From: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org (eda-thoughts-digest) To: eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Subject: eda-thoughts-digest V1 #167 Reply-To: eda-thoughts@smoe.org Sender: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Errors-To: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Precedence: bulk eda-thoughts-digest Thursday, September 3 1998 Volume 01 : Number 167 Today's Subjects: ----------------- ET: Re [moonsong@ix.netcom.com (Charlie, Cob & the GoA)] ET: poem ["Seth D. Fulmer" ] Re: ET: Re ["Naomi Vaughn" ] ET: Love Poem ~ not written by me [Naomi Vaughn ] ET: Re: eda-thoughts-digest V1 #166 [CloudWingz@aol.com] ET: A couple new poems.. [Summer Burton ] ET: hmmmm ok here's one [moonsong@ix.netcom.com (Charlie, Cob & the GoA)] ET: ahh? [moonsong@ix.netcom.com (Charlie, Cob & the GoA)] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Tue, 1 Sep 1998 21:58:12 -0700 From: moonsong@ix.netcom.com (Charlie, Cob & the GoA) Subject: ET: Re Angulz! Heh heh, yup Maggie, Naomi and I *grin* are only 14. Surprised eh? This is cool, yes Naomi? Very. Anwyay. I gotta write some poems! But what about? Gawd. Ah yeah! I have a friend who may be more someday. He has dark hair and blue eyes. Good, no? Later, Sam the ? angel ~How quick my heart wants to believe I'll never be lonely again. It's the little things I never thought about much, but miss most in the end. Like those sleepy red-wine kisses, and the candlelight, and the poetry, but mainly, just the warmth of your skin, and having you by my side~ -Jewel Kilcher moonsong@ix.netcom.com ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 02 Sep 1998 10:09:31 -0400 From: "Seth D. Fulmer" Subject: ET: poem I was just emptying out my inbox and outbox...sorting and stuff...and I saw a poem that I had responded to called "40 days without sun" and somehow(I don't know how), I read it as "40 days without tan" and I just opened up Notepad and came up with this wacked out poem called "40 days without a tan". Let me know what you think(if you want) :) 40 Days without a tan by Seth D. Fulmer September 2, 1998 - -------------------------- 40 days without a tan 40 days without a tan I am I am I am I am 50 or 60 days, months, or years without water, or perhaps wonder wondering why life goes as it does wondering if it really does goes poof in the mud like a pig or a farmer kicked by the cow I wonder if a parrot really knows what it says when it calls you a stupid, idiot, whore, and big moron. Well...I'm just about poemed out Like beep I really am...I just started but I bet you could care less what I feel...you might be wondering what I'm wearing or why I'm covering the purebred insanity that I choose to ignore most of the time, coming with desire Well...I'm finished boring you, or filling you with more some I guess I'll go and spend another 40 days without a tan ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 02 Sep 1998 09:23:32 -0700 From: "Naomi Vaughn" Subject: Re: ET: Re > >Heh heh, yup Maggie, Naomi and I *grin* are only 14. Surprised eh? This >is cool, yes Naomi? Very. oh, very cool indeed. :) i'm curious as to how old you thought we were, maggie? hehe ;) > >Anwyay. I gotta write some poems! But what about? Gawd. > >Ah yeah! I have a friend who may be more someday. He has dark hair and >blue eyes. Good, no? yes! :) only a matter of time before he falls hopelessly for our irresistable sam. ain't that right chica? hehe.. amour, Naomi the unknown angel Angelfire for your free web-based e-mail. http://www.angelfire.com ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 02 Sep 1998 11:32:05 -0500 From: Naomi Vaughn Subject: ET: Love Poem ~ not written by me here's a poem I came across lastnight. I like it, and wanted to share it with you all. I think it portrays the best kind of love. :) So, I hope you all likes... amour, Naomi the unknown, and happily in love, angel - ---- Love Poem John Frederick Nims My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases, At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring, Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen, And have no cunning with with any soft thing Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting people: The refugee uncertain at the door You make at home; deftly you steady The drunk clambering on his undulant floor. Unpredictable dear, the taxi-drivers' terror, Shrinking from far headlights pale as a dime Yet leaping before red apoplectic streetcars -- Misfit in any space. And never on time. A wrench in clocks and the solar system. Only With words and people and love you move at ease. In traffic of wit expertly manoeuvre And keep us, all devotion, at your knees. Forgetting your coffee spreading on our flannel, Your lipstick grinning on our coat, So gayly in love's unbreakable heaven Our souls on glory of split bourbon float. Be with me, darling, early and late. Smash glasses -- I will study wry music for your sake. For should your hands drop white and empty All the toys of the world would break. ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 2 Sep 1998 12:34:37 -0500 From: sesykes@juno.com (Scott - E Sykes) Subject: [none] Hey guys, here's one for ya... YOU AT FIRST LIGHT Staring at the walls for endless hours, hoping they will talk back. Seeing the pictures of you and me run through my mind. Listening to the songs that remind me of you, all the beauty, the passion, and the love. Some days seem endless, some days seem long. But maybe the days with you will once again be forever. Wishing upon the stars at night that God will bring me you at first light. _____________________________________________________________________ You don't need to buy Internet access to use free Internet e-mail. Get completely free e-mail from Juno at http://www.juno.com Or call Juno at (800) 654-JUNO [654-5866] ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 2 Sep 1998 14:29:59 -0400 (EDT) From: Seth Fulmer Subject: ET: Re: your mail On Wed, 2 Sep 1998, Scott - E Sykes wrote: > YOU AT FIRST LIGHT > > Staring at the walls for endless hours, hoping they will talk back. > Seeing the pictures of you and me run through my mind. > Listening to the songs that remind me of you, all the beauty, the > passion, and the love. > Some days seem endless, some days seem long. > But maybe the days with you will once again be forever. > Wishing upon the stars at night that God will bring me you at first > light. That was beautiful! It got these images flashing through my head that I didn't want to push away. Plus, it just flowed! :) Good Job! Seth D. Fulmer mailto:kaosking@voicenet.com ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 2 Sep 1998 16:01:26 EDT From: CloudWingz@aol.com Subject: ET: Re: eda-thoughts-digest V1 #166 Hi Angels! This is one I just wrote, and really felt like sharing. So here ya go! REAL sweet and soft the words liquify into my open hands. the unexpected seems the most dreamed about- the most accustomed to sprawling across satin sheets of idealism. This is you! I never knew you when I played your face through my mind, it was never quite as deserving of my cherish as this. You were never so luminant with gold tones, so alive with gentile, so soft deep within and above the out. You are a gift I could never give myself, for fear it was made of mist TTYL!!!! Luv, Jenny Sugar High Angel ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 02 Sep 1998 16:46:11 -0500 From: Summer Burton Subject: ET: A couple new poems.. I wrote some stuff, here are a couple... Boys With Green Eyes I guess I lost my mind somewhere along this way to be beautyfying the nervous boys who hand me my reciepts and daydreaming about the boys who are part of my life only through magazines what happened to the free spirit? who didn't care about that boy's blond lashes or his hands or the way he turns his head? when did I start writing poetry about boys instead of singing girl scout songs? Someone explains that it's part of being a teenager but it's the part I thought I would ignore I don't mind liking boys part But now it's almost like they're all I adore. I wanna just be a tomboy agian and a singer and an animal lover and all those things - so people would describe me as that instead of saying I'm boy crazy. Crazy indeed, I've lost my mind over boys with green eyes Poor Ophelia Poor Ophelia dead and gone now and what life did she live? where her father didn't care and her boy turned her away and her brother just fought and never showed her what he really thought and so Ophelia wasted away and still no one payed attention until she did what Hamlet only threatened and put it all to a crazy end drowned in the river, deer sweet Ophelia the beautiful one the wonderful one the one who would have been my friend the one to take her life away we can listen to Hamlet's monlouges but the truth is they're just talk he just contemplates madness, really and only dies by mistake Poor Ophelia, the girl no one paid attention to the beautiful one until she drowned. "good night, sweet ladies, good night" ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 2 Sep 1998 17:27:57 -0700 From: moonsong@ix.netcom.com (Charlie, Cob & the GoA) Subject: ET: hmmmm ok here's one Angulz, Well unfortunately I haven't really written much at all! Naomi can you believe this? It's like a plague has stricken us both! OH NO! Okay okay I'm guna do something, yeah, definately. Just start writing. :) Sam the ? angel the song that rains by sm sept 2 1998 It's thundering outside the lightening hits the rooftops like it never has before It flashes silver veins & the window is streaked with rain an aftershock shakes the floor The weatherman said there's a flood warning all the bluebells will drown So I cower on my bed the lights flickering overhead and this city echoes with sound It's humid, I could just sit here curled up gently picking my guitar In my yellow flowered sundress that pulls in all the wrong ways thoughtfully wondering how you are Whatever happened to us the existence ended with a rumble Whatever happened to you I think your world began to crumble But I'm still left standing, And I'm living on without you, Wondering when the clouds will turn blue. moonsong@ix.netcom.com ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 2 Sep 1998 18:15:39 -0700 From: moonsong@ix.netcom.com (Charlie, Cob & the GoA) Subject: ET: ahh? Angulz! Yo! I'd say something in spanish but, alas, I don't know enough to really feel like making a fool of myself. Well, maybe this is a breakthrough? I hope so. Luv yaz, Sam "beauty does not equal happiness, happiness equals mental beauty, and then comfortable relationships." Sue, a fellow EDA - - - - - - - - there is nothing like happy people to make me feel so alone under a sky still it with dwindling flashes of nighttime color on the balcony streaked with moon the life-struck lovers wander interlocked to keep out the cold that I'm shuddering in I watch them walk with ease & I know a winter's frost could not chill them I know because I have felt it felt the warmth and then lost sm sept 2 98 - - - - - - - - "when starlight was popular" sm sept 2 98 When starlight was popular we scattered in the county fair the popcorn overflowed to be crushed under our shoes the sticky sweet smell of summer clung to our clothes and the ticketman with the cane smiled with glistening eyes as we walked on by and sang out silvery prizes I can still picture where you kissed me in the shadowed nook beside a spinning colorful wheel you tasted like mustard your breath was warm while the strollers and ballones padded by tin trash cans we roared through the air on rides that upset reality and mystery still came cloaked in black and midnight blue When starlight was popular we never saw the deserted fair with papers blowing in an invisible sweeping breeze Instead we ran laughing away toward the glowing light of day leaving behind us seasons, and over time, then years and the lonely ticketman - - - - - - - - the happy american sm sept 2 98 your eyes stare into the woven fabric on the cushion next to me as though something burrowed deep into the foam your purse clasped on your lap, you move it to the floor the plastic white bag that holds your life sits, slightly exposed your jeans pull unflatteringly on overlong extended legs your big bones hold you to the sky you come from desert land your skin tells the toughness that is spoken there the gaudy silver topaz weighing around your neck announces a blaring western style your eyes are crystle, your face a frozen stare despite your strength, you look as though you'd break with a slight shift in life your hair is shaggy-woven colored your husband's made you into a working american mother you'd never quit now you have everything you think you ever wanted a real family at last with money, red lunch boxes, shallow bonds, and a yellow that fills vacancy you've reached that place now where everything's accepted and your will has turned to stone you surround yourself because you feel alone, you are burried the sunset turns to haze and you step out of the waiting room your expression departs unchanged with your plastered style moonsong@ix.netcom.com ------------------------------ End of eda-thoughts-digest V1 #167 **********************************