One of my favorite groups of all time, The Beatles. I remember listening to all the albums that my mom got in her album of the month club and The Beatles albums were always my favorites played over & over & over again, and then, when I was about 11, we went visit my older, hipper cousins and I heard Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band for the first time and it was nirvana. I believe it was the soundtrack album from the movie of the same title. I rushed out and bought that album and felt so cool. As I’ve gotten older and especially now, I realize just how talented and beyond extraordinary The Beatles were.
I love pretty much every single one of their songs, but my 2 most favorite are Norwegian Wood, sung by John Lennon and While My Guitar Gently Weeps by George Harrison.
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“While My Guitar Gently Weeps” is a song from their 1968 double album The Beatles (also known as “the White Album”). It was written by George Harrison and the recording includes a lead guitar part played by Eric Clapton.
“Norwegian Wood” was one of the first Western pop songs to feature the sitar, an Indian instrument. John Lennon wrote it about an affair he was having on his wife, Cynthia, which to me was/is a pretty sh*tty thing to do, but my God, what a song! I don’t think of singer or songwriter or reason for or what the song is about when I hear it, all I think of is another world, another place, another time, another universe called music. It’s simply beautiful, breathtaking and bliss for my senses.
I’m posting some videos below with the original versions and some really fabulous cover versions, imho.
I hope you get swept away and lost in their magic as much as I did and always do when I listen to them. I would also love to know some of your favorites by The Beatles! Enjoy!
The exciting part about social media is networking and meeting like-minded people, especially if you are a writer or poet. A writer is a poet.
I first met Alexandra Meehan on Twitter. We have never met in real life, but our souls have probably met before. We became friends and we have come to appreciate each other’s poetic styles. I approached her a few weeks ago with the idea to open an account for lovers of poetry. We are both immensely inspired by Anne Sexton and Syliva Plath, who are two women who wrote about their turmoil life experiences. Men and women appreciate reading these two poets because through these women’s tough eyes the shape of humanity and relationships unfold in unique, female, poetic voices.
The pursuit of writing is an on-going struggle for writers and poets, especially women. Since Sappho, women have come a long way in poetry, but…
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Excess in
moderations
tempting fate
not death, but
flights of fancy
higher highest high
touching heaven
rips the veil
break on thru to
the other side
mystic oceans
flames of color
inhale new life
sex lust like candy
bliss wicked holy
drowning dancing
drenching laughter
ride the waves
race the moon
Angels sun stars
dance out
rejoicing
Love’s song of Your
eternal name
~
@justagirllost
He pushes aside wisps of hair to gently kiss my forehead.
His way to wordlessly say, “It’s still ok, you grumpy, unloving, selfish girl . I love every bit and piece of you. I still do. It’s just me and you and WE will always be ok.”
He laughs when I won’t.
He likes music I don’t, he likes mine too, he never has to choose. He’s an Eclectic demigod of tunes. A firestorm of moods. He can be as crazy, raunchy, crude, irreverent, lewd, uncontrolled, wild and wicked as the music he listens to.
He is undone watching sad movies, the ones where sports heroes die in the arms of a best friend.
He loves books as if they somehow help him breathe. He reads to me the things that touch him most deeply. He hides nothing of what he’s feeling or thinking. He knows I never judge him & though I may disagree I respect him and always try to see though his eyes.
His openness, trust and complete honesty are the greatest gifts of Love anyone has ever given me. He allows me to reciprocate. His uncaged heart frees me.
Everything about him screams sexy. His mind is my Aphrodisiac. His body is my home. There is no part of me he hasn’t seen. There is no place on me he hasn’t touched. My lips, sighs, whispers, cries, passion, pleasure, pain, desire, every inch, outside and in… There is nothing I keep from him. To Him only do I belong.
He can split logs and carry them in rain. He is made of hardest muscle and beard. He is not soft. I love the rugged length of him. The smell of sweat and skin. The way his hands engulf mine. The way his body shields and protects. He makes me feel strong, yet delicate.
He isn’t afraid to Pray, in his own way.
He seeks beyond this world for the greater good and greater Truth.
He Respects all creatures, all life. He lets butterflies rest upon his thumb and never kills bumblebees or fireflies.
His takes no delight in cruelty or another man’s downfall
He is strength with tenderness. A gentle upheaval. A fascinating contradiction.
He is Bold as knights of old. He Protects the innocent, the weak, the bullied, the meek.
He is slow to anger or take offense. He sees all, the bad, the good in those he calls friend.
He does what is right and honorable with courage and strength of conviction.
He is a man of action, a Warrior
He is a Seeker of peace
Hypocrisy he never tolerates. Ignorance he won’t excuse. He never suffers fools.
He has no need for the approval of men. He’s no sheep to be led by irrational emotion. He’s not influenced by the latest trends among politicians, philosophers or the masses.
He is a realist, a pragmatist who sees with the eyes of wisdom and reason.
He is an Idealist, an optimist, a philosopher.
Compelling, passionate, brilliant and fascinating. He challenges my mind, and he delights when mine challenges his.
He is gentility and class. He is confident and secure with his manhood, his place in the world. He is nobility of thought. Justice and honesty are ingrained in his heart.
More than generous, he seeks no adulation or glory for kindnesses
He sacrifices without complaint for those he loves
He gazes into each sun’s rising and setting with wonder and awe. He knows all nature is a masterpiece, a treasure to protect and respect
He shows me reality in colors unseen
He sees beyond what the eyes perceive
In every season he finds hope, no matter how stark the horizon or chilling the breeze
He teaches me unending ways to discover the Beauty in me
Like a rare flower he treasures and cherishes me with every breath
He delights as I bloom beneath his care. He is never threatened by my strength. He could crush me in an instant, I trust him completely. I am fearless and free within the fortress of him
He is my Protector, my Avenger
He is my Savior, my soulmate, my biggest fan, my most ardent, attentive Lover
He is my best friend
He found me when I was alone, unguarded, unmasked. He SAW into me and still stayed around. I know it’s meant to last
novel (n.): 1. a fictitious prose narrative of considerable length and complexity, portraying characters and usually presenting a sequential organization of action and scenes. 2. (adj.) of a new kind; different from anything seen or known before
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