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The Web Poetry Corner

Monica Goldstein


Portland, OR, US

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Monica Goldstein

In the knowing, we sometimes loose track of the glowing ...

Sometimes in the knowing, we are sad but, keep on going ...

In the knowing, we remember Loveís Lost- so we keep on flowing ...

Sometimes in the knowing, we forget as time keeps on going...

In the knowing, we hold dear to our memories-
as time keeps on showing ...

A time in the knowing, we are hurt, but struggle to keep on going...

In the knowing all we hold dear, is ever after glowing-
as time keeps on flowing...

Sometimes in the knowing, the knowing- keep's on going ...



Monica Goldstein

The translucense of a soft blue-green vail-
Drapped across my hip to my breast_
The contour of my body beneath-
This sheer vail, with a soft breath_

My soft words echoe in your heart_
Your heart in rhythm, beats as I slowly turn-
Right,then toward your left, abreast_
The translucense of my thigh-
Gently brushes your chest_

The flutter of my heart, the glow from my lips-
Each moment we caress in this momments bliss_
Your heart beats with a quick rhythm-
Through this evening mist_
Tonight your lips quiver, with each breath-taking glimpse-
When a soft pale petal graces my lips_
Our bodies entwined, as you graze my breast-
The translucense of our first kiss-
Beneath this sheer vail blessed_

Mothers' Love


Monica Goldstein

My mothers love swoopís down like a white dove...
My motherís love is clear, blue as the sky above...
My motherís love holds tight like a silk glove...
My motherís love is my mom sent from above...
My motherís love is my momís heart flowing like a river bed of deep seeded love...
My motherís love, rememberís each cherished moment close to her hearts glove...
My motherís love holds me tight when I am sad, lost in a moment from above...
My motherís love endures tradgedy, even lost loveís...
My motherís love is my moms childrens love...
My motherís love is my mommy, she is the best first love...



Monica Goldstein

Color purple brings to mind the beauty of Wisteria_
Something barren as a vine in winter _
Blooms so fresh and fragrently in spring_
Wisteria you leave the scent, a wisp of lavender in the air_
Wisteria youíre a mystery that wisps across my motherís eve_
Wisteria your shades of violet are in bloom_
Cascading like little bells filled with the light of the moon_
Each on a twilight day in June_