sleeping in the Forest”

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Three Short Love Poems

Here is a compilation of three short love poems written by twelve-year-old Emily. The first is a short poem about how Emily loves her teachers. During the school year, her literature class was given an assignment to write a letter to a departing teacher. Emily asked if she could write a poem instead and was given permission.The second poem was written for a hand made card that Emily made for her mother for Mother's Day. Similarly, the third was written for a hand made card for her father for Father's Day. The Last Day by: Emily The saddest thing It's hard to say Is seeing you on Your last day. I take it for granted, Though I see you a lot, Just how much you do And your kind thought. You helped me understand Things I couldn't before. I can't bear to watch you Walk out of that door. Though I'll miss you, I know indeed You'll do great out there Planting new seeds. "What seeds", you are asking "Why can't I see?" But you have already Planted one in me. It will grow and grow, As I learn more and more. Each day I'll remember What you taught me before. I'm happy for you To plant more seeds. I know they will grow Without any weeds. There won't be weeds. Yes, of that I am sure. For you have touched them. Now they are pure. The saddest thing,It's hard to say, Is seeing you on Your last day. A Mother's Day Poem by: Emily Mom, I love you.That is true.All the wayTo infinity, too. Now that I'm olderAnd wiser, too,I realize justHow much you do. Most of the timeI don't look to seeHow many thingsYou do for me. For this I am sorry. Next time I'll try.You are wonderful,And I'm glad you're mine. (Emily really can put out what she feels in a love poem, even at age twelve. I hope you see this in time for your next Mother's Day because it is probably how your child feels about you, whether spoken, written or acted.)A Father's Day PoemBy: Emily This is for you,Dear Daddy of mineTo let you knowI think you're devine. A bunch of yearsHave flown by real fastBut do not worry,I'll always keep our past. It'll travel with meWherever I go.I'll remember the times we've hadSo long ago. Please don't be sad,Dear Daddy of mineFor there are more to come,You will find. I'll always rememberThose things we didLike snowmobiling(When Mommy was hid). Riding our bikes,Hitting golf balls,Getting up on skis,Without a fall. Driving the golf cart,Nicktoons Racing,Jumping on the trampoline,And later your back aching. No matter where we goOr what we do,In my heart alwaysThere's a place for you. I hope this card helpedYou to seeJust how muchI love you, Daddy! (More telling than the exact words are the eyes of the daughter as she watches her father read the personally prepared poem. I feel that all children can write down their feelings. Some may not be able to put in poem format, but I see them as poems anyway as they are from the heart. This may be the best way for them to express themselves. When you see some spare time for your child coming up, why not give some space, and provide pencil and paper. Ask your child to write about how he or she feels about birds, or snow, or the blue sky, or you, or whatever. My guess is that you will be surprised!)

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Desire of a Flower

Desire of a FlowerOur passions moved like the wind.Desire burned like flames until there was nothing left.The scent of her and the smell of a flower, for me, are as one.The long lasting memory of her touch, her taste, fuels my burning heart, after what seems like eons.To know, and to have, but too of lost is a pain and a joy of moments long passed into the hopelessness of need.Fate moves her hand in unfair ways.Looking, seeking, asking, but never finding; is a rode for thedammed.Hoping, trusting, being, is the path for the meek, for someday, someway, somehow I will find the desire, of a flower, once more. You can comment on this article at:Datawinds CommentAlso come by webmasterdelux.com for my development site and more info.We also invite you to come by datawinds.net and start playing games for cash.

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The Poets in Bible versus Quran

The Last verse in chapter (26) of the Old Testament talks about Esau married Hittite women which were grief of mind unto Isaac (Racial issue!).The Last verse in chapter (26) of the New Testament talks about Peter, after he had denied Jesus, remembered and wept bitterlyThe Last verse in chapter (26) of the Noble Quran; it talks about the poets. The poets say what they do not do, Save those who believe and perform righteous deeds and remember God frequently, in other words, [those whom] poetry does not distract from the remembrance of God. And those, poets and others, who are wrongdoers, will know their fate when they return to God after death.========Old Testament:Chapter 26 in the Old Testament is Genesis (26); it is composed of 35 verses.The Last verse is that number 35 It says:Genesis 26: 35 (King James Version)35) "Which were griefs of mind unto Isaac and to Rebekah."The verse is talking about Esau married Hittite women which were grief of mind unto Isaac (Racial issue!).========New TestamentChapter 26 in the New Testament is Matthew (26); it is composed of 75 verses.The Last verse is that number 75 It says:Matthew 26: 75 (King James Version)75) "And Peter remembered the word of Jesus, which said unto him, before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice. And he went out, and wept bitterly."The verse is talking about Peter, after he had denied Jesus, remembered and wept bitterly======== The Noble Quran:Chapter 26 in the Noble Quran is AL-SHUARA (THE POETS); it is composed of 227 verses.The Last verse is that number 227 It says:Surah (Chapter); AL-SHUARA 26: 227227] "save those who believe, and do good works and remember Allah in abundance and became victorious after they had been wronged. The wrongdoers will surely know which turn they will be returning to (hell)." The verse is talking about the poets. The poets say what they do not do, Save those who believe and perform righteous deeds and remember God frequently, in other words, [those whom] poetry does not distract from the remembrance of God. And those, poets and others, who are wrongdoers, will know their fate when they return to God after death.========Back to the main issue of my series of articles; this is my question to you smart readers: "Is the Quran quoted from the Bible?"By the way, the disbelieved ignorant Arabs stated that the Quran quoted from the Bible more than 1400 years ago! (Read my article about chapter 25).

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