Author: Garry Gamber.

“To My Dear and Loving Husband” was written by America’s first female poet, the Puritan, Anne Bradstreet. In fact, Anne Bradstreet is one of only a handful of female American poets during the first 200 years of America’s history. After Bradstreet, one can list only Phillis Wheatley, the 18th century black female poet, Emma Lazarus, the 19th century poet whose famous words appear on the Statue of Liberty, and the 19th century Emily Dickinson, America’s most famous female poet.

“To My Dear and Loving Husband” has several standard poetic features. One is the two line rhyme scheme. Another is the anaphora, the repetition of a phrase, in the first three lines. And a third is the popular iambic pentameter.

Iambic pentameter is characterized by an unrhymed line with five feet or accents. Each foot contains an unaccented syllable and an accented syllable, as in “da Dah, da Dah, da Dah, da Dah, da Dah.”

The subject of Anne Bradstreet’s love poem is her professed love for her husband. She praises him and asks the heavens to reward him for his love. The poem is a touching display of love and affection and extraordinarily uncommon for the Puritan era of the Massachusetts Bay Colony in which Anne Bradstreet lived.

Puritan women were expected to be reserved, domestic, and subservient to their husbands. They were not expected or allowed to exhibit their wit, charm, intelligence, or passion. John Winthrop, the Massachusetts governor, once remarked that women who exercised wit or intelligence were apt to go insane.

Anne Bradstreet was born Anne Dudley in 1612 in England. She married Simon Bradstreet when she was 16 and they both sailed with her family to America in 1630. The difficult, cold voyage to America took 3 months to complete. John Winthrop was also a passenger on the trip. The voyage landed in Boston and the passengers joined the Massachusetts Bay Colony.

The men in Anne Bradstreet’s family were managers and politicians. Both her father and her husband became Massachusetts governors. Her husband, Simon, often traveled for weeks throughout the colony as its administrator.

Anne Bradstreet’s poem, “To My Dear and Loving Husband,” was a response to her husband’s absence.

Very little is known about Anne Bradstreet’s life in Massachusetts. There are not portraits of her and she does not even have a grave marker. She and her family moved several times, each time further away from Boston into the frontier. Anne and Simon had 8 children during a 10 year period, and all the children survived healthy and safe, a remarkable accomplishment considering the health and safety hazards of the period.

Anne Bradstreet was highly intelligent and largely self-educated. She took herself seriously as an intellectual and a poet, reading widely in history, science, art, and literature. However, as a good Puritan woman, Bradstreet did not make her accomplishments public.

Bradstreet wrote poetry for herself, family, and friends, never meaning to publish them. Consider that her friend, Anne Hutchinson was intellectual, educated and led women’s prayer meetings where alternative religious beliefs were discussed. She was labeled a heretic and banished from the colony. Hutchinson eventually died in an Indian attack. Is it any wonder that Anne Bradstreet was hesitant to publish her poetry and call attention to herself?

Anne Bradstreet’s early poems were secretly taken by her brother-in-law to England and published in a small volume when she was 38. The volume sold well in England, but the poems were not nearly as accomplished as her later works.

Bradstreet’s later works were not published during her lifetime. Her poems about her love for her husband were private and personal, meant to be shared with her family and friends group only.

Though her health was frequently a concern, especially during childbirth, Anne Bradstreet lived until 60 years of age.

Enjoy “To My Dear and Loving Husband,” a remarkable accomplishment.

To My Dear and Loving Husband

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov’d by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me ye women if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee, give recompence.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persever,
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

About the Author:
Garry Gamber is a public school teacher and entrepreneur. He writes articles about politics, real estate, health and nutrition, and internet dating services. He is the owner of The Dating Advisor and is the National Director of Good Politics Radio.

Author: Garry Gamber.

“How Do I Love Thee?” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning was written in 1845 while she was being courted by the English poet, Robert Browning. The poem is also titled Sonnet XLIII from Sonnets From the Portuguese.

Early Experiences

Elizabeth Barrett was born in Durham England in 1806, the first daughter of affluent parents who owned sugar plantations in Jamaica. She was home-schooled and read voraciously in history, philosophy and literature. Young Elizabeth learned Hebrew in order to read original Bible texts and Greek in order to read original Greek drama and philosophy. She began writing poems when she was 12 years old, though she did not publish her first collection for another twenty years.

Elizabeth Barrett developed a serious respiratory ailment by age 15 and a horse riding accident shortly thereafter left her with a serious spinal injury. These two health problems remained with her all of her life.

In 1828 her mother died and four years later the family business faltered and her father sold the Durham estate and moved the family to a coastal town. He was stern, protective, and even tyrannical and forbid any of his children to marry. In 1833 Elizabeth published her first work, a translation of Prometheus Bound by the Greek dramatist Aeschylus.

A few years later the family moved to London. Her father began sending Elizabeth’s younger brothers and sisters to Jamaica to help with the family business. Elizabeth was distressed because she openly opposed slavery in Jamaica and on the family plantations and because she did not want her siblings sent away.

Early Writing

In 1838 Elizabeth Barrett wrote and published The Seraphim and Other Poems. The collection took the form of a classical Greek tragedy and expressed her deep Christian sentiments.

Shortly thereafter, Elizabeth’s poor health prompted her to move to Italy, accompanied by her dear brother Edward, whom she referred to as “Bro.” Unfortunately he drowned a year later in a sailing accident and Elizabeth retuned to London, seriously ill, emotionally broken, and hopelessly grief-stricken. She became reclusive for the next five years, confining herself to her bedroom.

She continued to write poetry, however, and published a collection in 1844 simply titled, Poems. It was also published in the United States with an introduction by Edgar Allan Poe. In one of the poems she praised one of the works of Robert Browning, which gained his attention. He wrote back to her, expressing his admiration for Poems.

Robert Browning

Over the next twenty months Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning exchanged 574 letters. An admiration, respect, and love for each other grew and flourished. In 1845 Robert Browning sent Elizabeth a telegram which read, “I love your verses with all my heart, dear Miss Barrett. I do, as I say, love these books with all my heart – and I love you too.” A few months later the two met and fell in love.

Inspired by her love for Robert Browning, Elizabeth Barrett wrote the 44 love poems which were collected in Sonnets From the Portuguese and which were eventually published in 1850. Her growing love for Robert and her ability to express her emotions in the sonnets and love poems allowed Elizabeth to escape from the oppression of her father and the depression of her recluse.

Her father strongly opposed the relationship so she kept her love affair a secret as long as possible. The couple eloped in 1846 and her father never forgave her or spoke to her thereafter.

Move to Italy

Elizabeth Barrett Browning and her husband, Robert, went to Pisa, Italy and soon settled in Florence where she spent the rest of her life, with occasional visits to London. Soon Elizabeth’s health improved enough to be able to give birth to the couple’s only child, Robert.

In 1850 she published Sonnets From the Portuguese. Some have speculated that the title was chosen to hide the personal nature of the sonnets and to imply that the collection was a translation of earlier works. However, Robert’s pet name for Elizabeth was “my little Portuguese,” a reflection on Elizabeth’s darker, mediterranean complexion, possibly inherited from the family’s Jamaican ties.

While living in Florence, Elizabeth Barrett Browning published 3 more considerable works. She addressed Italian political topics and some other unpopular subjects, such as slavery, child labor, male domination, and a woman’s right to intellectual freedom. Though her popularity decreased as a result of these choices, she was read and heard and recognized throughout Europe. She died in Florence in 1861.

The Poem, “How Do I Love Thee?”

Sonnet XLIII, “How Do I Love Thee?” is probably Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s most popular love poem. It is heartfelt, romantic, loving, elegant, and simple. It is also quite memorable.

The love poem starts with the question, “How Do I Love Thee?” and proceeds to count the ways. Her Christian spirituality testifies that she loves Robert “to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.” She then professes seven more ways that she loves Robert. Her “passion put to use in my old griefs” refers to the depth of her former despair. The love that “I seemed to lose with my lost saints” refers to the lost loves of her mother and her brother.

The love poem ends with the declaration that time and death will not diminish her love for Robert because “if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.”

How Do I Love Thee

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,–I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!–and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

About the Author:
Garry Gamber is a public school teacher and entrepreneur. He writes articles about politics, real estate, health and nutrition, and internet dating services. He is the owner of The Dating Advisor and is the National Director of Good Politics Radio.

Author: Selome Araya.

Fear
Makes my heart pound
My mind hot pink
Like a bunch of wild roses dipped in ice
Then lit on fire

Feeling like I’m a lemon
Being squeezed of my glory
The pulp was my faith
The juice my stability

I am weakened

Frozen in my uncertainty
Unsure of what is
Or isn’t
Or may be

I’m loosing a grip I never really had
Laughing at the irony in that
Aching from the reality of it

Confused at how I can fake it
All too well

So well, it’s eerie

It’s hidden
As I move through the world
Twisted in a smile
With armor they define as my spirit

Behind the sparkle
Loud words
Giddy conversations

Is Fear

I am in the wilderness
You are in the music
In the man’s car next to me

I am in the confusion of her next decision

The hesitation of her movements
The skepticism behind her views
The apprehension as she walks
The timidity in her eyes
The fear in her voice
The lack in her confidence
The numbness of her actions

She doesn’t move

She stays still
Moving but going nowhere?

As on a treadmill

Whoa.

About the Author:

Author: Fred Watson .

 write a quite a bit of prose, mainly short stories. A lot of them, but not all aimed at children. But poetry is a different matter, while I have always liked to read and listen to all sorts of poetry. I had always avoided trying to write it, mainly because. One; I hadn’t a clue how to go about it (still haven’t). Two: While I was able to understand the formula for formal sonnets, I didn’t think my heart or soul was romantic enough to carry them off. That left option three: Free verse, what could I say? Except that while it appeared easy it was not.

Despite my misgivings, other members of the writing group that I attend, encouraged and persuaded me to give it a try. Like a fool I agreed, knowing full well that I could not in a million years meet their exacting standards. Not to worry I thought, I could only do my best, even if it turned out to be a load of old rubbish. Unable to get to grips with the formal sonnets, I decided to try my hand at free verse. But when the shredder motor burnt out and the bin overflowed, I gave it up as a bad job and decided to clear the garage instead.

Which turned out to be the best idea I’d had all day Because has I sorted through the accumulated junk, I came across one of my granddaughter Katie’s old toys. It was a fuzzy, one-eyed monster from; “Monsters Inc” I think he was called Michael? But knowing my memory I am probably wrong. Anyway it started me off writing and the results are below.

Can’t Find Him Anywhere.

I cannot find my Monster; I can’t find him anywhere.

Last time that I saw him he was in the big armchair.

I only went to the kitchen to butter us both a scone.

When I returned, he wasn’t there; I wonder where he’s gone.

.

Have you seen my Monster? He’s really, really tall.

You’ll know him if you see him, he’s like a fluffy ball.

I’ve looked everywhere in all the places I could think.

I’ve even searched the cupboard, beneath the kitchen sink.

.

If he comes toward you, while walking down the lane

Though he’s big and strong and can be an awful pain.

He’s really just a pussycat and wouldn’t harm a fly.

So don’t get all worried; he’ll never make you cry.

.

If you find him hiding behind a big old tree

Give him lots of kisses and send him home to me

Tell him that I love him, because I really, really do

And I’ll never try again, to flush him down the loo.

Copyright Fred Watson 2007

How About this one?

Mirror

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

Why am I so very small?

When will I start to grow?

Can you help me, yes, or, no?

.

Mirror, mirror, oh so wise

Can you tell me about my size?

Will I always be a little mite?

Or will I grow to reach the light?

.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

Tell me please will I be tall?

Can’t you help with my need?

Tell me if I’ll stay a weed

.

Mirror, mirror, are you there?

Hang on a sec; I’ll get a chair.

There, that’s better. This is me.

Tell me true what do you see

.

Mirror, mirror, you’re awfully dumb

I think I’ll go and ask my mum.

Copyright Fred Watson 2007

 write a quite a bit of prose, mainly short stories. A lot of them, but not all aimed at children. But poetry is a different matter, while I have always liked to read and listen to all sorts of poetry. I had always avoided trying to write it, mainly because. One; I hadn’t a clue how to go about it (still haven’t). Two: While I was able to understand the formula for formal sonnets, I didn’t think my heart or soul was romantic enough to carry them off. That left option three: Free verse, what could I say? Except that while it appeared easy it was not.

Despite my misgivings, other members of the writing group that I attend, encouraged and persuaded me to give it a try. Like a fool I agreed, knowing full well that I could not in a million years meet their exacting standards. Not to worry I thought, I could only do my best, even if it turned out to be a load of old rubbish. Unable to get to grips with the formal sonnets, I decided to try my hand at free verse. But when the shredder motor burnt out and the bin overflowed, I gave it up as a bad job and decided to clear the garage instead.

Which turned out to be the best idea I’d had all day Because has I sorted through the accumulated junk, I came across one of my granddaughter Katie’s old toys. It was a fuzzy, one-eyed monster from; “Monsters Inc” I think he was called Michael? But knowing my memory I am probably wrong. Anyway it started me off writing and the results are below.

Can’t Find Him Anywhere.

I cannot find my Monster; I can’t find him anywhere.

Last time that I saw him he was in the big armchair.

I only went to the kitchen to butter us both a scone.

When I returned, he wasn’t there; I wonder where he’s gone.

.

Have you seen my Monster? He’s really, really tall.

You’ll know him if you see him, he’s like a fluffy ball.

I’ve looked everywhere in all the places I could think.

I’ve even searched the cupboard, beneath the kitchen sink.

.

If he comes toward you, while walking down the lane

Though he’s big and strong and can be an awful pain.

He’s really just a pussycat and wouldn’t harm a fly.

So don’t get all worried; he’ll never make you cry.

.

If you find him hiding behind a big old tree

Give him lots of kisses and send him home to me

Tell him that I love him, because I really, really do

And I’ll never try again, to flush him down the loo.

Copyright Fred Watson 2007

How About this one?

Mirror

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

Why am I so very small?

When will I start to grow?

Can you help me, yes, or, no?

.

Mirror, mirror, oh so wise

Can you tell me about my size?

Will I always be a little mite?

Or will I grow to reach the light?

.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

Tell me please will I be tall?

Can’t you help with my need?

Tell me if I’ll stay a weed

.

Mirror, mirror, are you there?

Hang on a sec; I’ll get a chair.

There, that’s better. This is me.

Tell me true what do you see

.

Mirror, mirror, you’re awfully dumb

I think I’ll go and ask my mum.

Copyright Fred Watson 2007

About the Author:
Fred Watson published his first book, a fantasy adventure novel aimed at the 8-12 age group, in November 2006. A grandfather of four, he loves to write for all age groups, has an abiding interest in history and continues on a regular basis to add new stories etc to his website. http://www.footprintpublishing.co.uk/storiesformums.html

Author: Avuru Alexander.

Serenity encompassed the shore
where turbulent waves could not exceed.
the sky above was blue and calm,
reflected by the Sea behind.

The Trees were swaying in the breeze,
my tweedy jacket blowing on.
A Blackbird gently swung on bay.
its quiet songs mellifluous still.

Unheralded joy filled my soul.
it made me lingered happily.
uninterrupted peace beagn.
Oh! Here and there was life indeed.

My eyes lost in unfocussed gaze,
a recurring thought crossed my mind
that being at peace with nature’s care
is all about our friendly bond…

About the Author:

Author: Mary Wismer.

Your unfailing Love restores my soul.
Even though I walk into the fire,
you will shelter me

with your great love. Day by day your word’s
will shelter me with your great Love.
Your words brings healing to the hurting.
Bring light into the night. Your words satisfy my Hunger.

There is healing in your wings
There is one thing you have spoken
two things I have hear that you are loving
and your love are strong, for life’s greatest
treasures love beyond words.
Peace beyond measure.
In your wings i found my healing.

About the Author:
Artist, composer,Musician and a Poet. I Love traveling and learn other culture. I got a very happy family, Married With Philipp and with our 4 lovely Children. I am citizen of Zürich Switzerland.

Author: Mary Wismer.

No sweeter, no better employment can engage
heart and hands than, in the spirit…
of prayer and meditation,
of separation from the world,
of holy fear,
of a desire to know the will of God and do it,
of humility, simplicity, and godly sincerity,
to seek to enter into those heavenly mysteries which
are stored up in the Scriptures; and this, not to furnish
the head with notions, but to feed the soul with the
bread of life!

Truth, received in the love and power of it…
informs and establishes the judgment,
softens and melts the heart,
warms and draws upward the affections,
makes and keeps the conscience alive and tender,
is the food of faith,
is the strength of hope,
is the mainspring of love.

About the Author:
Artist, composer,Musician and a Poet. I Love traveling and learn other culture. I got a very happy family, Married With Philipp and with our 4 lovely Children. I am citizen of Zürich Switzerland.

Author: Mary Wismer.

How could I but love you,
When on the Cross you were the servant of all.
How could I but follow you,
When all your ways lead to freedom and life.
How could I but love you,
My comforter, my strength.
How could I but follow you,
When someday, you’ll open heaven for me!
How could I but serve you,
When in life you’ve been so faithful and true.

I am here to give you the best I can bring.
and it is my love rising from my hearts,
everything within me cries,
Help me now to give you pleasure and delight.

Heart and Mind and delight I will say: ‘I LOVE YOU LORD’

About the Author:
Artist, composer,Musician and a Poet. I Love traveling and learn other culture. I got a very happy family, Married With Philipp and with our 4 lovely Children. I am citizen of Zürich Switzerland.

Author: Mary Wismer.

 finally learned what real love is,
And that real love was you.
If you ever find that ability to love
And care for someone that much,
Where each waking day is better
Than the previous one, and no matter what happens
Or what our station in life is,
Be it rich or poor, that nothing can change our heart,
Because you we have each other’s hearts,
Then shall we truly know

Where real strength and love come from.
I want to take you in my arms and hold you ever tight;
Show you that you’re the one I love with all my might;
I know in my heart you’re the best;
There is no comparison to the rest;
Being with you makes my heart sing;
I believe together we could do anything;
Knowing that you listen to your heart and follow it,

Because you know that there is nothing
Stronger or more powerful than the heart.
It can bring you to heights unimaginable,
It can slam you so hard that you think
Even living isn’t important anymore.
It’s about believing that you don’t give up on real love,
Because it’s such a hard thing to keep and it’s not worth losing.
It knows that all the trials and tribulations,
All of it, everything, just makes both of us stronger.

About the Author:
Because you know that there is nothing
Stronger or more powerful than the heart.

Author: Mary Wismer.

 waterfall laced with diamonds and pearls -
so beautiful; is my beloved
Like the sun that bring -warmth,
Like the ocean that bring-wave
And your love glistening and gently warm
It washes over me.

Comfort and happiness
Each and every day –of my life
Like the blistering sun I can’t control,
Warm up my soul.

You are the one…and I love you more
Floating in a tear dropp stream,
living inside my every dream,
inspiring the sweetest thing,
taking my heart to places it’s never been.

About the Author:
Artist, composer,Musician and a Poet. I Love traveling and learn other culture. I got a very happy family, Married With Philipp and with our 4 lovely Children. I am citizen of Zürich Switzerland.