Random books from anntownsend's library
On Kissing, Tickling, and Being Bored : Psychoanalytic Essays on the Unexamined Life by Adam Phillips
The Long Meadow: Poems by Vijay Seshadri
Flowers in History (A Studio book) by Peter Coats
Complete Poems and Plays,: 1909-1950 by T. S. Eliot
Hybrids of Plants and of Ghosts (Princeton Series of Contemporary Poets) by Jorie Graham
Happy All the Time by Laurie Colwin
If not, winter : fragments of Sappho by Sappho
Members with anntownsend's books
RSS feeds
Member: anntownsend
CollectionsYour library (249)
ReviewsNone
TagsPoetry (91), Fiction (34), Poetry Criticism (28), Gardening (12), Psychoanalysis (10), Poetry Anthology (9), Prosody (6), Medieval (6), Literary Essays (4), Literary Criticism (4) — see all tags
Cloudstag cloud, author cloud
GroupsNone
Homepagehttp://www.anntownsend.com
Real nameAnn Townsend
Favorite authorsNone
Account typepublic, lifetime
Connection NewsConnection News
URLs
http://www.librarything.com/profile/anntownsend (profile)
http://www.librarything.com/catalog/anntownsend (library)
Common KnowledgeSeries (14), Awards (92), Characters (140), Places (34)
Member sinceJun 29, 2006










Leave a comment
Sign up or sign in to leave a comment.
Heres a short poem , I hope it is to your liking:
Live with Greater Meaning
Live with Greater Meaning.
Discover your own Unique Voice.
Let your Soul be Embraced by the Wind as your Spirit is Caressed by the Sun.
Venture outside the box.
Take your Soul to new heights by Cultivating Self Awareness.
Dwell in Divine Light and rest comfortably in the arms of Sacred Mother Earth.
Know that when we Embrace our True Nature we Fly without Wings through a Path of Fulfillment and Harmonious Comfort.
Live with Greater Meaning.
posted by theoldman at 9:20 am (EST) on Jan 27, 2008
Maybe you haven't read this poem:
The Voice
by Theodore Roethke
One feather is a bird,
I claim; one tree, a wood;
In her low voice I heard
More than a mortal should;
And so I stood apart,
Hidden in my own heart.
And yet I roamed out where
Those notes went, like the bird,
Whose thin song hung in air,
Diminished, yet still heard:
I lived with open sound,
Aloft, and on the ground.
That ghost was my own choice,
The shy cerulean bird;
It sang with her true voice,
And it was I who heard
A slight voice reply;
I heard; and only I.
Desire exults the ear:
Bird, girl, and ghostly tree,
The earth, the solid air--
Their slow song sang in me;
The long noon pulsed away,
Like any summer day.
posted by eulivius at 9:59 pm (EST) on Nov 29, 2006