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 POET
         LAUREATES:Elizabeth
         Santos
 N.G.
         "Gary" Stapp
 
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     "Once
         touched by love, all men become poets."-- Plato, 400 B.C.
   |  | 
            
               | Our Hall
 of
 Fame
 
 | I
                  tried to grasp the sunset hour and hold the sun at
                  mountain's edge, to savor more the loveliness of
                  delicate light on field and hedge.
                  So
                  sweet the final fleeting moment, the subtle
                  radiance it throws, the way it touches a child's
                  face like a soft angelic halo glows.
                  And
                  now it's gone, the moment lost. But oh, what a
                  delicious sorrow ...--Elizabeth
                  Santos,
                  Our
                  Poet Laureate
 | I
                  do not watch the door any longer ... or listen for
                  your footsteps ... but my expectant heart still
                  keeps the vigil...--Charmian
                  Blattner
 
 
 
 Though
                  no one is allowed my space to share ... Some times
                  I'll turn and think that you're still there...--N.G.
                  Stapp
 
 | The
                  saffron colored leaf, anchored by the twig that
                  held it close all summer, let loose and
                  fell....ever
                  so gently into a majestic dance with the autumn
                  breeze, tipping and swaying to the rhythm of the
                  whispering wind until it landed in the brown
                  grass...and
                  I understood then it is not always the hanging on,
                  but sometimes it is the letting go.--Diana
                  Johnson
 
 |  
               |   Once
                  between the waving grass of summer's breeze, we
                  strode together submerged up to our knees, by the
                  twisting strands of wildflower and grasses,
                  together we joined that year's wild dances...--Laura
                  Fanthorpe
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                  Tech  |   Grandpa's
                  friends are old and smelly, some of them are mostly
                  belly. None of them can see too good, I think their
                  teeth are made of wood. Grandpa's friends have lots
                  of wrinkles. When they smile their faces
                  crinkle...--Mary
                  Ellen Smith
 |   "It's
                  snagged," I heard my daughter speak which struck my
                  mind as rather bleak. I sighed, stood up, and shook
                  my head, then walked on feet that felt like
                  lead...--Timothy
                  R. Oesch
 
 |  
               | Tonight your little cheek is wet with glistening
                  baby tears,
 And baby heartbreaks hurt as much as ours in later
                  years . . .
 But, oh! my sweet, tomorrow when you waken with the
                  dawn,
 You'll find that sorrow's sped away and baby woes
                  are gone!
 Yet I who watch above you in that alchemy of
                  sleep,
 Know a deeper bit of heartache, for . . . 'twas I
                  who made you weep!
 -- Rex
                  E. Alford
 |  
               |  To
                     the poet belongs life in its full and absolute
                     entirety, not merely the beauty that men look
                     at, but the beauty that men listen to...Most
                     people become bankrupt through having invested
                     too heavily in the prose of life. To have ruined
                     one's self over poetry is an honour.--Oscar
                     Wilde
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