LibraryThing Author: Ann Townsend

anntownsend is a LibraryThing Author, an author who lists their personal library on LibraryThing.

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Member: anntownsend

Library249 books — see library

ReviewedNone so far

Cloudstag cloud, author cloud

TagsPoetry (91), Fiction (34), Poetry Criticism (28), Gardening (12), Psychoanalysis (10), Poetry Anthology (9), Prosody (6), Literary Essays (4) — see all tags

GroupsNone

Homepagehttp://www.anntownsend.com

Real nameAnn Townsend

Favorite authorsNone specified

Account typepublic, lifetime

URLs http://www.librarything.com/profile/anntownsend (profile)
http://www.librarything.com/catalog/anntownsend (library)

Member sinceJun 29, 2006

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Poetry is a window to the soul that sows seeds of courage and creativity. It is an infinite tapestry of the universe that embraces harmony and spirituality. You are a gifted poet whose work serves as a gateway to enlightenment. Your words nourish our spirits with extraordinary insight and honesty. I honour the miracle of who you are. Thank you for sharing the relevance of your radiant mind. I wish you peace within your soul that you may continue to share your engagingly intimate voice. May you walk in harmony with earth and sky as you activate your divine blueprint and may yours be a dance of eternal bliss.

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.
I enjoy your poetry.

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.

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