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In your hands winter is a book with cloud pages that snow pearls of love.
Aberjhani
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Aberjhani
Age: 67
Born: 1957
Born: July 8
Blogger
Columnist
Historian
Journalist
Literary Critic
Novelist
Photographer
Savannah
Georgia
Jeffery Jerome Lloyd
Book
Environmentalism
Love
Pearls
Cloud
Snow
Clouds
Winter
Pages
Hands
More quotes by Aberjhani
Now come the whispers bearing bouquets of moonbeams and sunlight tremblings.
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Oh what a wonderful soul so bright inside you. Got power to heal the sun’s broken heart, power to restore the moon’s vision too.
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With my ninth mind I resurrect my first and dance slow to the music of my soul made new.
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Got just enough room to be a friend of yours. Oh I hope you got room to be a friend of mine.
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A man sitting monkey-like on the rooftop of his brain is due the applause such feats earn him.
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Literary genres and techniques tend to take form in one's mind somewhat the way computer templates provide form for different computer tasks.
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The more sincere the soul, the heavier the cross endured.
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Happy World Poetry Day: 'The American identity has never been a singular one and the voices of poets invariably sing, in addition to their own, the voices of those around them.
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First steps are always the hardest but until they are taken the notion of progress remains only a notion and not an achievement.
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The fate that condemns or saves one sooner or later often condemns or saves another.
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The Civil Rights Act of 1964 laid the foundation for the Voting Rights Act of 1965, but it also addressed nearly every other aspect of daily life in a would-be free democratic society.
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Where humanity sowed faith, hope, and unity, joy’s garden blossomed.
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History dressed up in the glow of love’s kiss turned grief into beauty.
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A horn of plenty spills from your hands into the starved lives of millions.
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As history has demonstrated many times over, change may arrive slowly or quickly but it is the one constant, in one form or another, on which we can all count.
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Un-winged and naked, sorrow surrenders its crown to a throne called grace.
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Before the thunderous clamor of political debate or war set loose in the world, love insisted on its promise for the possibility of human unity: between men and women, between blacks and whites, northerners and southerners, haves and have-have-nots, self and self.
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Time (again, Time) like the soul, wears many faces, many bodies and climates and attitudes. The past is one face, the present a second and the future yet another.
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Stars wishing upon the potential of humans shine faithfully on.
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Such are these places where lovers of bliss behold the angel of peace
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