Poems Poetry Quotes: February 2008

28 February 2008
Car Insurance Quotes - 5 Steps to the Best Quotes

By Edward Welch

Car insurance quotes have become quite popular. Everywhere you look – someone is telling you how much money you’ll save – enticing you to look up their car insurance quotes. Before leaping into the murky pool of car insurance quotes – take a look at these five steps that will surely help you get the best quotes.
1) There are many car insurance companies that will gladly compete for your business. Obtain car insurance quotes from at least five car insurance companies. After all, most people shop around before making a major purchase – it only makes sense to shop around when looking for car insurance quotes.
2) When filling out the necessary information to obtain car insurance quotes – be certain the information you submit is accurate. Car insurance companies tend to find out “things” anyway, so you might as well be as accurate as possible. Car insurance quotes are only as good as the information upon which they were calculated. It’s important that the information you use to obtain your quote is the same information the car insurance company will use when writing your policy.
3) Obtaining car insurance quotes will usually require that you submit information such that a “salesperson” will be contacting you sometime after you receive the quotes. It’s important that you don’t let this person talk you into purchasing a car insurance policy until you have received car insurance quotes from all of the insurance companies you’re researching. You don’t need to be rude – but simply inform the “salesperson” that your research is not yet completed and you won’t be making a decision today.
4) When you have received all the car insurance quotes – narrow the list down to the two best quotes. Do some research on those two car insurance companies. Focus on the aspects of service which are most important to you.
5) Most importantly, make sure you are the person in charge of the car insurance quotes. More specifically, take all the necessary steps to insure that you will truly receive those rates that were quoted. In other words, don’t let a car insurance company offer you attractive car insurance quotes – then tell you later that because of “this or that” you will need to pay more. Remember, you are the customer – you’re in control and there are many other car insurance companies that will always be interested in your business.
E Lawrence Welch
Mr. Welch is a student of business, life, love, marriage and relationships. Also, he owns and operates an online retail holster store - Pyle Mountain Holsters. Additionally, he maintains the Car Insurance Snoop Blog.

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---------------oOo--------------- Poetry Critics

By Jeff Miller

I've been writing poetry for quite some time. I care about the art and how the art effects people.
I want to talk some about how poetry is seen in my opinion and how narrow the view of some can be when it comes to poetry and the worth and value it holds in society. I've heard many times by reviewers and critics and even booksellers that poetry books are hard to sell and that little interest is taken in the art of poetry by the general public but I beg to differ on these views held by so many in the literary world.
I feel poetry is such a unique and expressive art that has stood the test of time and as we look back on poets like Wordsworth and Dickinson and all the wonderful poets of a time gone by we can all agree that nobody can discount or dismiss the contributions these people have made to the literary world.
The Wordsworth's and Lord Byron's are still out there today working hard to bring back into the mainstream the powerful emotions and feelings that once struck a chord so long ago. These people are putting their heart and soul into their words and putting forth messages that they want to share with readers from all origins and backgrounds.
We should not put limitations on them by telling them their art is dead or that their art is not much of a selling point in society because it is and if it wasn't we would not have so many poetry forums and websites accross the infinite space of the internet from nation to nation. One website I visited has over five million poets in their database alone so obviously their is an interest in poetry and it's growing bigger with every passing day. Multitudes of people from accross the globe enjoy this art we call poetry and this is a fact that should not be ignored.
There is also a problem in my view with some people who take the role of critic and these people judge the work of others and seek to influence how an individual chooses to express themselves through poetry. I feel that each person and expression is unique and I have never been much of a fan of the critic as Teddy Roosevelt reminded us in " The Battle of Life " it's not the critic that counts and I agree.
Individualism and uniqueness spawns genius in my opinion in every facet of life or work and it's also certainly true when it comes to poetry. I want to read new and freshly presented material from someone original. I don't want to see someone trying to copy another artist or his or her ways. I want to see someone expressing their own ways that I will not judge because I feel I have no rightful place in doing so.
We must remember that it's not my opinion or the opinion of a critic that counts when it comes to you and your work and the feelings you wish to present. These things are yours and yours alone that nobody should touch or try to fine tune in any fashion. If Shakespeare had allowed his work to be sorted out and played with by the masses then he would not have been the Shakespeare we know today and your work will not be yours if you allow it to be changed to fit the views of others.
Let your vision and your work live and die on it's own and let it live independantly and develop into what you wish it to be not what someone else wants it to be so it never ceases to be your very own.
Publishamerica poet.

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---------------oOo--------------- Poetry Healing: The Healing Properties Of Poetry

By Iain McIntosh

Grief is one of the hardest things to face in life, and unfortunately it is something which most of us will experience in our time. Writing or reading grief poems and funeral poems is something which many find beneficial in helping them to complete their journey through the bereavement process.
Placing feelings into meaningful poetry may be dismissed by many who have not attempted such a feat as being "not for them". However, almost every person is able to get something out of sitting down for 15 minutes and reflecting upon their lives of their loved ones and putting pen to paper. Writing about their lives as a celebration, noting key memories and the fun times they shared is an emotive and most importantly, a positive experience .
A good place to start when composing your poetry, is to make a several lists of people, places and memories that were particularly special to you and your loved one. You could make lists on the following things. For example, special places you liked to visit, special memories, friends and family special occasions, holidays, christmas, etc.
This list is by no means extensive. Writing about a lost loved one is never easy, as it can stir up many emotions and force you to deal with your loss and accept it. However this is part of the grieving process and should not be seen as a negative thing. I hope these tips can help anybody who is dealing, or has dealt with bereavement, to begin to heal. Funeral poems will hopefully inspire many people suffering from a loss to write their own poetry, about their own personal feelings. Some like to do this before the memorial service so that they can use it in their funeral reading, whereas others may prefer to find a previously written funeral poem and use that instead.
Once you have your poem written, it is often a good idea to place the poem in a "memory box" or somewhere similar, and open it up on special occasions such as the anniversary of their death.
Owner of Funeral Poems
Helps to maintain online memorial website =>Online Memorial
Creator of Grief and Bereavement

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---------------oOo--------------- The Macabre Poems [Part Four: Poems 54 to 80]

By Dennis Siluk Ed.D.

57) Out of the Dust
Part I
Out of cosmic friction and its rift,
Out of havoc and mass,
Man was born
To a primitive class,
On a planet yet unknown.
Part II
Across the galley, winged demons flew
Ape-like men appeared,
And strange monsters:
All creeping at man’s nature.
58) The Black Hand
His hand a closing veil from hell
Looming to my braw,
To cover it like a canopy.
Behind him the world was upside down
And at his feet stood ancient crumbling hate.
He stood still within this evening bleak,
With weathered limbs and somber sounds
And a waxed face I could barely see;
Then, in silence, his hand went upon my face.
Note: 7/04 #340)
59) The Long Hemp
The night shadows sigh across the grass
And chant through the misty trees;
The night shadows bellow the hemp on high
With the tug of laughing goblins.
And many a song they pipe to the twilight
And the far-off woods of ebony.
July 13 2004 [#338]
A Prose Poem
60) Eyes of the Pacing Serpent
Against a topaz sky, I see a pacing, Green Serpent. He paces on the skyline, moving with the clouds of flaming turquoise. Jade cat-eyes, god of the air, sunk and lost in the cloudy mist, he did not look at me, nor by sign did he speak to me. But his brooding silence tells me—“Ages before you were born, I was. For the race of man fades, fades into forgotten glory; yet I live on.”
Frozen in a dream-vision above the great roof of reality, with undulated silence, his hiss echoes, vibrates the atmosphere— ignites fires blazing in the heavens. A mist lay between me and the clouds, the great dragon paces with a grin, and his mighty bat-like wings, ready to devour with his burning, jet eyes, swallow all in his path.
He looks down, but still he looks not at me, with his eyes of eon-haunting magic, looks down to the satanic frogs he’s sent to a great city, with their, their nostrils ablaze—in purple and scarlet robes. He is preparing a nightmare.
July 13 2004 [#337]
Prose Poem
61) Mistress of Darkness
This is a dream that came to me long ago, not in a haze, but in vivid, daydreaming mode. I stood in a sacred hall of sorts; its tapestry was brilliant, by pillars of glittering marble, and a ceiling of high, gilt leaf. I stood in mid air, somewhere in the center, all of this beneath me, images, dimly shadowed—as a woman walked by with a candle.
Then appeared a goddess in all black, a woman of beauty, strange-eyed with dark, abyssal hair, clutching hands into waves of darkness, as she was cast down into volcanic air; a slender and leaping tigress, a mistress of demigods, I deemed. Deep she echoed, until she no longer could be heard or seen.
7/13/04 #339
Prose Poetry
62) The Foulness of the Imp
Twice I met the imps (in a most peculiar way) who filled the air with a burst of bulky, shifting stench, suspended without a body, their lush corpse odors lingering: bat-lipped imps, bone-spitting imps, barrenness upon their lips—nostrils huffing like dying sows, unclean light circling within its own gloom seeping out of wombs they had saved for this occasion; their breath came thus up from their bowels, to spill on me.
Both times, I was alone, isolated in my car and bathroom: I learned they do not like to be mocked or scorned; yes, the madness of truth that fell upon me, as, by their putrid stench-spell, manifested scorn, triumphant revenge—call it what you will—it drifted back and forth, inch by inch filling each and every once of space in my car, in my room. Not a perfect stench, just revolting enough to be paralyzing.
“Who did you think it was?” boomed a voice, gaunt and ill-willed.
Guilt, I felt guilt; I provoked the misfits, provoked them beyond the point of retreat. Yet the smell continued, nondescript, yet it could desiccate a corpse to dust, should it remain suspended in air long enough. Yes, out of the imp’s mouths come the worms of hell, the infinite smells, pantheist still.
I opened the doors so the enraged pong, its stunning weariness could seep out, and, out like a slave to the lungs, the imps, who would have to chase their urine covered mist, went.
Written 7/10/04
Prose Poem
63) Slaying the Prowess
I stood in line, hands by my side—among a roll of men. A handsome young man walked near, slowly, hesitantly, stopping in front of me. Clad in a short tunic, shoulder bare, mantle of an Athenian figure [l984], a true aristocratic face, his long blond hair, unbound, glittering like gold-dust, his light bronze-banded arms were smoothly muscled; he seemed deadly and passionate.
I wore sandals (within this dream) and a garment that covered half my flesh, yet he lingered closely to my form to turn a moment of beauty into lust. I knew without thinking, as he knew, time was fading. He said, “You: I choose you” “Go your way,” said I with wide open eyes, “There are many here who would desire your love.” It was not as if he was destitute, but the love he desired was lust, to wedge a stone between God and me. His face was like a wolf that was tossed a bare bone, with no marrow; he sneered.
Vision took place, l984, written originally on a piece of paper, lost, and now remembered; July 2004, #342)
64) The Haunting of Demons
When I, and I alone, dream,
Alas!—things fade into rain,
Rain, red rose rain.
I know then why I am running—
And where hides the devil’s thorn.
And when these long,
Too long winter nights
Burn bitterly until daylight
Like eldritch vipers, overhead
Whose thorns lurk low
Close to my bed,
These long,
Too long winter nights
Give birth to demonic delights
Outside my mind and eyes.
Deep, in deepest dreams,
Is where I’ll be—
As they roam
From place to place, looking,
Looking and hunting for me:
As they seep,
In my dreams, looking
Looking and hunting for me….
June 26 2004 [No# 317]
65) Dream Smoke
I woke today and realized I,
I had a terrifying dream,
somewhere in-between
smoke and reality—;
What day, what week was it?
I didn’t know, for:
everything was fading, fading,
just fading gray dream smoke.
Everything’s a dream or delirium
or so it seems (I said to myself)
even the birds on the ledges;
the world of reality is,
is in the urine and pungent smells
(I tell myself).
For the sleeping world:
In here the light is on all night;
in here the day looks like night;
in here silence chokes:
week after week after week,
fading into dream smoke.
In the waking world,
tirelessly I count the days.
In here you just don’t know.
Foot steps sound like heart beats.
In here you just don’t know, for
it’s all covered with dream smoke.
Composed 6/26/04 #316
Selected Poems
66) Homeless in the Cosmos
I watched my grandpa get old and gray
And die;
Twenty-nine years later, my mother,
Old and gray, took her place,
And died….
They are no more, nor shall be—not,
Not in all the Cosmos again;
As if two fires were put out—now dead.
They lay dead on infinite ground,
And now it is my turn to die;
And yes, yes yours…
5/2/04 St. Paul, Minnesota, USA
67) Wingless Drunkard
Black prayers, wingless angels sing—
Hastening, they stroll to meet
Drunkards….
April 24 2004 [Quito-Ecuador]
68) Just a Moment
Just a moment, just a moment,
Then the moments pass away,
Then you fade….
6:05 AM May 2 2004, St. Paul, Minnesota
69) Longings
I long for the unseen;
Curious for the material world,
My delights have been uncountable.
In my dreams of slumber,
Almost strangely I’m withdrawn:
Like a vampire.
12:35 AM, May 2 2004, skies over Peru
70) Devils Dice
At times the fool
Makes his promise—
With fires of Hell
Beneath his feet:
Nearby stands the Devil
With heavy dice.
Ah! When he wakes
Unto his tricks—
Bound he thinks
And bound he feels,
But wise
He flees, like phantoms
In the skies,
And hides like gophers
In the hills
Far, far, far away.
June 2004
71) Blindash
Why is it so hard
For man to look back
At his past?
It is as if Pompeii
Itself
Has covered his eyes
With ash—
Ash and stone
(Blinding toxic gas)
From birth to death—
Yes, O yes—as if,
As if time itself
Was wrapped in it.
May 10 2004, St. Paul, Minnesota
72) Wisdom Lost
Wisdom once gained
Can be lost the same:
By blindness of impiety,
And the obtuseness of sin.
73) A Place Remembered
A place remembered,
A dream once dreamed,
Is never the same?—
When one goes back
For a visit.
If it is of childhood,
Leave it as it is,
Keep dreaming:
You’ll never outlive it.
These two poems were considered by Poetry.com as the very best, and they convey good craftsmanship
74) Satan’s Tricks
Strange as it may seem,
Satan has a scheme:
Have you belief in him,
Obsessively, or not at all;
Or have you lived neurotically
In the past or for the future,
(But never within the present);
Or have you got involved
Compulsively in something
Dissociative—
Like drugs or alcohol,
Gambling or sex: they’re all
His tricks.
May 6 2004, St. Paul, Minnesota
75) A Dream of Mother
I dreamt a dream:
I saw my mother last night,
In old surroundings; when
A strange occurrence befell me
(Beneath the expiring,
Haunting light):
The dead world came alive,
A voice—
A shadow—
Came, engulfed me;
In my sadness she appeared—
In my gloom…
Touched like a falling star!
Quietly, I remembered—
She had died.
April 12 2004, Lima, Peru
76) Nikita Khrushchev
In his backyard, with fading brown grass,
He sat, with his dog by his porcelain side.
The old man was stone still, still sadly alive,
As if in a trance, for once—once,
Not so long ago, he ruled the world.
77) Love’s Hour
Love has had its hour,
As has this rime—
Both are sunk in the seas of time.
April 16 2004, Lima, Peru
For the Eldritch Dark
78) The Surrogate Devil
An old man’s fancy of perfect love
With no emotional clutter,
With a young, fresh girl:
With dreams of erotic desires:
Desires with wished women
In his nightmares, he creates
The strong woman
He no longer wishes to see
He calls them devil girls
Unknowingly: Why? He finds
The surrogate mother, calls her
Perfect love...
But soon that dissolves—
He sees the transformation—
The doomed, doomed love;
Love, yes! that love—
That love that never appeared
Before, before submissiveness
No longer the nurturer,
She doesn't care—
Seldom is the survivor of such
A calamity admired—
Or remembered; therefore
(In this poem anyway)
He dies alone.…
June 23 2004, #315
Legends
79) The Moche of Chan Chan
Sealed by those long ago—
A record held within it shadows,
The Moche died: sunless,
Lost and alone—
Within the fancy gloom of Chan Chan;
Whose gloom is hidden behind:
Unharvestable orchards,
Unretrievable light—
And unto all comes death.
Note: Written about the archeological site in Northern Peru.
80) King Arthur’s Sin
His sword was black
As midnight sin;
His heart a stone
His eyes were blue,
As in Arctic ice,
And his blood
Was made of gloom.
Throughout the isles
He conquered all,
Roman, Saxon, Gaul,
Cutting wings off
Midnight beings
And burying
The grandsire foul.
July 2004 #341
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

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---------------oOo--------------- The Macabre Poems [Part one: 17 poems]

By Dennis Siluk Ed.D.

The Macabre Poems
1) The Unreal
Because you do not see—
Evil says: conscience is dead!
Aye! it is the insight of madness
Penetrating the veils of untruth—
For few are we:
For many are they….
2) Space Vampire
O solar mass, pull back:
black holes far and near—
those vampires—
devour stars like spiders bugs
Storms that sunder birds,
they, they are the curse
of the universe.
3) Otherwhere
I
Long ago, longer than—
Before a beast or man was born—
He chose for his
The hate whereto old evil clings,
With lusting angels stripped of wings
With Michael’s flaming hatred divine:
The hate whereto old evil clings,
It was thine, it was mine.
II
Have we not known,
O demos, débil O Satán:
The hate that creeps within your soul?
In evil your ally will go, never alone,
For the wingless that must devour
Will be waiting with hearts of stone,
Joy and laughter, and corruption—
And ill bliss, your dark lovers of the feast.
Yea! Lo, your own crimson bells
Ring for Satanic hell.
4) The Waking World
Out of time’s windows
He gazed—into the heavens,
Into planets, unnamed galaxies
—Light-years away,
With sealed vistas
That opened wide
For the macabre-naked eye—to see.
And unto him appeared—
Wild streams of midnight tears
Glittering like unprotected fire:
And so spellbound was he,
With all he had seen,
He crossed into the dream world,
The lost world of the woken:
And was never again seen.
5) The Glass Lyre
They fail to hear the glass lyre,
Its echoes, tarnished strings—
Where shadows ring.
6) The Stone Maya
Owls of the world,
Do not dream like fools—
Life’s delusions are real:
And evil was learned—
(We are but grasshoppers Carved of stone).
I, for one, in darkness spun
(In deep temples of Tikal)
Echo with oblivion:
Delusions, illusion, fantasies—
Rising shadows no one can see.
7) Shadow-Gables
The young man leered and tittered along
haze-cloaked Riverside Street
with heavy padding feet;
tottering by houses on both sides:
as he passed them, they came alive.
Fresh walls of morbid evil,
shadows on gables,
window-eyes leered and reeked
in a black-wind of blasphemous runes.
House, street, padding feet:
intruding chimes: now! now –
a familiar sign, clutching at him….
8) Soul of the Devil (Ritual of the Macabre)
Subterranean evil
Lurks in the maggoty pale light
Of the sunless waters
Beneath the insidious city,
Where mirrored reflections
And pungent odors reside:
And decay grows;
Where my forefathers lived
With primal rites…and still do.
The lyre, flute—I could hear!—
In the distance, called me….
To its toadless shores,
In this unhallowed earth
Cloaked in throngs.
There I saw the pillar of flame,
Where darkness was on fire:
Casting no shadows, in its
Calmness to death…
The horde—unwinged beings,
Hybrid things, appeared—
Lotus Demons with two limbs,
Scorpion-like tails, thin;
Into the volcanic river they sang,
Enchantments, frightful things.
I wanted to ride the beast—
It tempted me, with wart-filled eyes:
Oozing at my flesh, staggered
To my thighs—then disappeared.
I shuddered restlessly—
Until it was best forgotten.
9) The Eldritch Tombs
Is this hell? Shapes bend, like the wind
Gates lie still, lurk around corners
And foul beings, never seen, never die.
Here, hounding doom fills nameless tombs,
Where esoteric manuscripts
Dare to tell the dread—what lies ahead.
There amid many, strange things I found—
Raving of madmen, curses and clowns:
Black books, stones, legends and frowns.
◊
Out from this path in Witch-Town I crawled—
An ominous name—not to be found—
And in solitude I write this down….
Haunted by monstrous nightmares,
On a monolithic, rampant night:
Drowsy, dreamy, I say good-night.
10) Death and Tears
All the words that wake the dead
Have now been said—
Now you must paint with tears.
11) Open
12) Dragon Wings
Like piled leaves in late autumn,
Dragon wings of crimson gold—
Days are few….
13) Beauty’s Incarceration
The prisoner is beauty,
So they say:
Thus, I have captured her today.
Ecuador, 4/25/04
14) The Vanishing Dead
Come ride with me
(If you dare)—
On wingless angels
(That never cared);
To my doom, to my doom—
While the sunset still is there:
Darkened settings, everywhere.
The gloom of the Moon,
Immortals—dying;
What beauty in obscurity…
I am the falling star,
Expiring; the haunting light,
I will come for you tonight.
St. Paul, Minnesota, 5/5/04
Note: This poem was inspired by the cover art of a book, by the Peruvian Artist [Arvieh].
15) A Demon’s Ark
(The Lotus Demon of Mercury)
Born from the horns
Of a wingless archangel,
With the pulse
Of perpetual night—
Lo, lifts the demonic horizon:
Immortalities’ jagged plight.
16) The Misbegotten Species (The Minds of Saturn
((Demons)) of the Ancient legendaries)
[Note: the Minds—a mere remnant of a low degraded horde of demonic-angelic beings—aborigines, one might say—whom comb the utter darkness of outer space for brute-hood, and thus, found Mercury’s inhabitants by chance, residing within an ancient giant crater. Thus, here is the story of a vanishing race that takes place: of which Zoov ‘al the leader, led seven and twenty ((Saturn-lites)), of his followers into the escalade.]
An Epic (Tale) Poem
[Mercury-lites]
Faded, dried and burnt, bear-rat meat,
Light-white, flowery, solar wine—
Volcanic walls all around them,
Hollow lava caves: occupied ….
*
[Saturn-lites]
Rodent-pelts over their shoulders
(Deemed, by most, most dangerous of all):
Demonic invaders from Saturn—
Well armed and accouterred:
Ropes and chains, knifes and swords:
Hooks and nails, crossbows and boards,
All warriors wore human fleece:
All warriors had studded-saber teeth.
*
All the warriors stood stone-still, silent
On the great volcanic rim of Mercury—
Black lava, eons cold and old,
The zenith: cloudless and frozen.
*
And then the sun rose high overhead,
The ancient legendaries swore
Countless blasphemies to the Godhead:
“Above—below—God is no more!”
Unnecessary: they hurled blocks—
Blocks of disdain inside their chest
(Arousing a battle cry—at best)
Like the flaming furnace in the sky—
The demons waited—with raging eyes.
*
This day, within the crater’s deep,
No hungry voices heard from below—
Hence—the invaders crept with light feet
Upon the sleeping (wine-filled) souls….
Lo!—caves that once were home became
Graves—alas!—by these demonic-beings
As up they crept, unto the sleeping prey
Of Mercury—this, this very day.
*
[The Feast of Saturn’s Henchman]
The vile eating habits of the demon:
Compulsively draining marrow
(Drinking bones: pale-dry, flushed-clean),
Ripping flesh and eyes, ribs and thighs
(Atrocious creatures of Primal Time).
*
[Then]
Black altars were placed upon the sand:
Came, demonic prayers with clasped hands,
Unto the Henchman—of hell—Agaliarept,
And the Ten-winged serpent—they bowed.
*
[Zoov ‘al’s epitaph]
Zoov bellowed with grasping lizard hands
(Heartily) after throwing rocks on skulls—
Clattering loudly his feet, he screamed:
“I am the god of Mercury, the god of all!”
The rim of the volcano trembled
(Mysteriously, unrepentant)
From its stomach came smoke and stone,
Lava, gases and boulders—a tomb.
Then a queer-colored blaze multiplied,
Dropped into veins of mud—
Into volcanic pits, of the dead;
Thus, sealing all, with a lid.
17) The Oarsman
The Oarsman at the oars,
The Arctic winds, the galley,
Captain at the helm,
The ghosts of leprosy,
The dead men from the sea,
No sun, pestilence:
All could see the cliff-tower—
The hour draws near—to trembling
Hissing—from the oarsman’s lips;
Passengers bellow—with Arctic eyes
Oozing the demon with a kiss,
Coming closer to land and mist;
The dead sit up within the boat,
The Polar-demon rows and rows;
Utter cold, no miracles—
Lo, the harbor: the oars stop—
Deadly—deadly—no one talks;
Iceberg-eyeballs—stare and stare;
A tide of intolerable silence
Flows and ebbs, and flows again
For Hell’s henchman: Agaliarept.
Flung to the wide side of the vessel,
“You will serve me well,” he echoes:
The voyage is now final.
Originally in: “The Eldritch Dark,” (March 2004), and Who’s Who in Poetry.
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

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---------------oOo---------------
23 February 2008
Health Insurance Quotes - How To Find Free Quotes

By Michael Kohler

Most people are always on the lookout for ways to save money. This industry is one of those places where people tried to skimp as much as possible with the knowledge that if they go too far, they may not have enough coverage to make it worth their while as they pay the monthly premium. The best way to find the best rate for you is to get a quote for your coverage. Here are a few ways to find free health insurance quotes that will save you hundreds of dollars in the long run.
Gone are the good old days when you used to be able to call up your local insurance company, set an appointment, go down to their local office, and be able to be assured of getting a great rate from your local agent. Capitalization is a great form of industry but it can lead to an almost viral growth of subsidiary companies that will make it very difficult for you to access a great rate without a lot of middlemen in the process.
When you are looking for a health insurance quote you need to take into account that due to the mass explosion of our population and its needs, many companies are on the outlook for people that do not know about the health insurance industry and will offer them outlandish quotes that are not sustainable by any company just to get your lead information.
Therefore, when you have actually found health insurance quotes that are given to you via a reputable company, be sure to guard them like gold because they will more than likely save you thousands of dollars each year on all of your many premiums that you will pay on a monthly basis. Although it can seem like a bird in to have to pay for health insurance, or that you might feel like you should move to a European community where this is accessible, there are ways to get around large premiums even if you are an individual or are seeking an individual policy for family members from a private insurance provider.
Although the concept of free coverage is not dead, please get into the mindset that what you are looking for is something that is essential for the well-being of yourself and those you love and that the premium you are paying will be more like an investment. Health insurance quotes will not always direct you in a way that will seem friendly or applicable due to the prices that you will be quoted for your particular situation, but always think positively and find a way to make the premiums affordable in the long run so that it does not look so much like a bird in but a blessing after all is said and done.
Most of these companies companies have won 800 numbers, especially the larger companies, that will give you free health insurance quotes for their particular policies. This is a good thing in that it will not cost you any money to get this information, but the dichotomy is that they will probably give you rates that are the ones they are marketing at that particular time.
What you want to look for is a company that either has a toll-free line that you can call to get multiple quotes or even better is to fill out an online form which will send you multiple quotes so that you will be able to print them out and look at the different possibilities for you and your family.
Health insurance quotes are almost always going to be free. The leery of those that want to charge you money up front in order to get this information. More than likely that is how they are making their money and you will want to leave these companies alone and search for ones that give you this information for free.
The best way is to look for websites that offer the ability to click on a link that leads to an unbiased health insurance quote system that will give you viable information about will allow you to make a justifiable decision in just a few minutes. Also the information is sent to you for free and you will be able to make a decision in the comfort of your home.
The other possibility is to send in for information and this will also come to you in the mail and you can set this information out on the table as well already printed which will save you money in regard to printing charges and ink cartridges that you may have to buy.
Always be on the lookout for the best rates that you can get. This is a very important aspect of your life and if you have a family it is even more so. Do your due diligence and seek out a free health insurance quote solution today.
If you are looking for the fastest health insurance quotes , go to http://www.healthinsuranceca.info

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---------------oOo--------------- Cheap Car Insurance Quotes - Tips for Getting the Best Quotes Online

By Robert Mcleary

While you are gaining access to free cheap car insurance quotes for your business, you should consider quite a few things. Doing some research work on the internet will help you in getting a car insurance that is quite cheap and reasonable, and the premium is also relatively lower than the others. You can take into consideration established or new companies in order to get cheap car insurance quotes.
The latter ones are the ones who fight for the business of yours but they do not have the recognition that other big companies might have. With the introduction of the method of getting free insurance quotes for motor vehicles on the internet, this has become a hassle-free method for anyone making a comparison about the best insurance price to them.
While doing this research on the internet, you can have a look at the rates of the company, the coverage they are offering, other relevant information on deductions, and also the discounts on offer. Insurance and premium rates for motor insurance will always differ among different companies, and there will invariably be some variations in the plans. So it is prudent to make a comparison among the rates of various companies.
It goes without saying that if insurance for your car already exists, then you may prefer to stay with that company, but if at the time of renewal of the policy, there exists a policy of another company offering cheaper rates, then there is no reason why you shouldn't consider switching. Insurance rates are subject to constant change, so ensure that you have latest quotes.
Also check the various discounts given by the brokers of car insurance who can provide you with the cheapest options of insuring your motor vehicle. There are also companies that offer higher discounts to disciplined drivers, so this gives you an additional option to have cheap car insurance quotes. Otherwise, such cheap rates of insurance may not be available to you.
It is a simple task to go to the insurer's website and find out cheap car insurance quotes. Here, they'll ask you for some basic information like the previous insurance details of your car, the present standing and your requirements from the policy. A few insurers also consider the report of the car's credit rating for fixing the rate of insurance and the premium as well. A poor credit rating will not let you get benefit of the discounts that would have accrued to you if you had a good FICO standing. Ask them about the low-cost deductions.
Many insurers who are in single or multiple lines offer different types of insurance to the consumers as well. So consider some options before you get your policy renewed to get a cheap rate of insurance.
Learn how you can find cheap car insurance in the UK quick and easy. You have the information you need now to get the best cover possible so compare car insurance and get a direct price within 3 minutes from now so you can get on with what you were doing before you got hit with the headache of your yearly insurance policy. Learn more at http://www.cheap-car-insurance-britain.co.uk today.
By Robert Mcleary - UK Insurance Expert

Copyright 2007 - Robert Mcleary. All Rights Reserved Worldwide. Reprint Rights: You may reprint this article as long as you leave all of the links active, do not edit the article in any way, give author name credit and follow all of the Articles terms of service for Publishers.

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---------------oOo--------------- Writing Poetry - Use Poetry To Get Started With Other Genres of Writing

By Connie Ragen Green

If you are struggling with getting your writing career going try writing some poetry first. Poetry can be an easy entry point into the world of writing no matter which genre you intend to write. Try writing a pair of lines whenever an idea strikes you. By writing down your thoughts into couplets you will have the basis of a longer work to be completed later on.
Poetry is also a good place for children to begin writing. There are no hard and fast rules so there is less apprehension. Capital letters, punctuation, and even spelling rules are suspended so that a child’s imagination can run wild. Children enjoy writing silly sentences and fantasy phrases, with alliteration having a mesmerizing effect.
Now, try to be child-like in your writing as you compose some short poems. Don’t think too much as you let your thoughts take form on the paper. Just let your thoughts flow. Put your poem away for a few days and then see if you can expand upon the ideas that you have written down.
Psychologists have long used poetry to get people to write about what is really bothering them. Use your poetry to see what you really want to write about for others to read and enjoy. Poetry can give you a feeling of freedom in your writing that no other form can possibly duplicate.
Think about a serious subject that you are planning to write an article or short story about. Write it as a light-hearted poem and then come back to it at a later time. You will most likely see that you have written some profound thought in a simple form because you were more relaxed when you wrote in a sing song manner.
Give poetry a try and see how your other writing improves over time.
Connie Ragen Green is an author and motivational speaker living in southern California. Visit her at http://www.ReinventYourLifeWithPassion.com

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---------------oOo--------------- The Macabre Poems [Part Two: poems 18-33]

By Dennis Siluk Ed.D.

18) Rhymester’s Shadow
With roots and filled-in hollow air,
He writes to you poetic obscurities;
He goes, my friend, where
The homeless dare: where
“Beauty is for the few” and into
The boundless cosmos and tombs;
Into and onto exotic landscapes,
Where poems—like bones—
Have decomposed;
Where darkness comes like all shadows:
To lock you in its tombs….
Dim and gray is his twilight,
As slowly dies his days—
But fate’s poetic obscurities,
Would have it no other way:
For the Rhymester’s shadows—
Never rest.
19) The Executioner of Chan Chan
Writ after visiting Chan Chan, an archeological site in Northern Peru.
Hungry, fearless, in a faceless form,
Likened to a mask, a monster forlorn,
He was the woe, the living dead,
From nightmares he was fed—
The Executioner of Chan Chan.
Bleak was his dawn, cold his heart,
Lulled by those whom would soon die—
Subdued by the temples’ mud-baked
Bricks—he decapitated his lot, sacrificially—
This Moche Warrior of Chan Chan.
April 29 2004 [8:00 PM].
20) Mercury’s Demise
(As Semyas meets Azaz’el)
Part of a story—writ a few hours before a flight from St. Paul to South America.
Mercury! Such awful sight
Planet of darkness, with no eyes,
Ware the Great Asteroids that bite:
The sun no longer gives you light….
A hellish moment: your demise,
Candles blown out, like blinded eyes:
Dust resides in your volcanic skies—
Two souls are left, that want to die.
April 2, 2004
21) Buried Souls from the Rephaim
And there his sarcophagus lay—
Beneath the towering mountains—
Stretching out of the deep, dark sea
(With all its weight, sealing his fate)—
No light, no day, only binding chains.
Lost, forgotten in the sand’s density….
Where no travelers have yet been:
No roads or skies to befriend;
Faceless skeletons, silent voices:
They all embraced in this veil of dark—
Embraced by looks, face to face—
Hungry to fill the emptiness of space.
Note: The Refaim Circle, otherwise known as the ‘Gilgal Refaim,’ is the only megalithic astronomical complex on earth, built 3000 BC, in the area now known as: the Golan Heights; made out of 37,000 tons of stones. It has been said it was constructed y biblical giants; comprising more area than at the Gaza pyramids.
22) The Poet Demon
“There are maggots under my feet,
Incense and madness in my tomb,”
He cries…he sighs, he never dies:
He dances to flutes, tapping feet,
And human fleece, and never knows why.
Oh yes, a tomb—with no spine,
Full of hopelessness, despair…
Sacrificial-gloom everywhere;
A hooded serpent of the deep,
He knows that he will never sleep.
23) The Birds of Genovesa
The beautiful gloom of Genovesa’s
Unfathomable vaults of birds
Peering from white eerie wooden sticks—
Vampires: Atlantean Vampires—
Clinging to trees that look like twigs,
Great idols looming—homelessly—
Your days belong to a primal calendar
I see….
10:30 AM, April 23 2004
Note: Written four hours after leaving the island of Genovesa, in the Galapagos.
24) The Devil’s Rose
Roses of black and orange
From hell’s cryptic doors,
They are scorned—lo,
Like blood in a storm:
Bred by malefic jackals,
Hell-howling Hyenas—
Sealed in coffins by nails,
Incarcerating their evil enchantments;
Guarded by the Demon Ghost, alas—
Should a rose be lost or stolen,
It puts blood—upon the soul!—
Cold, cold—blood.
This is the forbidden rose—
Descended from Satan’s breath,
Made from his waste—puss and piss,
His vomit and sweat, his blasphemy
Inside the scent.
Incantations echo, emitted;
Discharged, from its pores:
Should you pass it to another,
Take it as a gift—
You seal your death.
April 6 2004, Lima, Peru
25) Hieroglyphs of Doom
I’m always surprised
How an artist can make
Ugliness, death, gloom
Decay, demonic-hues—
And Satan himself look…
Lovely.
The tomb and urn, darkness,
Plague, crawling toads, slime:
All vanish into uncharted
Flares of solar fire—
Fires of beautiful light?
I’m always surprised
How the atheist seals,
Locks his tomb—while
Looking, looking for light!
Successfully, we slowly carve
Our hieroglyphs of doom.
3:30 PM, April 14 2004, Lima, Peru
26) Mirrors and Marrow
On this hot and cold, bold,
Windy earth, with its breathless
Tireless twists, and curves,
Is not life a street, a city of
Stone, ink and bread—
Of heart, essence and will?
Where arched-holy steeples
Tower and blink, at moving
Souls?
Where
Poverty is the mirror for all,
Whence you climb, eternally
Wanting the treasure that,
That to only a few befalls;
In sadness, each part—dies,
Wishing they had climbed more walls.
April 11 2004, Lima, Peru
27) The Lotus Demons’ Lair
(The Lotus Demon of Mercury)
Lo, the toiling sun spins
Above the roof of his den,
Above the Great Volcanic Crater
Of Mercury—where
The Lotus Demons live.
With unshadowed images,
Spun in the friendless deep,
As fate would have it, none,
None who enter—escape.
April 13 2004, Lima, Peru
28) Earshot
The FBI was after him
(So he claims)
Fearful of Castro
(If not everything)
No money for taxes
Living in a drunken stupor
Trying to finish a manuscript
(“A Moveable Feast”)
Allusions to suicide
Blood pressure going high
No doctors please
He cried
(The Mayo Clinic nearby)
Suicide scenario
Depression took
His soul and character
He bought death with
Consuming drinks
He even conned himself
(I think)
Violently angry
Pinned in blame
For an insane life
He tried to lead
From Paris to Cuba
To Ketchum he was
Was he an old man lost
Lost at sea
Hemingway
Shotgun in hand with
His big-toe pulled
The trigger very slowly
And off flew his cranium
March, 2004
Note: considered for an award; also, reviewed by Barns and Noble, Poetry Review [competition], Rossville, Minnesota.
29) House without Windows
I am building a house with no windows
And a very small door,
And my friends all ask me why.
Life has been for me full of anxiety—
And I care not to let it in any more;
So you see, I am making a very small door.
And having no windows allows
What is outside not to look in—
Thus freeing my spirit to rest again….
Note: published in the Magazine: The Mango Tree, out of India [August/September, 2004]
30) Armageddon’s Hecatomb
Know ye that His kingdom shall come—
In days hence, thy days shall be gone
(I like former dust: dayless,
Speaking from chambers long gone)—
From Hell to Earth the demons come
(A tinge of gladness in their songs)—
Thou shalt live to see them.
Lo—a great army from the north
Cometh, cometh, in full force;
Soon, sword and flesh shall shortly meet:
On the field of Armageddon.
Quoth the Demon of the Pit, “Alas!”;
For, upon the Throne of Earth,
He whose Horse is White sitteth
And biddeth farewell,
As doth ebb the realm of hell.
31) Armageddon’s Incubus
In Europe, the enchantress sculpts—
From earth to hell—peculiar spells,
Makes a changing world ebb.
From within her sphere’s crystal gaze—
Dark shadows, blood-soaked graves,
Molded steps that lead to nowhere,
Time’s phantoms—
All of whom are tyrannous—
Walk up and down these eldritch stairs,
Waiting to call together iron forces:
The architects of war.
Unremitting silence masks the globe
Of mortal woes and secrets told;
And now that wisdom’s turned about,
Draws forth Abyssal demon-cults
(All mobilized, coming to life).
Funerals, pendulums, brutality:
It’s all part of what must be.
32) Nightmare
He lives within the deep
Where others never sleep—
Monstrous fathoms below,
Where lava rivers flow,
And crowding waters rush.
He is the nightmare demon
With a flat, untraversable form—
Lying in a bottomless tomb,
Undoomed, haply awakened,
Awaiting slumber.
Note: This poem was inspired by the Clark Ashton Smith’s picture,’ Nightmare’, and was written right after the purchase of the original picture from Tom Strausky, who purchased it through G. de la Ree, circa l980; at which time the picture was named.
33) Glossary of End Times
Four
Horses
Running wild
Hoof beats awaken
The hungry and sleeping world
Waiting for the seventh trumpet
Angels are in the winds
Hail and fire and blood
Burning mountains
Falling
Birth pangs
And three woes
The Seventh Trumpets
The Seven Bowls
The Seven Seals
False Prophet
The Dragon
The Beast
Anti-
Christ
Takes the
Place of
Christ
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

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---------------oOo--------------- The Macabre Poems [Part one: 17 poems]

By Dennis Siluk Ed.D.

The Macabre Poems
1) The Unreal
Because you do not see—
Evil says: conscience is dead!
Aye! it is the insight of madness
Penetrating the veils of untruth—
For few are we:
For many are they….
2) Space Vampire
O solar mass, pull back:
black holes far and near—
those vampires—
devour stars like spiders bugs
Storms that sunder birds,
they, they are the curse
of the universe.
3) Otherwhere
I
Long ago, longer than—
Before a beast or man was born—
He chose for his
The hate whereto old evil clings,
With lusting angels stripped of wings
With Michael’s flaming hatred divine:
The hate whereto old evil clings,
It was thine, it was mine.
II
Have we not known,
O demos, débil O Satán:
The hate that creeps within your soul?
In evil your ally will go, never alone,
For the wingless that must devour
Will be waiting with hearts of stone,
Joy and laughter, and corruption—
And ill bliss, your dark lovers of the feast.
Yea! Lo, your own crimson bells
Ring for Satanic hell.
4) The Waking World
Out of time’s windows
He gazed—into the heavens,
Into planets, unnamed galaxies
—Light-years away,
With sealed vistas
That opened wide
For the macabre-naked eye—to see.
And unto him appeared—
Wild streams of midnight tears
Glittering like unprotected fire:
And so spellbound was he,
With all he had seen,
He crossed into the dream world,
The lost world of the woken:
And was never again seen.
5) The Glass Lyre
They fail to hear the glass lyre,
Its echoes, tarnished strings—
Where shadows ring.
6) The Stone Maya
Owls of the world,
Do not dream like fools—
Life’s delusions are real:
And evil was learned—
(We are but grasshoppers Carved of stone).
I, for one, in darkness spun
(In deep temples of Tikal)
Echo with oblivion:
Delusions, illusion, fantasies—
Rising shadows no one can see.
7) Shadow-Gables
The young man leered and tittered along
haze-cloaked Riverside Street
with heavy padding feet;
tottering by houses on both sides:
as he passed them, they came alive.
Fresh walls of morbid evil,
shadows on gables,
window-eyes leered and reeked
in a black-wind of blasphemous runes.
House, street, padding feet:
intruding chimes: now! now –
a familiar sign, clutching at him….
8) Soul of the Devil (Ritual of the Macabre)
Subterranean evil
Lurks in the maggoty pale light
Of the sunless waters
Beneath the insidious city,
Where mirrored reflections
And pungent odors reside:
And decay grows;
Where my forefathers lived
With primal rites…and still do.
The lyre, flute—I could hear!—
In the distance, called me….
To its toadless shores,
In this unhallowed earth
Cloaked in throngs.
There I saw the pillar of flame,
Where darkness was on fire:
Casting no shadows, in its
Calmness to death…
The horde—unwinged beings,
Hybrid things, appeared—
Lotus Demons with two limbs,
Scorpion-like tails, thin;
Into the volcanic river they sang,
Enchantments, frightful things.
I wanted to ride the beast—
It tempted me, with wart-filled eyes:
Oozing at my flesh, staggered
To my thighs—then disappeared.
I shuddered restlessly—
Until it was best forgotten.
9) The Eldritch Tombs
Is this hell? Shapes bend, like the wind
Gates lie still, lurk around corners
And foul beings, never seen, never die.
Here, hounding doom fills nameless tombs,
Where esoteric manuscripts
Dare to tell the dread—what lies ahead.
There amid many, strange things I found—
Raving of madmen, curses and clowns:
Black books, stones, legends and frowns.
◊
Out from this path in Witch-Town I crawled—
An ominous name—not to be found—
And in solitude I write this down….
Haunted by monstrous nightmares,
On a monolithic, rampant night:
Drowsy, dreamy, I say good-night.
10) Death and Tears
All the words that wake the dead
Have now been said—
Now you must paint with tears.
11) Open
12) Dragon Wings
Like piled leaves in late autumn,
Dragon wings of crimson gold—
Days are few….
13) Beauty’s Incarceration
The prisoner is beauty,
So they say:
Thus, I have captured her today.
Ecuador, 4/25/04
14) The Vanishing Dead
Come ride with me
(If you dare)—
On wingless angels
(That never cared);
To my doom, to my doom—
While the sunset still is there:
Darkened settings, everywhere.
The gloom of the Moon,
Immortals—dying;
What beauty in obscurity…
I am the falling star,
Expiring; the haunting light,
I will come for you tonight.
St. Paul, Minnesota, 5/5/04
Note: This poem was inspired by the cover art of a book, by the Peruvian Artist [Arvieh].
15) A Demon’s Ark
(The Lotus Demon of Mercury)
Born from the horns
Of a wingless archangel,
With the pulse
Of perpetual night—
Lo, lifts the demonic horizon:
Immortalities’ jagged plight.
16) The Misbegotten Species (The Minds of Saturn
((Demons)) of the Ancient legendaries)
[Note: the Minds—a mere remnant of a low degraded horde of demonic-angelic beings—aborigines, one might say—whom comb the utter darkness of outer space for brute-hood, and thus, found Mercury’s inhabitants by chance, residing within an ancient giant crater. Thus, here is the story of a vanishing race that takes place: of which Zoov ‘al the leader, led seven and twenty ((Saturn-lites)), of his followers into the escalade.]
An Epic (Tale) Poem
[Mercury-lites]
Faded, dried and burnt, bear-rat meat,
Light-white, flowery, solar wine—
Volcanic walls all around them,
Hollow lava caves: occupied ….
*
[Saturn-lites]
Rodent-pelts over their shoulders
(Deemed, by most, most dangerous of all):
Demonic invaders from Saturn—
Well armed and accouterred:
Ropes and chains, knifes and swords:
Hooks and nails, crossbows and boards,
All warriors wore human fleece:
All warriors had studded-saber teeth.
*
All the warriors stood stone-still, silent
On the great volcanic rim of Mercury—
Black lava, eons cold and old,
The zenith: cloudless and frozen.
*
And then the sun rose high overhead,
The ancient legendaries swore
Countless blasphemies to the Godhead:
“Above—below—God is no more!”
Unnecessary: they hurled blocks—
Blocks of disdain inside their chest
(Arousing a battle cry—at best)
Like the flaming furnace in the sky—
The demons waited—with raging eyes.
*
This day, within the crater’s deep,
No hungry voices heard from below—
Hence—the invaders crept with light feet
Upon the sleeping (wine-filled) souls….
Lo!—caves that once were home became
Graves—alas!—by these demonic-beings
As up they crept, unto the sleeping prey
Of Mercury—this, this very day.
*
[The Feast of Saturn’s Henchman]
The vile eating habits of the demon:
Compulsively draining marrow
(Drinking bones: pale-dry, flushed-clean),
Ripping flesh and eyes, ribs and thighs
(Atrocious creatures of Primal Time).
*
[Then]
Black altars were placed upon the sand:
Came, demonic prayers with clasped hands,
Unto the Henchman—of hell—Agaliarept,
And the Ten-winged serpent—they bowed.
*
[Zoov ‘al’s epitaph]
Zoov bellowed with grasping lizard hands
(Heartily) after throwing rocks on skulls—
Clattering loudly his feet, he screamed:
“I am the god of Mercury, the god of all!”
The rim of the volcano trembled
(Mysteriously, unrepentant)
From its stomach came smoke and stone,
Lava, gases and boulders—a tomb.
Then a queer-colored blaze multiplied,
Dropped into veins of mud—
Into volcanic pits, of the dead;
Thus, sealing all, with a lid.
17) The Oarsman
The Oarsman at the oars,
The Arctic winds, the galley,
Captain at the helm,
The ghosts of leprosy,
The dead men from the sea,
No sun, pestilence:
All could see the cliff-tower—
The hour draws near—to trembling
Hissing—from the oarsman’s lips;
Passengers bellow—with Arctic eyes
Oozing the demon with a kiss,
Coming closer to land and mist;
The dead sit up within the boat,
The Polar-demon rows and rows;
Utter cold, no miracles—
Lo, the harbor: the oars stop—
Deadly—deadly—no one talks;
Iceberg-eyeballs—stare and stare;
A tide of intolerable silence
Flows and ebbs, and flows again
For Hell’s henchman: Agaliarept.
Flung to the wide side of the vessel,
“You will serve me well,” he echoes:
The voyage is now final.
Originally in: “The Eldritch Dark,” (March 2004), and Who’s Who in Poetry.
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

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---------------oOo---------------
18 February 2008
Home Insurance Quotes - How To Save Money & Find Cheap Quotes Online

By Mark Barclay

When it comes to renewing your home insurance, it makes sense to shop around a bit first to see if there’s any better deals out there. Most people just renew their insurance without considering a different provider. Most companies know this, and they won’t always give you the best rate. So it makes sense to shop around first.
One of the easiest ways to get some different home insurance quotes doesn’t even involve leaving your home. All you have to do is go online and visit one of the many sites on the internet that provide home insurance quotes.
Nearly every home insurance provider has a website that will allow you to get quotes online. Even your current provider is likely to have one, so it’s never been easier to get quotes. If you don’t want to use the internet, however, it’s still just as easy to ring around for quotes – although it will probably take you more time.
So now you know how and where to find home insurance quotes, what can you do to lower the costs? Here are a few ideas:
See if you can get a discount by having more than one policy with a particular company. Sometimes switching your auto insurance at the same time as switching your home insurance can get you a discount for multiple polices. You can save quite a bit using this method.
Another thing you can do – although not always the easiest option – is to make your home more weather and natural disaster proof. This can lower your rate quite a bit, depending on what improvements you make. Sometimes you can find a simple and cheap improvement that needs doing anyway, which can lower your home insurance quote.
Sometimes just flat out asking for discounts can save you some money. Sometimes you can get reductions for being over a certain age, or having things like fire alarms installed in your home (which is kind of related to my previous tip) can help lower your insurance quote.
My final tip for lowering your home insurance quotes is to increase your deductible, which is the money that you would have to contribute if you were to make a claim. Sometimes this isn’t always the best thing to do, but my playing with the number a bit, you can sometimes receive a slightly lower home insurance quote.
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Mark Barclay is owner of the Home Insurance Blog, where he gives free advice on how to find cheaper home insurance quotes, as well as general information on different home insurance policies. If you're finding cheaper home insurance, be sure to visit http://www.the-home-insurance-blog.info right now.

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---------------oOo--------------- Analyzing Poetry - Poetry As Art

By Matt Mckay

What are poems, and what is poetry? If you have an answer to the question, there's a good chance that you have no idea. I think we'd all agree that a poem is a work of art. While some aspects of poetry may be obvious or evident to many people, such as rhyming, theme, meter, structure, there is so much more. Here are a few things to think about when analyzing poetry:
Not every poem has to rhyme. Think of most any Haiku...
Not every poem needs to be laid out in semi-equal lines and sentences.
Not every poem needs to have a consistent meter.
Not every poem needs to follow a particular pattern.
Yes, poems should have some sort of theme.
Yes, poems should provide some sort of imagery.
Yes, poems should make you feel something.
Poetry, like music, paintings, sculpture or any work of art, is highly subjective. It is okay to like or dislike any work of art, but to label it as good, bad, right or wrong, strongly suggests that you don't know what you are talking about.
Art is art. Art has no boundaries or rules. When you stay within the parameters of set rules, it is no longer art. What you have is a paint by number piece, a crossword puzzle, a Mad Lib, an auto chord song on an electronic keyboard...I could go on, but hopefully you have understood my point.
As a professional songwriter and musician, I am constantly pushing the boundaries of what I know. Of course I don't want my stuff to sound like junk, but I sure want it to be creative and different than whatever else is out there. That is what art is, that is how new art forms are created. Poetry is no different. So if you like "Mary had a little lamb," that's fine. I'll change some words around and have an original poem. Great. But if you consider yourself an art lover, think outside of what you know and what you are used to and what you are told. You just might find something really amazing.

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---------------oOo--------------- My Opinions on Poetry (A Personal Review of Poetry)

By Dennis Siluk Ed.D.

Index
Introduction: What Makes Poetry-Poetry?
Commentary: Perhaps my Style
Free Verse
Definition of Poetry I
Definition of Poetry II (effect)
Substance of a Poem
The World of Art in Words
Separate Excitement
On Poetry's Form
Figurative Language
What is Confessional Poetry?
Reading Poetry
Understanding the Poets
Introduction
What Makes Poetry-Poetry?
I find-in my minds-eyes, what can make splendid poetry is: irony, symbolism, resemblance, metaphor, meter-arrangement, expression, confession, spontaneity, but at the end of the poem-like at the end of a day-when the reader looks back and all is said and done, he needs to ask, "Has it affected me?" if not-why? A poem should bring some kind of a chill, if not, some kind of voice to the reader. Again I say, if not, go on to the next poem or page of the book, each poem may not be suitable for you, like every song a singer sings is not necessarily the song that influences you.
Poetry at its most raw and rare form, and wickedest, is from spontaneity.
Perhaps my Style
A Commentary on Poetry
I prefer to join the ranks of the naturalness, spontaneity, free from rhymed couplets, romanticism, and passion, leave the Elizabethans, to them. I prefer to shift a bit to the 11th century, or just before that era, when rhyme was becoming modernized, but not quite in place. Right there, there was a world of nature and mysteries and emotions to be written, told, and stories to be handed down, and memorized: addressing the times, its cultures, and heroes; and so I must take that period, with my era, and mix it with fragments and dreams, and all such things, and let the dead bury the dead. Let the artificial reproduce half the literature (they will anyway) and my kind the other half. It can be hard to live in a world where critics who write mostly criticism, discard themes, dignity, manners, this perhaps is a strong protest against all such things, but poets must reassert their right to represent the world, in a clear and genuine tone, it is our duty. We are only passing through, we leave behind what we write (we infect minds, or produce wholesomeness), the irate citizens will always get their full of whatever, but those who wish not to have their pockets picked, wait on us to circulate literature that is filled with swimming thoughts of such things I've already mentioned. And to these readers, and the generations to come, I write.
Free Verse: Today's poetry, often it has no voice, theme or even recognizable form. We call this free Verse, which is the dominate form of Postmodernism; prior to this, we had of what was called Modernism, where we reexamined what poetry is.
Definition of Poetry I: Each poem is a story, a short story, which involves density of language and intensity of imaging, or imagery (mental images); and descriptiveness, metaphors, similes (comparisons). Effect (definition of Poetry II) as a poet, you need to ask 'Did I get the effect I wanted out of my poetry?' perhaps you did, and if so, you are on the right track. I mean I never ask a person this, I rather listen to see what they say about my poetry, and I then can answer the question myself.
Substance of the Poem
A poem has to have substance to survive...! Some of this substance is in the theme and in the insight of the poem.
-In writing a poem, like anything in life, one must have a plan, destination (where do you want to take your reader?), again, this is part of the substance, that will come out later.
-A poem perhaps is the secret life of the poet; it can be his black twin, his detached self-this is often the case. Thus, the poet and poem become more of a riddle of despair than a work of art.
The World of Art in Words
The world of Art, in words, has a definite meaning for me; it is a romance, produced during its stages of creation. Like a book. As I write it, refine it, proof it, and then finally victory comes-an opening and closing romance has taken place. Idleness is never involved, it is a horrible sin, an enemy of the soul. Man should not be idle, if so, the phantom comes out of him, not art.
The World of Art in Words
The artist appeared upon the land
from behind the sea-
the sun passed over him,
it shinned only for a moment
to clear a path for words.
#1718 3-5-2007
Separate Excitement
If you are looking for the poet inside the poem, look for the undercurrent he has left, the continuous hint of feeling, it should be everywhere, but seldom does anyone look for it, it is called separate excitement; or poetic art. Yeats uses it. If you missed the fountain and the beauty, and the exact riming in the poem, which is sometimes called 'duty,' go back and look for it, if you need to. I do not use as often as I used to and for various reasons, I do not take pleasure in the ordinariness.
On Poetry's Form
People get obsessed with structure, trying to choose the correct form they want to use in poetry (perhaps trying to learn their style, or approach in the process). I prefer to let go and blend one idea or event into the next, lest I lose the soul of it trying to fit it into something that never should have been.
I try to listen to my voice, the one speaking inside of me, if I can find the silence, I will find the voice with no pretense, and inside that voice, are the syllables, letters, words, rhyme, and other elements of poetry you may want to use.
Figurative Language (An Example): figurative language, meaning words used to refer to something that you don't really mean, is used here to make noises, as are metaphors sometimes
Derivative Echoes
I would show you love in a handful of clouds-
Could I find the clouds, and find the love
And is it love one is really looking for?
Fallen angels had love from heaven
And chose lust in place, on earth...!
In hell one loves lust and thus, would be
Unhappy in Heaven I imagine...
Ah! Maybe allusions is the strand we're
Looking for...? We're living for...
We live in the age of imagined howling
...with aches and pains in the mind
Fear of death-nymphs (well dressed)
Schoolmasters serving children a blotted
Light; perfect pitch, more questions than
Answer; disrupting the harmonic balance!...
(Perhaps under all this is love.)
#728 6/2005
What is Confessional Poetry?
((And why do we write it?)( 3-1-2007))
What is Confessional Poetry? It is when you set yourself up for the big fall, when you get daring enough to tell all. Sylvia Plath, Anne Saxton, the perverted Allen Ginsberg; Robert Lowell, whom I have several books by, was a little calmer in his verse than those poets I just mentioned. Often the "I" is used or "You" in Confessional poetry. I find most of this poetry is unflattering, and that is why I do not do a lot of it; it wasn't meant to be. It is usually personal and autobiographical. The poet usually is speaking to you directly, the reader.
When I read Plath, her confessional style seems more fantasy than fiction, but be that as it may, it is her soul talking; one must forget the themes and subject matter in confessional poetry, it explores certain details, processes past emotions, events, the author is actually exploring and processing his life in front of you.
The question has arisen, "Why do they write it?" and a fair question that should be answered perhaps more from a psychologist, than a poet, for at times one needs to be brutally honest. To me, it seems it would clear the brain, and make one's guilt duller. Often times the more you write out something, the less potent it remains. A form of processing your pain.
Reading Poetry
In Reading poetry, first read it slowly, give it your attention, like you do when you eat dinner, then read it slowly again a second time, with an open mind, third, read it again, this time, as you would read prose, it will now jump out at you.
Many poems are complex, and perhaps ambiguous, if they are too much for you, trash them (unless you want to suffer through them, then you are asking for pain, and may receive it).
Know the poet you are reading, his history will help you understand why he is writing as he is, his mind perhaps will come clearer to yours.
Get rid of your preconceptions (bias and so forth) as you read-enjoy the experience. If you like the poetry and not the poet, because of your prejudice, you've got an issue.
Understanding the Poets
-To understand some poetry, or poets, one must have experienced what the poet has-identical experiences; or you must be shaped like the poet-, the exceptions are from the old school of poetry-one shoe fits all (thus, understanding the theme, plot and insight of poetry becomes much easier); from the contemporary scene, you must have the same shoe size of the poet to understand where the poet is leading you, and in poetry the poet should have a destination for the reader-lest he doesn't care (and he should).
-The poet survives perhaps because he or she is oblivious (or not connected so much) to the world, and all its compulsions (suicide is often on the other side of this coin, if not drugs and alcohol).
-Poetry has accomplished something if it causes one to mull over it...; stretching this a little further, there is (it seems) coming a day (not so far off in the future), when poets will not even need to know a thing about literature (most don't today); yet poetry is (or should be) considered the highest form of literature.
-Most poets write about love and death-which perhaps are the two main ingredients (or themes) to poetry; some write on social issues, which make for bad poetry; but it is "Beauty" that shines above everything, and that is often, too often over looked in place of self-interest, or a combination of negative delirious confusing thoughts put into writing by a poet under the influence of some kind of chemical. One can get a high off the beauty that surrounds them.
Last words: we as poets should not forget, we influence people, young people in particular, and owe an obligation to (if not duty to), set a good example by the way we live and write.
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

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---------------oOo--------------- The Macabre Poems [Part Five: poems 81 to 110]

By Dennis Siluk Ed.D.

81) Silence Falls on Uruk’s walls: An ode to Uruk
If it had not been for the temple harlot, goddess of Uruk, Shamhat, there would not have been an Epic of Gilgamesh, for she it was that brought back to the Great City of Uruk, the Sumerian Capital, the prize Gilgamesh had been longing for; for she had seduced Enkidu, Gilgamesh’s equal, whom she instructed thereafter on the fineries of civilization, for he was a man-beast in the woods; she brought him a lover, as in time, after the death of Enkidu, Gilgamesh would marry and have a son, and Shamhat would bear a child. The year is 2700 BC. In the poem you are about to read, Huwawa is a giant, who guards the Cedar Forest, Enkidu lives in the forest like a beast.
Silence falls on Uruk’s walls
While a demigod rules the lands;
A raging wind from the Cedar Forest
Comes with the rattling of Huwawa.
And with the harlot Shamhat,
So follows Enkidu, the beast-man.
* * *
Eldritch stars fall on Uruk’s walls
As the red moon’s light fades in;
The granite walls are hinged in gray,
And Gilgamesh’s mind is bent—
He weaves a web to hold his city,
Sumer, king of all Sumerians.
* * *
Shamhat laced her web
By baring her pulsing loins;
Her beauty glimmered in the woods
To the one by the shadowy pond.
The beast-man Enkidu, now doomed,
As she woos….
* * *
The city is joyous with star-dust,
For Gilgamesh has found his equal;
No more boys, virgins or wives,
No more rages like flying equals,
No more building tower-steeples,
Peace and harmony is now at hand.
* * *
Silence falls on Uruk’s walls
For Enkidu killed Huwawa:
Gilgamesh killed the Bull from Heaven,
And the netherworld cursed the land;
Shamhat died when the temples fell,
And Gilgamesh died in bed.
82) The Mind’s Eye
Life: it is fact, it is written,
It is part dream and part reality?
I never woke up
And I never went to sleep.
I wasn’t scarred by bullets;
And I didn’t write my dreams.
I never looked for reality within them,
I can take or leave them.
In them I roamed aimlessly,
In all seasons of the year—
I can dream all this or live it;
Beyond my mind’s sight.
Inspired by Yuli Daniel, June 27 2004 [#320]
Atlantean Poems
[Poems 83 to 98]
The Archnight’s Scrolls: Codex Atlanteanus
Standing upon Terceira’s soil
Rising above the Atlantic,
I muse on Atlantean glory:
A time past, no longer to be.
For, in those distant days of old
Sunken now, in the depthless seas,
Reside the Grand Archnight’s scrolls—
Now remnants, of slime and sodden ashes
At the bottom of a tireless sea.
Within these gardens of Poseidon
The poet Anases’ spirit roams,
Looking for ‘la Tour d’yvoire.’
And, should he find the crown scrolls,
What shall happen to legends told?
Note: An Atlanteon poem, 6/27/04; #319
The Princess Ais and the Poet-Hippokamp
As the great ship sailed the eastern expanse,
Princess Ais, looking westward to Atlantis,
Sang—farewell, farewell, thrice farewell,
To Yllipha, in northern Iffrikonn.
Then, listening to the moon-foamed stories of Aon,
Of the river Amphus, and its delta,
She dreamt of its grand and famous Archkingdom,
Of its strange, spellbound, and renowned obelisks,
Of Atlantis’ metropolitan streets.
Aon—poetic eyes of green, shoaling seas,
A mane of mystic, sea-bright hair;
Ais, eyes of blue and night-black hair:
With Atlantean lyre and harp, strings of silver,
The Hippokamp seduced the princess Ais.
Iffrikonn an island country; Aon, the Hippokamp: seahorse
Aon, the Hippokamp
The sound of the lyre came, sweet and clear,
Ferrying poetic notes of the Hippokamp,
In the far, dark waters of Atlantis—
Archkingdom of every land and sea.
With dying breath, and horse-like chest,
To death, and oblivion that sneer—
His last breath he took, with nothing of tears,
And died in splendor, amongst his peers.
#323
The Purple Robes of Atlantis
Now resting on the ocean floor,
Atlantis’ kings in ocean graves
Could neither keep nor save her.
Thus will be no glittering sun,
No hands to open ancient vaults
Or treasures stars once guarded,
Treasures stars will guard no more.
O gentlest bard, sing sweet, sing sweet,
For the poets lost in ancient times…
II
The king, the king, I saw you crowned
With jewels and gems, hemmed within,
Within your murex-dyed and gilded robes…
While the world paced and stored your glory,
And the god-king sat, deep his eyes
Looking at gold and cyclopean stone,
With a lion’s face, upon his throne,
Deep within the starless sea,
Patiently he waits, he waits.
Note: in a vision in l983, I saw one of the kings of Atlantis, in his purple robs.
The Lovely and Dreadful Fountain of Ddath
16,501 BC: on the island of Atlantis, the hymn of the maiden from Noom of At-Tho-Then (brother and sister) is played out in the following poem.
“Lailis, O Lailis—my love, my love,”
(sings and plays the minstrel Ampara)
“I love you so much, even in dust,
Of Poaphus, in fair Atlantis.”
(And loves were lost for many years.)
Both were sundered by duty and lyre
(and loves were lost for many years).
But it came to pass Atlas Naorthris
Had Ampara sing within his court;
Whereupon both Lailis and Ampara
Rediscovered their long-lost love—
At which the wandering minstrel
And goddess ran off, ran off,
To the far shores of the sea,
To the seaport of Allodium—
To the fountain of Ddath:
And drank death away.…
[#327; 6/30/04]
Xilvaa, The Shepherdess
(13,500 BC)
Within the heartland of Atlantis,
Resides the Eiphlox Mountains,
And a mountain vale called Quloyx,
Where shepherds with warm hearts
Gaze with blue eyes into the skies:
Thus, lovers met in the midst of delight.
Who was this stranger who took her heart?
The one his father made to part;
Whose love was proven beyond all doubt?
Thus the two lovers grieved, apart,
And turned to salt the mountain lakes,
Until the Archking fixed all things,
Naming his son Lailliquis—
Worthy of Xilvaa, for man and wife.
[#330-6/30/04]
How it was in Atlantis [Parts 1 thru IX]
I: Queen Lillttis (15001 BC)
By the Great Citadel of Poseidon
Rests Queen Consort Lillttis,
Who battled two personalities
Inside her royal chest,
Until she was dead
[#326--6/29/04]
II: Mount Atlantis
Close to the ocean
Resides her great harbor
The Acropolis of Atlantis.
[#328-6/29/04]
III: The Acropolis
O great stones of marble,
Soaring fifteen-hundred feet high—
Your life, art, culture touched the skies.
[#329—6/29/04]
IV: Astrologers of Atlantis
High upon Mount Atlantis
Resides an observatory,
And once a year upon the dark
During the autumnal equinox,
The astrologer Pharanos
Allows the stars to study him.
#331-6/30/04
V: Atlantis in Winter
And to her north, endless twilight,
Countless fantasies in winter’s snow;
Where lad and lass and unicorn—
Play, in ice and snow,
With autumn leaves of old:
Orange, red and gold.
#335-7/01/04
VI: Southern Atlantis
Marble steps along her shores,
With a tropical glow from the sun,
Antarctic breezes to cool the skin,
And help those off shore, sailing.
Gigantic flowers are everywhere,
Deep in the Southern Archkingdom.
#332-7/1/04
VII: The Atlantic Squid
Ebbing in the semi-tropic seas,
The giant squids reside within,
Within the volcanoes sub-marine,
Together with the flowers and bees,
So many arch-mysteries to see.
#334—7/01/04
VIII: The Obelisks of Atlantis
Her nine-sided ivory tower obelisks,
Atlantis’ thrones for kings and gods,
Are topped with trident crowns.
#325, 6/29-30/04
IX: The Lost Archkingdom Atlantis
Your towers, temples, and turrets,
Your tapestries and treasures of fur,
Fountains, pools and waterfalls,
Your gardens, lilies and poppies,
Your sculptures, palaces, observatories,
Your giant pearls of Yndessoss,
Corals red and white from Mu,
Lemuria’s vast urns and vases—
Give glory to you, Archkingdom Atlantis.
[#324, 6/29-30/04]
Atlantis
98) April in Atlantis
[Written by the King of Atlantis, while in Hell]
It is April in Atlantis—the bridges are chilled, the vessels and wines are distilled. And down the canal in The Gardens of Poseidon, the pigeons harvest corn; the bronze horses stare; still distant (above waters of peril) rest temple grounds, and uncouth, uncrowned, the lyrist sounds. Yes! Atlantis in April is toxic, with time, with its islands of stone and grandeur’s signs.
Bye, my esteemed friend, Atlantis, this April morning day, with narrow, crowed streets to guided my way, and arches with imprinted golden-carved tales. Good-bye, my spoiled Atlantis, I am bound in Hell.
#342, 7/04
End of the Atlanteon Poems
Part of Legends:
99) The Haunting of Mesa Verde
The Spirit of Mesa Verde: “They know I am coming,” I said, “I will tell the story as you wish.” “So you say,” the voice said, “tell it as you may; come into my grave (I am waiting).” “ What shall I call you,” I asked; “You’ve written it already, ancestor!” he remarked, “You come from a long way to see me, feel me, sense me—let it be said I guard the dead….” [30 AD].
I am the haunting Anasazi
Of the Cliff Dwellings of Mesa Verd
And the legends told
With their winds and dearth bones.
I am the enemy’s ancestor
Of this Lost World
Ha