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  • Poetry « ItsGoLdenMag.org Page 1 of 15 ItsGoLdenMag.org ~Creative Genius with a GoLden tWiSt~ Home About Artwork/Photography Book Spotlight Lisa’s Corner Literary Genius Music Speaks Poetry The Spoken Word Poetry “A true poet does not bother to be poetical. Nor does a nursery gardener scent his roses.” -Jean Cocteau December Poets: Eftichia Kapardeli, Tatjana Debeljacki, James Toma, Alexis Roeckner, Matthew Harris, Walter William Safar, and B.M. Mozimo Eftichia Kapardeli Search “Eftichia Kapardeli was born in Athens, Greece and lives in Patras. She has written poetry, stories,topics, Xai-kou, essays, and novels. She is a soprano in the chorus and gratuated from The Deparment of Journalism A.K.E.M Recent Posts (Athenian center vocational education). Eftichia has participated in many educational seminars. She know H/Y 7 programs ,English and Italian, classic Kithara ,and has studied right voice . She served as the guide in the body of ~Welcome to the 2nd Edition Hellenic girl scouts and is also a volunteer firewoman. Eftichia has participated in many programs including being of ItsGoLdenMag.org~ a Like listener student in which she followed the 2004 Department of Filology at University of Patras. She has Ephiphany: Mortician’s Eyes Part II - been rewarded in panhellenics competitions that include poetry,topics, stories, Novels,fable,xai you . She take Lisa Crump sdiscernement in her book *secret march*(novel) From D.E.E.L and *sikeliana 2006* (salamina) UNESCO Her work Poetry: What’s The Use??!!!! - publication in magazines in Literaries The first poetics collections is *confindings of secrets* and *light* She is Lisa Crump have one paper in university of cyprus {the creek civilication} She is member in world poets society{w.p.s}the official website is http://world-poets.blogspot.com/, member P.E.L in greecehttp://www.panelog.grmember Next Edition will launch 12/20/11 internasional writers associations president Teresinka pereira Adress and member Pegasus Literary Society Welcome to ItsGoLdenmag.org http://agronshelewps.webs.com/MEZONOS 229 TK 26222 TELEphone 2610-338248 6973930402 INTERNET : htt://durabond.ca/gdouridas/poetryArkadia.html e-mail: kapardeli@gmail.com kapardeli@mailbox.gr ” http://www.durabond.ca/gdouridas/kapardeli.html Archives http://logotexnika-epikaira.blogspot.com/2010/05/blog-post_17.html December 2011 INNOCENCE November 2011 October 2011 The opponents have receded Categories The poisons human mind They ruined ths reality Uncategorized They left back destruction *** Categories In the ruins i found Uncategorized The chased innocence Above in piles from stones Search Just as fat drops of rain Invade from everywhere In the old house that Sometimes was familian Followhttp://itsgoldenmag.org/poetry-2/ 12/20/2011
  • Poetry « ItsGoLdenMag.org Page 2 of 15 In the ruins refugein Alive a new child ItsGoLden Literary Magazine A rosy promise Chastity and youth Was rescued. ONE SWEET WHITE LIGHT ..A sweet white Light Smile Aurora a flame the torch of life. A sweet white light the heavy winter leafing through the Heart …… … Blog at WordPress.com. | Theme: Matala by Nicolo To keep warm Volpato. A sweet white Light Cover the tender Your Body with kisses and tears. A sweet white Light Angel Tears in the eyes of children … when hands the cast to tired hands of parents A sweet white Light in New worlds tirelessly the hope of looking for ΕΛΠΙ∆ΑΣ ΞΗΜΕΡ ΜΑ Θα έρθει η Ανατολή και λεύτερη η Ελπίδα θ΄ ανοίξει σαν το πουλί τα φτερούγια της σε τόπους µακρινούς να πάει µυστικά να ζήσει ∑τεριά θα βρει κάτω απ΄ τα άστρα κάτω απ΄ τον ήλιο Followhttp://itsgoldenmag.org/poetry-2/ 12/20/2011
  • Poetry « ItsGoLdenMag.org Page 3 of 15 εσένα ψάχνει ∑το βλέµµα σου ξεχώρισα λεύτερη την ελπίδα κάνε υποµονή Θα έρθει η Ανατολή HOPE EAST It comes East and free Hope i open like the bird wings at sites distant to Secrets to go live Land will find underneath the stars under the sun you looking In your eyes singled free hope patience It comes East ______________________________________________________________ Tatjana Debeljački Tatjana Debeljački, was born on 23.04.1967 in Užice. Tatjana writes poetry, short stories, stories and haiku. She currently is a member of Association of Writers of Serbia -UKS since 2004 and Haiku Society of Serbia – HDS Serbia, HUSCG – Montenegro and HDPR, Croatia. A member of Writers’ Association Poeta, Belgrade since 2008, HKD Croatia since 2009 and a member of Poetry Society “Antun Ivanošić” Osijek since 2011. Deputy of the main editor (cooperation with magazines & interviews). http://diogen.weebly.com/redakcijaeditorial-board.html Editor of the magazine “Poeta”, published by Writers’ Association “Poeta” http://www.poetabg.com/ Union of Yugoslav Writers in Homeland and Immigration – Belgrade, Literary Club Yesenin – Belgrade.Up to now, she has published four collections of poetry: “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS “, published by ART – Užice in 1996; collection of poems “YOURS“, published by Narodna knjiga Belgrade in 2003; collection of haiku poetry “VOLCANO”, published by Lotos from Valjevo in 2004. A CD book “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS” published by ART in 2005, bilingual SR-EN with music, AH-EH-IH-OH-UH, published by Poeta, Belgrade in 2008.Her poetry and haiku have been translated into several languages. Email/Websites/Blogshttp://debeljacki.mojblog.rs/ SLIKE PHOTOS NE VOLI DO NOT LOVE NE SPALJUJ DO NOT BURN NE DOZIVLJAVAJ DO NOT LIVE THROUGH NE VOLI IH DO NOT LOVE THEM NE SPALJUJ IH DO NOT BURN THEM NE DOZIVLJAVAJ IH DO NOT LIVE THROUGH THEM VOLI IH LOVE THEM SPALJUJ IH BURN THEM DOZIVLJAVAJ IH LIVE THROUGH THEM VOLI, SPALJUJ,DOZIVLJAVAJ LOVE, BURN, LIVE THROUGH DOZIVLJAVAJ, SPALJUJ, VOLI LIVE THROUGH, BURN, LOVE SPALJUJ, DOZIVLJAVAJ BURN, LIVE THROUGH VOLI, NE VOLI IH, VOLI IH. VILI, DO NOT LOVE THEM, LOVE THEM. I VOLI I SPALJUJ I DOVLJAVAJ AND LOVE AND BURN AND LIVE THROUGH THEM DOZIVLJAVAJ VOLI SPALJUJ IH-NE? LIVE THROUGH LOVE BURN THEM – NO? HIM THE GREEN LETTER Followhttp://itsgoldenmag.org/poetry-2/ 12/20/2011
  • Poetry « ItsGoLdenMag.org Page 4 of 15 Yes, the wound made by words hurts the same as the physical wound, Friends have convenient words for you and they are ready to listen to you their hearts are always open for you, but where are they when they’re needed most? HER THE RED LETTER I am your friend and be delighted by that fact, I forgive you for Making ahole in the fence (heart), bitter residue Of anger is all of that Experience with the man in the world without God, forgive me, I see you as A man, I see you naked in front of me in the sunlight, I’ll stay faithful to the end, follow my shadow in the Night. Witness with nice name Give me your hard hands you take mine light ones. _________________________________________________________ James Toma James Toma is a poet residing in Silver Spring, Maryland. He sometimes goes by his pen name, “Jamztoma.” James loves reading, writing, and listening to Top 10 music. He was born and raised in Pago Pago, American Samoa. 25 Darkness is my light Rain is my sunshine My enemy is my friend Curse is my blessing The cold is my warmth Pain is my pleasure The master is my slave Life is my deathbed Honesty is my deceiver My bruises are my kisses The joker is a killjoy Ballads are my ditties Losing is my gaining My innocence is my filth Religion is my science My home is my prison Beasts are still friends Followhttp://itsgoldenmag.org/poetry-2/ 12/20/2011
  • Poetry « ItsGoLdenMag.org Page 5 of 15 Junk is still treasure Saints are still sinners The world’s fools are God’s sages Ice burns like fire The ocean is like Heaven A criminal is a martyr Great sex is no sex 25 feels like the elderly THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT Sign a card mail your heart to the one you love… Kiss the snow if you can as it falls from above… These simple things you do Simple things, simple moves These memories you knew fondest ones you would not lose All in the holiday spirit Deck the tree feeling happy singing carols all day… Give a gift give a dream give yourself away… These simple things you do Simple things, simple moves these memories you knew fondest ones you would not lose All in the Christmas spirit But who’s the guy behind all this? But who’s the guy behind all this? Angel came Girl obeyed And He was made… That one night the King arrived not on a bed but on hay… This simple King, this simple King That’s his story, He’s our glory He’s our King, He’s our everything That’s his honor, He’s our Savior And He’s the reason why: We sign these cards and mail our hearts to the ones we love Kiss the snow if we can as it falls from above Deck a pine tree while feeling happy and carol all day Give these gifts give these dreams and give ourselves away All in the Christmas spirit All in His spirit YOUR SCIENCE Into the nights Into the days I find it exhaustive And not the same Followhttp://itsgoldenmag.org/poetry-2/ 12/20/2011
  • Poetry « ItsGoLdenMag.org Page 6 of 15 This love of ours It’s just not working Just not growing It’s all a waste Your science Your gravity Your oxygen Your chemistry I have no use for them you see? You’re a pathogen A malady A no-use presence A death disease I must rid myself of you please! I have to soar To let go of all strings The complete disasters that are you I’m sorry but I need some air I am about to drown in despair Your electricity Your batteries Your compass Your IV Just don’t work anymore on me I’m a subject I’m a study object Of your suffocating romance Your science Your gravity Your oxygen Your chemistry I have no use for them you see? ________________________________________________________ Alexis Roeckner Alexis Roeckner, 20, was born and raised in the beautiful city of Cave Creek, Arizona and has been writing since she was four years old. By the age of fourteen she had written seven books, two of which were unofficially put into paperback and sold to raise funds for Heifer International (http://heifer.org/). Alexis currently studies sustainability at Arizona State University, and lives in Glendale, Arizona with her cat Gypsy. Starving We’re all starving, really. It’s not about fulfillment or detail anymore Followhttp://itsgoldenmag.org/poetry-2/ 12/20/2011
  • Poetry « ItsGoLdenMag.org Page 7 of 15 and equality? Forget about it. There are no lines nor escorts to tables where your order is taken cheerfully and you watch others eat their fill. Instead banquets hidden behind the flurry of hands are enclosed in one corner. In another lie emaciated bodies that lift their eyes from the floor every now and then as they wait for their servers to come. We’re all starving, really, because those who have food will grab all they can without a backwards glance. And those who don’t will eye the feast from below, obvious of the knowledge that they are not the only ones who are hungry. Burning Burn this once you have finished reading it. Offer this scramble of words to the flames and watch the blaze weaken letter after letter until only lifeless ashes remain. Ignore the whispers that surely sear the tendons nearest to your heart, and smile if the unyielding smoke in your mind refuses to dissolve. Allow these feelings to smolder Followhttp://itsgoldenmag.org/poetry-2/ 12/20/2011
  • Poetry « ItsGoLdenMag.org Page 8 of 15 and glow and intensify and I promise you that these words will not be the only ones facing annihilation. Feed this to the flames when your lust-filled eyes have stopped touching it. Yearn for the blaze to grow higher and louder until its roar is sufficient yet still and calm and steady. Scream for a brighter flame, for thicker smoke, for unbearable heat, and let no drop of tears or sweat come near your pitiful shrine. Grind your fingers to and fro until the blood runs down your hands and I promise you that I will laugh through the barricade and that the wall of water between us will make Hell itself seem cold. Burn these words. Burn them in the creation you take no credit for until their letters peal and rupture through rotting wood. Leap further into the fire until your silhouette is lost within the smoke and I promise you I promise you now that the scars will strengthen a force you have wanted to ignore, and you will sink further than I did when you seized my hand and dragged me through to the other side. _________________________________________________________ Matthew Harris “Let me state the obvious that i like to write, ideally a thought provoking diatribe versus some string of words rather trite which verbose verbiage tends to be long winded and vaguely understood quite yet this somewhat Followhttp://itsgoldenmag.org/poetry-2/ 12/20/2011
  • Poetry « ItsGoLdenMag.org Page 9 of 15 circumlocutious loopy nippy nap noopy introduction composed at night in tandem with more’n a chink in the ham bone and armor of this rusty yet trusty ole knight! Born aloft in sin er rather Cincinnati, Ohio ad nineteen hundred and fifty nine where after one year father and late mother moved with an older sister of mine to levittown, audubon (where younger sister completed harris family, then one last heave ho to Collegeville, Pennsylvania where the majority of my growing up years passed with trials and tribulations to boot galore that left psychic pock marks that affect my psycho/social well being. As a rather demure, fawning, joking, lithe pipsqueak, i found solace in low key quiet activities such as playing piano, reading, and using this over active imagination to populate an existence devoid of numerous friends.” SANTA LETTER TO THE PUNIM – 2011______ DEAR SHANA AUBREY HARRIS from SANTA AND HIS REINDEER WHO DECIDED TO REIGN IN THE PRANCING CREW FOR TIME TO SPARE A SHORT NOTE SITTING ON HIS CLAW FOOTED POTTY IN HIS UNDERWEAR WHICH LOSE ELASTICITY AS ME GIRTH EXPANDS WITH EACH PASSING YEAR MY EYES BUBBLED UP WITH BLISSFULNESS AND A STRAY TEAR WHICH HEARTFELT EMOTION FROM YOUR NOTE I WANTED TO SHARE THOUGH FAN MAIL FROM COUNTLESS KIDS FAR AND/OR WIDE NOT RARE! THE BEST GIFT THAT WOULD REALLY TOUCH MY SOUL AND HEART WOULD BE FOR YOU & EDEN TO MAKE AN EFFORT TO REMAIN PART OF THE FAMILY BY ACCEPTING EACH OTHER AS THE PLACE TO START! THOUGH DASHED OFF WITH A COMET LIKE BLITZ, YOUR NOTE TOUCHED ME TO THE QUICK RATHER THAN ADDRESS ME AS SANTA CLAUS JUST CALL ME SAINT NICK OR JOLLY HANDY DANDY RED SUITED FELLOW IF THAT DOES CLICK! OTHER PEARLS OF WISDOM, I WISH TO OFFER SUCH A LASS AS THEE OFFER KINDNESS TOWARD OTHERS AS RENOWN BY (WHO ELSE) BUT ME WHICH COMPASSION CONTRIBUTES GOODNESS EVERYONE WOULD AGREE! NOW TIS TIME TO WHIP UP THE MOTLEY CREW AND AWAIT THE TWINKLE AS CHILDREN SKIP TO THEIR LOU UPON UNEXPECTED SURPRISES AND LAUGHING NON STOP I NEARLY GO POO WHICH MATTER THIS BEARDED FELLOW MUST ATTEND LEST HE BE MISTAKEN FROM AN ANIMAL FROM THE ZOO! The deadly scourge of one obsessive/compulsive disorder anorexia nervosa absent bulimia nadir of onset sans schizoid behavior which agonizingly slow suicide via self starvation maelstrom within psyche of self as prepubescent lad (particularly devastating to immediate family members) as emaciation pitted existential revulsion from unseen wuthering heights nearly wrung death knell annihilating fragile entity christened matthew scott with preemtory imprimatur yielding covalent bond to life readily obvious to kith and kin Followhttp://itsgoldenmag.org/poetry-2/ 12/20/2011
  • Poetry « ItsGoLdenMag.org Page 10 of 15 via zorro like signature per profound perilous depressive psychological state. now – at about eight + forty years from attaining rank of centenarian perfect 20/20 hindsight offers supreme advantage from said current earlier chronological crisis theorizing numerous educated guesses within mind of this middle progeny and sole sol (of boyce and the late harriet harris) why he willfully hurtled his flesh at light speed down the abyss toward death. literal and physical lightness of being manifested within nooks and crannies prior to full blown symptoms to eliminate sustenance drawing the curtain on brief residence way before high noon of life. metamorphosis from boyhood into man found solace in attempting to keep at bay natural cycle which transformation grieved me to pine for nostalgic childhood’s end (albeit one fraught with romanticism) vengefully interpreted attempt to halt dead in the tracks intervention of mother whose nursing experience helped fend off passive attempt to promulgate passive silent plan to fruition. she whipped various nutritious concoctions in the blender to ensure minimal essentials to this (i readily admit) famished body in conjunction with applying vital supplements into one or the other bony gluteus maximus thru fuel injection which submissiveness to acquiesce and bare my buttocks did absolutely nothing to squelch death wish. I inexorably overcame this eat disorder to go on a deadly hunger strike which essentially constitutes a declaration of independent control despite horrendous craving for food jabbed innards like a pike bifurcated psychic division to live ousted coeval death wish sans goal seize yore per reminiscent of blissful childhood over flooded self made dike engendering propensity to catapult over abysmal emotional hole and way before the invention of facebook, I mentally clicked like to fight the mailer daemons that part of me healthy development stole. imprimatur indelibly etched decades after bout with passive exit from life crimp on psycho/social skills plus stunted physical growth cuts like a knife affecting mental health with panic attacks and anxiety although existence Followhttp://itsgoldenmag.org/poetry-2/ 12/20/2011
  • Poetry « ItsGoLdenMag.org Page 11 of 15 considerably less riddled with debilitating symptoms (such as vertigo, racing heart, profuse sweating, nausea, irritable bowels) relying on prescription medications prozac and klonipin eased strife! _________________________________________________________ Walter William Safar “I wrote these Poems on an old typewriter, which I inherited from a late American writer. This wise, good man used to read poems to me when I was a kid, saying that I too will read my poems to other people, but first I shall roam the world searching for myself. I admit I no longer have the will or power to roam around, but I haven’t lost the will to write poetry. All I want is to share my pan, suffering, loneliness, love and desires with the whole world.’’ From the Heart of Poet LONELY NIGHTS Against the old oak I cling my cheek to hear a lost voice inside; The voice of a lost friend, the voice of my lost father and mother, the voice of lost love. And in this lonely night the voices inside the old oak are quiet and inaudible, as if dying along with my spirit. The night has turned its beautiful lonely face to the sky, and I, I call out my own name in this lonely night. which became perfectly strange to me – with some desperate hope that I shall hear the echo of my own spirit. Wise people say that each spirit is made of memories, and my memories are dead; dead like those lost voices inside the old oak, which, like vampire claws, raises its old, barren branches towards a black crow, to steel its voice and to call out into this silent, lonely night, like the voice of many friends of men, that someone’s tear sometime dies before it’s born. Inside me, there is still hope that someone shall hear my name, and that it won’t sound as strange as it does to me. Slowly and ghastly I tread the shadows like a sinner treads the skulls in hell, and I call out with a solitary cry into this lonely night, to chase away death, if I can’t chase away solitude. But what is life worth without voices, not the ones you can buy, but voices of conscience, which are born and eternally live along with human souls. Against the old oak I cling my cheek, and I listen in to a thousand souls, Now I know, yes, Lord, now I know that someone will call my name as well, because when you hear the voices of souls of dear people you’ve lost, you have the power to bear memories of yourself in someone else. ©Walter William Safar OLD OAK In the shadow of solitude now I see Your eyes, that so faithfully carry about the light through my thoughts so dark, and the pen trembles in the hand, waiting for the prodigal son’s acknowledgement. My one and only, acknowledgements arrive in solitude’s embrace, just like tears, and where there is a tear, there is love, always faithful and unbribable, invisible but so real Followhttp://itsgoldenmag.org/poetry-2/ 12/20/2011
  • Poetry « ItsGoLdenMag.org Page 12 of 15 that you can touch it with thoughts and with the fiery breath in the infinity of solitude. I admit to using my verses as ransom for my guilt, (and guilt is my silence), and I listen to the rumor that perpetually, like a bat, whirls across the lonely poet’s street. They say that me and You, my one and only, are fantasy, but a pen immersed in ink. But You know, don’t You, that me and You are perfectly real, full of wishes, dreams and memories. My one and only, I am listening to the whisper of the wind in this warm, dreamy summer night… It is silent, horribly silent without You, and the wind’s whisper is dying down, farther away, oh so far, as if called by death to its black hearse, and I have waited for so many days, months and years to appear, to bring Your voice to me, gentle, soft, warm and yearning, but it is so silent, oh so silent now, that I can hear the screams of solitude chase away memories into this warm summer night, my one and only, I am standing in the shadow of the dignified oak, and I am looking into his empty sleepiness, as if its playfulness left along with You, it is silent like the wind. Its dear, green, eternally waking young leaves, who used to whisper in Your vicinity, untrammeled and confidential, are completely silent now, completely dead. Now I am trembling in the shadow of our oak, fearfully looking at it as it drags its dignified old face along the ground, its memories are as lively as mine. Once, yes, once the memories, who live so inaudibly, shall become so weak, so humanly weak, that they shall find their dark home next to our wooden crosses. © Walter William Safar ___________________________________________________________ Boboye mary Mozimo Boboye mary Mozimo is a Nigerian International student, with a passion for creative writing. Although Currently residing in Miami, Florida, she spent most of her life in New Jersey where she graduated from Plainfield high school, and Camden county College. The poem,”PTSD ( Post traumatic Stress Disorder )” is inspired by love. PTSD by B.M Mozimo As you march to the front line, With your heart racing at the speed of light, Take comfort in knowing that My heartbeat still sings a love song for you. As you walk tall behind those shields, Somewhat scared of the unfriendly streets, Take courage, and know that I’m Waiting for you to watch me walk down that aisle. As you lay there in streams of blood, Don’t drown in your flood of thoughts. Just picture me in that gift you bought, Followhttp://itsgoldenmag.org/poetry-2/ 12/20/2011
  • Poetry « ItsGoLdenMag.org Page 13 of 15 Running your bath water, for when you return. As you lay here in my warm embrace, So close, yet so far away, I’ll be patient ‘cos I know someday, You’ll open up to me, and speak again. I know your heart is in so much pain. You see their faces; your friends, the slained. I know that things may never be the same; With time, I pray your sorrow fades. But until then, know that I am here With my heart wide open, and However long you took to heal, By your side, always, I’ll be. SHARE THIS: Twitter Facebook 11 12 Responses » Harrel Conner on November 10, 2011 at 3:00 am said: Awesome site! Thank you for providing this forum for expression! Reply ↓ Simone on November 13, 2011 at 2:02 am said: This is such a great set of work. I love that you poets are from diverse backgrounds in interests. Keep up the good work! . Reply ↓ ebony on November 13, 2011 at 10:19 pm said: inspirational and entertaining poems! James Toma’s poem and the Nigerian Boboye’s poem were my favorite to read… Keep up the good work guys! I wish I could see pictures of each poets next to their work Reply ↓ James Toma on November 23, 2011 at 5:01 pm said: hey Ebony, thanks. i want to thank God and Ms. Crump for this as well. jt Reply ↓ boboye-mary on November 24, 2011 at 1:40 am said: thanks ebony! for the words of encouragement, and thanks to Ms. Lisa Crump for creating such an amazing magazine. Boboye M Followhttp://itsgoldenmag.org/poetry-2/ 12/20/2011
  • Poetry « ItsGoLdenMag.org Page 14 of 15 Reply ↓ Kiratiana on November 14, 2011 at 9:20 pm said: Congrats on compiling such amazing work. How did you get in contact with all of these people? How did you find them? Reply ↓ Ashanti Alise on November 15, 2011 at 10:12 pm said: Thank you for bringing together such great content. I’m very impressed! Keep up the good work. Reply ↓ Conrad on November 20, 2011 at 4:07 am said: A word says it all,grreat! Reply ↓ KAPARDELI EFTICHIA on November 23, 2011 at 1:42 pm said: Very good work The poet each separately with personal approach Reply ↓ Phrank Asamoah on December 9, 2011 at 6:21 am said: Mary Boboye, I really enjoyed ur poem especially “The Williow”….I really pray ur book gets published soon cos u got a lot to gv to the world…. Nd James urs too was awesome I really luvd the one titled “Kiss”….u guys shd go for gold!!! Reply ↓ James Toma on December 12, 2011 at 11:00 pm said: I’m glad that you enjoyed “Kiss” Asamoah, thanks for the encouragement. To fellow poet Boboye, we did it!!! Hooray!!! Thanks to Ms. Crump and the Lord above too. God bless all, jt Reply ↓ KAPARDELI EFTICHIA on December 19, 2011 at 9:07 pm said: Amazing!!!!!!!!!!!! MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND HAPPY NEW YEAR Reply ↓ Leave a Reply Enter your comment here... Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Followhttp://itsgoldenmag.org/poetry-2/ 12/20/2011
  • Poetry « ItsGoLdenMag.org Page 15 of 15 Email (required) (Not published) Name (required) Website Notify me of follow-up comments via email. Post Comment Followhttp://itsgoldenmag.org/poetry-2/ 12/20/2011