thoughtschuggingalong.blogspot.com

Rush Hour Pages

Some musings from the morning's rush. Monday, July 27, 2009. It was that time of the year, again. When the breeze of love touches her,. Rattles through her long, widespread branches,. And makes her heart sing with joy. And she tosses up her head,. And she laughs,. And like a moment frozen in time,. Her laughter echoes,. Over the hills, on to the plains. You can see her laughter . For miles around her,. A Red halo of Joy,. Of a new beginning, of hope. Her red, wild tresses all over her. Came a tiny, scare...

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Rush Hour Pages | thoughtschuggingalong.blogspot.com Reviews

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Some musings from the morning's rush. Monday, July 27, 2009. It was that time of the year, again. When the breeze of love touches her,. Rattles through her long, widespread branches,. And makes her heart sing with joy. And she tosses up her head,. And she laughs,. And like a moment frozen in time,. Her laughter echoes,. Over the hills, on to the plains. You can see her laughter . For miles around her,. A Red halo of Joy,. Of a new beginning, of hope. Her red, wild tresses all over her. Came a tiny, scare...

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Rush Hour Pages | thoughtschuggingalong.blogspot.com Reviews

https://thoughtschuggingalong.blogspot.com

Some musings from the morning's rush. Monday, July 27, 2009. It was that time of the year, again. When the breeze of love touches her,. Rattles through her long, widespread branches,. And makes her heart sing with joy. And she tosses up her head,. And she laughs,. And like a moment frozen in time,. Her laughter echoes,. Over the hills, on to the plains. You can see her laughter . For miles around her,. A Red halo of Joy,. Of a new beginning, of hope. Her red, wild tresses all over her. Came a tiny, scare...

INTERNAL PAGES

thoughtschuggingalong.blogspot.com

1

Rush Hour Pages: Poetry

http://www.thoughtschuggingalong.blogspot.com/2008/06/poetry.html

Some musings from the morning's rush. Tuesday, June 3, 2008. Poetry is not the juice of a fruit,. That on squeezing it must flow. It is like a little feather,. It’ll fly, when the winds blow. Poetry is not for the genius alone,. Or only for the ones who write,. She lives in every beating, feeling heart,. She is every living soul’s right. Poetry is not only the words,. Written on paper with ink. It is that collection of thoughts,. That you think when you don’t think. Poetry is not just a nib,. 9 build a s...

2

Rush Hour Pages: For You I Cried....

http://www.thoughtschuggingalong.blogspot.com/2008/06/for-you-i-cried.html

Some musings from the morning's rush. Wednesday, June 4, 2008. For You I Cried. I watch helplessly, as the sun goes down. Just like I watched you go. But the sun I know, will come again,. Of you, I never know. It was you I loved and trusted in,. It was you I ever thought of. But it was you who left me stranded,. And it was me you made a joke of. The hours I spent in loving you,. The double I spend in tears. All the dreams and hopes I ever had,. Now haunt me as my fears. I know of love, for it lives in me.

3

Rush Hour Pages: The Epidemic

http://www.thoughtschuggingalong.blogspot.com/2008/06/epidemic.html

Some musings from the morning's rush. Wednesday, June 4, 2008. Down the streets, cold and grey,. Death rides with a cold heart. No matter where she puts her foot,. Hope and Joy, all depart. She wipes away happy smiles,. Making place for a frown. She pluks every strand of Life,. And tucks them in her crown. She wraps away in her dark cloak,. Some summer days, never lived. She rattles down little country lanes,. Leaving all sad and agrieved. But then Life, in his chariot bright,. Posted by Maithili Desai.

4

Rush Hour Pages: June 2008

http://www.thoughtschuggingalong.blogspot.com/2008_06_01_archive.html

Some musings from the morning's rush. Monday, June 16, 2008. Living Stone (The Gateway). There on the ragged ocean's edge,. Stands an edifice, tall and old. Overlooking the silver in the night,. By dusk, admiring the gold. She is the manefestation of a dream,. A lore made immortal in stone. The crown of a long forgotten king,. The gold of a dusty forlon throne. From her shoulders, the cloak of Time,. Falls in many a satiny fold. Perched on Her wizened high forehead. Are stone flowers, eternal. Cold.

5

Rush Hour Pages: She Laughs...

http://www.thoughtschuggingalong.blogspot.com/2009/07/she-laughs.html

Some musings from the morning's rush. Monday, July 27, 2009. It was that time of the year, again. When the breeze of love touches her,. Rattles through her long, widespread branches,. And makes her heart sing with joy. And she tosses up her head,. And she laughs,. And like a moment frozen in time,. Her laughter echoes,. Over the hills, on to the plains. You can see her laughter . For miles around her,. A Red halo of Joy,. Of a new beginning, of hope. Her red, wild tresses all over her. 3 go bungee jumping.

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Rush Hour Pages

Some musings from the morning's rush. Monday, July 27, 2009. It was that time of the year, again. When the breeze of love touches her,. Rattles through her long, widespread branches,. And makes her heart sing with joy. And she tosses up her head,. And she laughs,. And like a moment frozen in time,. Her laughter echoes,. Over the hills, on to the plains. You can see her laughter . For miles around her,. A Red halo of Joy,. Of a new beginning, of hope. Her red, wild tresses all over her. Came a tiny, scare...

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