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    RonPrice  78, Male, Canada - 60 entries
Jan 2012
5:00 AM AEST


The famous national American poet Robert Frost(1875-1963) died on 30 January 1963, two months before his 89th birthday.� Three months later on 30 April 1963, the long-awaited crown of the Baha’i Administrative Order, the Universal House of Justice, sent its first statement to the Baha’i world and opened the second epoch of ‘Abdu’l-Baha’s Divine Plan.

In January 1963, the last month of his life, Frost knew nothing, as far as I know, about the Baha’i Faith. He had no idea that, from a Baha’i perspective, the ninth part of the spiritual evolution of man, an evolution than began with the Adamic Cycle, was about to be concluded, and that the tenth part of a divine process destined to culminate in the Christ-promised Kingdom of God on earth was about to open in less than three months.

The tributes of President Kennedy and Premier Khrushchev dominated the news stories as other final eulogies were pronounced on Frost in early February. Early in that month, too, the famous poet Sylvia Plath committed suicide and Barbra Streisand’s first album was released. �The last months and weeks of what to the Baha’is was known as the Ten Year Crusade concluded on 21 April 1963, bringing to an end that first epoch in the grand design of what to the Baha’is was “God’s Holy Cause.”1

I was finishing my matriculation studies in Ontario.� At the time, I knew nothing about Robert Frost and had little appreciation of that grand design of the Baha’i community. ��Since 1963, though, I have come to appreciate much more the significance of this Holy Cause I have now been associated with for nearly 60 years. The life and poetry of Robert Frost has become an inspiration.

"My object in living is to unite
My avocation and my vocation
As my two eyes make one in sight."
--Robert Frost

1 The Universal House of Justice, Wellspring of Guidance, Baha’i Pub. Trust, Wilmette, 1969, p.1.

I have come to appreciate you, Robert,
especially due to your fears, rages and
jealousies woven and muted poetically
as you wrote poem after poem over all
those decades. Your casualness and its
understatement in your simple pastoral
mode is something that I find difficult to
emulate since it reflects a person, as your
poems and life do: �disquiet, anxiety about
being in a world without any boundaries, a
darkness due the absence of life-assurances,
a fear of the awful silence of this universe &
its infinite spaces. Without a faith to comfort
you in the face of life’s ultimate bafflement &
confusion, with no vision just art’s safety net:
simple & rugged was your life and work, and
what you stood for is gone…….Is your poetry
of much use to us now? asks William Stafford.1

1William Stafford(1914-1993) was the poet laureate consultant in poetry to the Library of Congress in 1970.�He wrote “The Terror in Robert Frost” in The New York Times on the Web which appeared on 18 August 1974 and from which I draw in the above poem. �Stafford at the time was the author of several collections of poems, including "Allegiances" and "Someday Maybe," He was also a professor of English at Lewis and Clark College in Portland Oregon.�

I was, at the time this article was published, having my first successes as a lecturer and tutor in post-secondary education; I was reading and enjoying immense quantities of print for the first time in my life, having a whole new set of personal tests, and was far removed from writing poetry as I would be until the 1980s about the age of 40.

Ron Price
18 January 2012

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Current Tags: famous, history, personal, poet, poetry

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    SimplyMe  27, Female, Georgia, USA - 5 entries
Jul 2011
10:00 PM CST

Rapid Life

Today I am more in touch with the poetic side of me. Writing and all is what I love to do, it's who I am.� There is no greater feeling right now, than the feeling I get when someone likes my poetry.
Tags: Poetry
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Current Tags: Poetry

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    ajax88  35, Female, DC, Washington, USA - 23 entries
Sep 2009
12:42 PM CST


From one moment
To the Next and thereafter
Wandering About
Since your inception

On my mind�
And spirit
Treading about
Without knowledge
Of how you torment me�

To think of you
As worthy or high
Will bring my downfall
For you not only tread
But fragment and confuse

Hidden across time�
Sands, water, and air
None of which give
You any clue of
My apparition.

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Current Tags: dark, illness, misery, poetry, sad, sorrow, unrequited love

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    ajax88  35, Female, DC, Washington, USA - 23 entries
May 2009
12:43 PM CST


Sitting atop my mind
On a throne of �black,
In nothing but a black cloak
As if mocking that which I lack

Through paleness and stature
Daring eyes and smirking lips,
Coming down for my rapture

With pull greater than any other force
Unwavering and mesmerizing power
Knowing that from him, I myself cannot divorce

More spirit than man in other worlds
Resides in my deepest spaces
Knowing my darkest and well kept secrets
Whispers with wisdom and knowing
�" It is I who has come,
" To conquer the conqueror".

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Current Tags: dark, desire, dream, fantasy, love, passion, poetry

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    Meggies14  37, Female, Illinois, USA - 2 entries
Jun 2008
12:06 PM CDT

On your own now...

On your own now...
In my dreams I see you
I see you sitting there across from me
With a blank expression on your face

You're watching me…watching you

Then you stand up, take the last sip
Of the whiskey you had poured yourself
�€�In that short crystal glass
Not knowing this was the last drink you were about to take

As you grab you're throat
You're eyes build up with tears
You choke
But while trying to understand the current affair
Your life flashes bits of its pieces before you

You see your childhood
Your father that was never there
Your mother, Your brothers
And everything that meant something to you

But right in front of you, you see me
You see what had taken over you
What had changed your life
What had given u something that you never truly had before

While i had previously added that demise into your glass
I had thought about how I before tried to save you
To save you from that life that never gave you shit

But being you
The only you that you know
Could never give back what I had given to you

You were once a piece of clay�
That I sculpted, molded, shifted into what you were never before�

Yet you could still never give
Never give back to me

Everything I had poured out to you
Everything I passed up to be with
Everything that meant everything to me,�
had meant Nothing to you

Words were never enough for me
It was your character
Your phony sense of love

The one who raised you never gave you their appreciation
In which you never gave to me
You were always that person

I love you -Ok -
Ill be there
You never came till morning
At 3 am I smelled booze on your breath
As u finally entered my door
A liar
Something u got from your father

So now you stand there Gripping your throat�
Now understanding how I have for the past 2 years
Strain, deceit, pain, exhaustion
love and hate

Take your last deep breath
Hope to your God that he will be there
Because I will never save you again from what you have become

1 comment(s) - 11:38 PM - 12/09/2010
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Current Tags: , betrayal, letting go, poetry, revenge

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    distracted  50, Female, California, USA - 5 entries
Jan 2008
10:40 AM PDT

so long but i return

so long but i return.. its not yet too late that i might learn.. another way to save these things.. the words we speak, the dreams we need..everything so visible.. yet storms that brew in the sky, make it dangerous but livable.. even when we keep our hearts wrapped up in pride.. im a child.. scattered but i focus on this.. the fuzzy visions i watched faulter dismissed.. i am here once again so long absent but returned to clumsy borders..the lazy lines drawn incomplete and disordered
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Current Tags: distracted, poetry, read this., reflection, return, verse

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    distracted  50, Female, California, USA - 5 entries
Nov 2007
9:14 AM PDT

i have everything i need...

i have everything i need..find what i hold has kept me free..longer then my thoughts have days have found amazing my heart there has been heat, the world around me small defeats..common though outstanding means..a passion for what interests me..hind sight aswell as all could find..yet before me all clearly defined..only moments inbetween darkened by great tragedy..but in my heart even when stormy..i find a steady calm is forming ..deep my soul entrenched in awe..the brother and father who out shine them all..lay to rest with the past and pain that just to watch drove others insane..but here we stand against all odds and doubts..the truth we knew now carried out..into the sun that absent so long..those nay sayers all proven wrong..
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Current Tags: faith, family, journal, poetry, writing

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    distracted  50, Female, California, USA - 5 entries
Nov 2007
9:56 PM PDT

for what its worth

for what its worth...
for what its worth, im here..never a stray, come clean dont fear
for what its worth, im never far, stay put my dear its not too hard
for what its worth , the actions made, dont ever forget the bonds you've made
for what its worth, everythings in sight, never a lie but a promise to fight..
for what its worth, there are are angels that cry, not for me dear but for your life..

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Current Tags: angels, distracted, life, poetry, what its worth

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    lizr79  44, Female, Florida, USA - 5 entries
Aug 2007
10:44 AM EDT

Never one to befried through giggles
Over the years, I've changed a little

Kept some close, but most were lost
I am richer for those I've got
Each contributes something uninque
For this band of sisters, I am the link

Each woman should build and nourish her own ring
For the endless strength and support it brings

The size of the circle holds no importance
Just integrity of the bond and unwaivering stance

Exact combination is a challenge of balance
Life takes its toll, we are all victims to chance

Offer time and provide good company
When appropriate, extend sympathy

Develop, maintain, suprise and delight
Combined energy will keep friendships bright
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Current Tags: Friendship, Poetry

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    Ranilyn  28, Female, Canada - 26 entries
Jul 2015
2:49 AM MST


Drunk on stories
Drunk on the lives of the characters - their bravery, their joy, their struggle, their pain, their persistence and resiliency
on the unconditional and awe-inspiring love shown and felt by these people
even in face of unexpected betray from someone so close that they trusted
- like a dull carving knife into one's heart
And yet, through the pain, through the agony, they bear a vicious grin with blood pouring out of their mouths, standing tall to fight.
Or they reach out and continue to love, love, and love and save
the one who had coldly pierced their exposed hearts
even if it meant taking the knife out of their murderer's hands
and further impaling themselves on it
(for all those characters who still chose to save those who hurt them, even if it meant giving up their lives)

I am drunk on their courage
their dammed unwavering loyalty�
(Oh Stefan my heart broke for you and I am in awe at your faithfulness to Marsilia)
I am drunk on their ability to find what they firmly believe
And stand for it in the face of unshakeable odds
And they come out battered, bruised, damaged, and perhaps even weaker than before
But before you stands a man who you can only look upon with great respect
and admire for making the tough choices of doing what they think is right
- though sadly enough, as we all know intimately, that sometimes that doesn't mean it is
(Thank you Harry Dresden, for teaching us that it's okay that sometimes our very best is not enough. We must always pick ourselves up and keep going, even through the face of our mistakes)
I am drunk on the lives they have lived
The decisions they have made
The adventures they have embarked upon
The loves that they had
The enemies and temptations they fought
The things they learned

The lessons they taught

I cry as they have cried through heartbreak, pain, and death

I wept among their family and mourners in their funerals

I laugh at their comical antics or the absurd situations they found themselves in

I felt the fierce swell of triumph when the underdog stands straight once again,
from the beaten pile of limbs,grinning with blood in our teeth and conviction of our victory in our eyes

- or at least our damned determination to see it through at the very least

I drink and drink and drink

of these stories spun masterfully by skilled writers

I drink until I cannot tell if I am drinking ambrosia or poison,

until I cannot tell if it inspires life in me when I am weary of the struggles and monotony of life

�or if it leaves me drugged for a fantastical substitute�

numb to real life

unable to cope with facing my own trials,
always longing and desperate for the next hit

Like a drug addict who despises his sorry situation

but makes no move to confront and make a change in his lifestyle

choosing instead to escape by injecting another wonderous shot of ecstasy

that slide through your veins like the sweetest bad decision you've ever made

I drink until I only know that I fear sobrierty

And then I drink some more so that even that fear is gone and I can live through

someone else's pain and someone else's joy

so I do not have to face my own.
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Current Tags: addiction, escape, hurt, pain, poetry, reading, rough draft

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