I lived among your poetry for a few encompassing hours

a tale trace ridge of pain accompanied my curious journey

for poets heartache, love, wonder and conflict are tools

and its the skill of the master to utilize his tool of choice

and you perfected each their use

with a gentleman's eye

and I loved that aspect of you so much

I was immersed  in your solemn struggles and

your poetic triumphs

in all your pain I found much love

a winding river of joy, loss, accomplishment, discovery,

self worth

and uprooted heartbreak

weaving in and out of your life like an ever moving river

changing little yet changing much

with all the grace of your very soul you savored each

shattering itself

that comes from personal tragedy

loss was your victor

but you never let it defeat you

pride stole no glances of her own

over your words of self truth

for she had no breath when you were finished

with her


if i could have

I would have stood and applauded

bravo Naveed

you make others brave

for in your own little corner of

private torment

you reach farther and farther out

until you make someone

have to touch you

and today

with my eyes glittering at the inner joy of

saying this

that someone was me

thank you!

thank your energy force for the hoops

it danced through

just so for this moment it could

reach my own

and brush momentarily against it

and make me see you

and acknowledge these gifts

you lay at the world's feet

to do with

what she will

I am utterly awed to have

stumbled upon your words

and stayed to bathe myself

in their lessons

on being thankful

being kind

being loved

and being alive

without regret

for the failures I have

been forced to wade through

to get to the other side

of what no longer hurts...

                 By Melissa Lundeen.




Last night I saw "Casablanca" yet again,

And also kept thinking of you,

Against the windows the musical rain,

Never made me forget you.

I am not different than what Bogart is,

In that classic, well-made movie,

Bergman was hollow even in her kiss,

Indecisive, unsure -- what was she really?

Making her man pine, wait and wait,

Deceive another to have just her own?

Was she a lady that needed love,

Or a tramp, with fancies overgrown?

Then I was held by the lightning that shone,

And the thunder that followed,

What was the difference between the two,

Bergman's role like Leigh's* glowed.

Yet how noble the movie's hero is,

Selfless and noble, yet how lonely,

For him his beloved is everything,

While for her he is just something.

No, said the thunder as the rain too mused,

"Your beloved Melissa is unlike that,

She would have stood firm by Bogart,

And for you too would she do that."

I went outside and drenched myself,

Weeping and laughing at the same time,

My Sweetest Melissa, is a classic rhyme,

A soul, like me, she longs to chime,

Like a distant yet memorable spell,

Her poetry

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