Linda Marie Van Tassell
I hope that in honing my craft as writer and poet, my voice will inspire people to see life as a perpetual journey that branches out into divergent paths of knowledge, challenge and discovery.
In all things may we discover one another, glance into the mirror of each other's soul, and recognize within all some small part of ourselves. We are one.
Have a happy day and thanks for visiting. I do hope we meet again. more »
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Linda Marie Van Tassell Poems
The morning is moist with ocean spray. The islands, they twist around the bay; and across them all, my eyes have scanned - the rocky cliffs and the buttes of sand.
A Drop Of Rain That Flows
I taste happiness on your lips, hear laughter in your sighs. I see the heavens in your smile and sunlight in your eyes. I feel a yearning in your touch and hunger in your kiss, and nothing matters more to me than sharing all of this.
Come! Give me your thoughts that have wandered far and long in the realm of green meadows and the daisies' song of love-me, love-me-not petals that shed their tears beneath the hope of your touch and the joy of years.
A Daughter Deflowered
The Scene: a dark basement in the shadow of night where dirty, perverted things are done out of sight. His stealthy, secret visits are furtively made by the torch of his eyes and the tip of his spade.
A Little Angel
Far away on a billow an angel lays down his head upon a cloud-tufted pillow with a sky-line for his bed.
A Flower In The Rain
Grey city morning and black river streets. Rain against my window, tears in my sheets. Dark clouds in the sky, thunder overhead. Imprint of your body left in my bed.
Dress Me Like Poetry
Dress me like poetry in silk stanza stockings, in pearls of metered verse on a syllabic strand. Brush rhythm through my hair and rhyme on my lashes, and paint me in tones of syntax and sonnet sand.
Gateway To My Love
Somewhere there's someone, sometime and someplace, the one who loves me more than words can say. He's the song of joy, a new bloom of love, a whirlwind of wonder at break of day.
I Am But A Voice
I am but a voice, a silent word, written on paper, seen and not heard, an echo of heart to touch your soul, sweet pangs of sorrow's bitter control.
Spring yawns; and blossoms spill into my ear, as winter breaks the mirror of a tear. Eyes rhapsodize in piquant shades of blue. Kisses fall soft as rain in morning dew.
Only A Shirt
Only a shirt - I hold it embrace it
Among The Faithless
I went to church on Sunday to give praise unto the Lord, and I found myself worshipping among the faithless hoard. O! They dressed the part, gave their tithes, and even shook my hand. The preacher spoke of love and life, of God's great Promise Land.
Trilogy Of Love
So Special Mother's Voice: 'You think you're so special...'
The Ocean Is A Woman
The ocean is a woman turned to the skies, spilling her thoughts along a shoreline of sand. You will never know what hides behind her eyes by skimming the surface and reaching dry land.
Comments about Linda Marie Van Tassell
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
The morning is moist with ocean spray.
The islands, they twist around the bay;
and across them all, my eyes have scanned -
the rocky cliffs and the buttes of sand.
I almost think it an Irish isle.
Such beauty to make the heart beguile.
Sunrise stain on a listless ocean
serves to add to the magic potion.
A boat is docked alongside the pier.
A woman and man are standing near.
He is setting sail to ports unseen
upon the gilded Emerald Queen.
Standing on tip-toes to give a kiss,
she cries while pretending unfelt bliss.
Others have perished ...