Story and poetry


Why do we write story and poetry?

A Poem by Coyote Poetry


Old wise saying. “Nothing good to say. Say nothing.”


Poetry, my dear friends,
is a sacred incarnation of a smile.
Poetry is a sigh that dries the tears.
Poetry is a spirit who dwells in the soul,
who nourishment is the heart,
who wine is affection.
Poetry that comes not in this form is a false messiah.
Kahlil Gibran.


Keep me away from the wisdom which does not cry,
The philosophy which does not make me laugh
and the greatness which does not bow before children.
Kahlil Gibran

Why do we write poetry and story?

Kahlil Gibran expressed the real reasons for writing above.

Poetry and story is not to offend.

It can teach, motivate and make you cry or laugh.

Be graceful for writer’s who shared their words and thoughts.

Never be negative in public.

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Dear Heart …

House of Heart

When will you learn, dear hesrt?

The world around you
is not what it pretends to be.

Reality is uncovered for you, one day at a time
utterly indifferent to what you have in mind.

Blessed are those with certainty about outcomes
You are cursed with doubts for all aphorisms

Why, oh why, dear heart
do you elongate the past?

Can you not just forget
that you stumbled into the present?

Every station in life has a future.
Look far enough and nothing else will matter.

Will you ever learn, dear Heart?

Written by my friend and fellow poet and remarkable author of fine books, Rashid Osmani

Find his Publications at Amazon:

“In the Footsteps of Rumi” ISBN 978145258232
“Word Posse” ISBN 9781477661963
“Are Muslims Savages?” ISBN 9781481853347

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Old Fashioned Woman In A Feminist Driven World

This is a great post on Self-Esteem.

Barefoot Mama Writes

When I was a little girl, I can remember my grandpa sitting in his recliner and shaking his glass of tea when it was nearly empty. The ice would rattle in his cup; a nonverbal cue that it was time for a refill. My grandma would come into the living room, grab the cup and have it refilled and back in his hand in a flash.

My grandpa wasn’t a domineering man, bossing his wife around and scaring her into doing what she was suppose to. No. It was truly just the way it was for a long time and the way they did things. I never saw anything wrong with it and neither did my grandma.

In this day and age, it would be frowned upon by “feminists”. (Isn’t every female a feminist? 🧐 I feel like I am one without the angst and hatred for the male chromosomes!)

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davidbrucehaiku: another breakup

Hidden Stream #writephoto

Penny Wilson Writes

The hidden stream surged from the ground.  It rushed along the forest floor winding through the boulders and rocks.  It leapt with joy over the small decent, causing bubbles of excitement.  The stream laughed and played in the sunlight and shimmered in the cool of the shade trees.  The stream’s destination was unknown to we mere mortals.  We were gifted with a brief view of its exultation.  The stream’s festive journey continued until it turned that last corner; it’s path once again hidden from sight.

Copyright (C) 2018 Penny Wilson

*This is in response to Sue Vincent’s photo prompt.  If you would like to join in on the fun, you can find out all about itHERE.

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A High Price

Sarah Doughty

“Never give in.
Never let up.
Because living is worth it.”

Though I didn’t know it at the time, when I was a child, I paid a high price to survive. I didn’t even realize that was what I was doing, but there I was, barely old enough to establish long term memories, and I was fighting for my life. I spent years like that. Clawing my way through my days like I could make it to the next peak and I’d find the end of the mountainsides — that I’d find the day when I wouldn’t have to keep fighting. This is what it means to be a survivor. To never give in. To never let up. Because living is worth it.

© Sarah Doughty

So don’t ever stop fighting.

This was written for day twenty-six
of November Notes.
The Price
by Twisted Sister

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