The story of a little girl named Nikini who tries to find the prefect gift for her mother on her birthday. Read the book to find out what she gives her mother....

Overpopulation is responsible for many of our planet's problems--global warming, the lack of fresh water, poverty, high gasoline and food prices, air and water pollutions, the scarcity of natural resources, the excess of wastes and their proper disposal, and even some wars. In the year 2020 Commander Lemuel Gulliver XVI returns from a twenty year odyssey around the solar system, searching for sites where the world's excess people can be re-located. He found none. On his return he vows to search for solutions to the planet's most pressing problem. He has written six books of his planned fourteen book series and invites you to read them....

The stories: Stories up to 2500 words in length. Some are a bit tense; some are amusing, some border on nonsense. Some are science fiction. Some are on the scary side. The poems: Poems are descriptive of the change of seasons. Are written in stanza form and have the elements of rhyme and rhythm in them. ...

After the story, I thought of it as something to scare the younger kids. During the evening I went around to the food table and took as much candy as I could. Of course I never let anyone see me and always left some, as mom had taught me to do....

The Haunted Bridge in Town Time Trip to Missouri Cow Kidnapping Fishing Escape to Party Playing the Game Waiting Positive Thinking for Christmas Santa Monthly Chinese Christmas Decorations Poems ...

Ruin is a tale that is not a tale. It is a microscopic peering into the unpleasant fabric of human sustainability. It is a real person wrought by sabotaging the very nature of storytelling. It is a description of love, that is, the deliberate perversion of it in order to fulfill one's needs, which is to say it is the banal record of everyday life. It is a collection of details that follow the details that preceded it in A Book of Nightmares. It is not a happy book. It is full of elegiac contemplation on suffering, helplessness, holiness and unrelenting sexual isolation. It is blunt and graphic and painfully beautiful. It has little plot, and no punctuation, and might, just might, be the poetry for which America has been unconsciously waiting....

there is only love in its various forms and manifestations and by it we either see or we do not see it has been eight years since my last report I am home again if this house can be said to have been a home to me or rather if it can still so be called many years have scampered in and eaten away at what I remember was a modest structure with a mild economical luster ......

Epigraph Ruin About the Author About William Ralph Press

The Mosaic is a collection of writing from international students at Brigham Young University-Hawaii. Read poetry, short stories and personal experiences by students from more than 10 different countries as they use English as a common language to share what matters in their lives....

...I grew up on my family’s small farm and helped my parents in their everyday work. I stayed on the farm without going school. I did not go far away from home; I stayed to help my parents. When I turned seven, my parents told me that I needed to go to school, which was 20 km away from our home, in a small town. I was excited, and I could not wait to go to school. On September 1st of 1991, by 7 AM, I was ready to leave my home. Mum and I rode on horseback and started our journey to the school. She enrolled me in the school and a school dorm, and left me there. She said she would come back to pick me up on Friday......

Who Am I? My Evil Sister Vs. My Evil Self Three Dreams Where the Light Enters You Teach me How to Dance Almost the End of the World The Book of Mormon Saving the Face of Hawaii Nature My Best The Broadway Incident The Biggest Disappointment Peculiar Letter from Hell Oye Tu! Remember not to Forget Globalization: Good or Bad for Developing Countries? Comfort Stations Homecoming Nature Mistaking Process Journey for Education ...

A thoroughly representative selection of the poetry of John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester. Rochester (1647–1680) was among the worst (best?) of the Restoration rakes, and also one of the period’s best satirists employing a direct language rife with plenty of four-letter words and an obsessive indulgence of the most vulgar vernacular used on behalf of satirical shredding, scatological humor, and sexual candor. Volume 7 in The Reader's Library Series. ISBN: 978-1-932023-49-7 https://www.facebook.com/williamralpheditions...

A Rodomontade on His Cruel Mistress Trust not that thing called woman: she is worse Than all ingredients crammed into a curse. Were she but ugly, peevish, proud, a whore, Poxed, painted, perjured, so she were no more, I could forgive her, and connive at this, Alleging still she but a woman is. But she is worse: in time she will forestall The Devil, and be the damning of us all....

Contents Introduction A Pastoral Dialogue between Alexis and Strephon A Dialogue between Strephon and Daphne Song (Give Me Leave to Rail at You...) Song (Insulting Beauty, You Misspend...) Song (My Dear Mistress Has a Heart...) Woman's Honour (A Song) Song (To This Moment a Rebel...) Written in a Lady's Prayer Book The Discovery The Advice Under King Charles II's Picture The Platonic Lady Song (Phillis, Be Gentler, I Advise...) Epistle To Love The Imperfect Enjoyment A Ramble in St. James's Park On the Women about Town Song (Quoth the Duchess of Cleveland...) Song (Love a Woman? You’re an Ass!...) Upon His Drinking Bowl Grecian Kindness Signior Dildo A Satire on Charles II Tunbridge Wells Upon His Leaving His Mistress Against Constancy To a Lady, in a Letter Song (Leave This Gaudy Gilded Stage...) The Fall The Mistress (A Song) Song (Absent from Thee I Languish Still...) A Song of a Young Lady to Her Ancient Lover Song (All My Past Life Is Mine No More...) A Satire against Reason and Mankind A Letter from Artemesia in the Town to Chloe in the Country The Disabled Debauchee Upon Nothing A...

A complete collection of the poetry of Edgar Allan Poe. Poe was born on January 19th in Boston, Massachusetts in 1809, and died in his adopted home of Baltimore, Maryland on October 7th, 1849, making him the first American writer in this series. The critical estimation of Poe’s work has increased dramatically over the course of my lifetime, which has been satisfying to observe, as he was for me—as I believe for so many lovers of literature—an early favorite, particularly because of his verse, which is rich with sonic texture and gothic subject matter: insanity, darkness, ghosts, death, etc. It is also quite manageable to read in its entirety at 75 poems depending on how many of those of questionable authorship or in various stages of completion one is willing to include in the official oeuvre. (In fact, it has been some time since I’ve heard the old familiar slight that his popularity in France during the 19th century was perhaps due to his writing gaining something of substance from Charles Baudelaire’s translations.) While perhaps not quite as dramatically prescient in new utterance, form or philosophical depth as Walt Whitman ...

Annabel Lee It was many and many a year ago,     In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know     By the name of Annabel Lee;— And this maiden she lived with no other thought     Than to love and be loved by me. She was a child and I was a child,     In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love—     I and my Annabel Lee— With a love that the wingéd seraphs of Heaven     Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago,     In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud by night     Chilling my Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came     And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre     In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,     Went envying her and me:— Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,     In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud, chilling     And killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love     Of those who were older than we—     Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in Heaven above,     Nor the de...

Contents Introduction Poetry Oh, Tempora! Oh, Mores! To Margaret To Octavia Tamerlane Song (I Saw Thee on Thy Bridal Day...) Dreams Spirits of the Dead Evening Star Imitation Stanzas (In Youth I Have Known One...) A Dream "The Happiest Day—The Happiest Hour" The Lake: To——— To——— (I Heed Not That My Earthly Lot...) Hymn to Aristogeiton and Harmodius Sonnet: To Science Al Aaraaf Romance To——— (Should My Early Life Seem...) To——— (The Bowers Whereat, in Dreams, I See...) To the River——— Fairy Land Alone To Isaac Lea Elizabeth Acrostic Lines on Joe Locke Introduction Fairy Land II To Helen (Helen, Thy Beauty Is to Me...) Israfel The Sleeper The Valley of Unrest The City in the Sea A Pæn To One in Paradise Hymn An Enigma Serenade To——— (Sleep On, Sleep On, Another Hour...) The Coliseum Fanny To Frances S. Osgood To F——— To Mary May Queen Ode Bridal Ballad Sonnet: To Zante The Haunted Palace Sonnet: Silence The Conqueror Worm Lenore Dream-Land Impromptu: To Kate Carol Eulalie Epigram for Wall Street The Raven To——— (I Would Not Lord It O’er Thy Heart...) The Divine Right ...

In this modern rendition, the beauty of the Sanskrit slokas is reflected in the rythmic flow of the english verse of poetic proportions. Besides, the attendant philosophy of that is Bhagvad-Gita is captured in contemporary idiom for easy comprehension....

The spiritual ethos and the philosophical outlook that the Bhagvad - Gita postulates paves the way for the liberation of man, who, as Rousseau said, ‘being born free, is everywhere in chains’. But equally it is a mirror of human psychology, which enables man to discern his debilities for appropriate redressal. All the same, the boon of an oral tradition that kept it alive for over two millennia became its bane with the proliferation of interpolations therein. Besides muddying its pristine philosophy, these insertions affect the sequential conformity and structural economy of the grand discourse. What is worse, to the chagrin of the majority of the Hindus, some of these legitimize the inimical caste system while upholding the priestly perks and prejudices....

These Details in Preference to Nothing is the story of a relationship, or rather it’s a meditation on one, that is, a mediation on love, faith and an existence caught in transition told from a perspective not fully capable of seeing all angles. The narrative is in the first person and in the present tense as is every love affair between very young adults. The title sums up a lot—These Details in Preference to Nothing—a line lifted from Becket. To quote John Barth “heartfelt ineptitude has its appeal and so does heartless skill; but what you want is passionate virtuosity.” A story told in intense moments of meditative stupor, it sometimes reads more like poetry, and so it began as an extended sonnet sequence, but emerged into this record—to be added to all the others throughout history--of the truth in the sincere and authentic passion of the young, or at least some of the relevant and more illustrative details. ISBN: 978-1-932023-36-7. https://www.facebook.com/williamralpheditions...

I have begun every impulse to speak with hesitation, suspended on the edge of doubt, mindful of my inability to say how it was. It was the year of the roar of lions, humid nights, the soft breaths of waterweeds and kisses. It was the first year alone with my son. I had always had enemies of my sleep. I had come to know them. My response was always hesitation. The world was very large. It was true that a specific combination of things often conspired to lead my telling what happened back to an ecstasy of memories of melancholy and through a long, long night. Saudade the Portuguese say, the sadness inside each joy. All my life I have been haunted by a dream of heaven.  It was true. For me, anyway, for the way I told things, and the way I have always told them. I was somewhat absent of myself where the words came to carry the telling from me. I was touched by the words the way the butterfly wants to be still in the hands of the breeze, to be untangled from the air that makes the soft current, carries the preliminary push, something unformed and unclear, to be unsnarled from the waft, to be unfurled as the sound from the trees, to be...

These Details in Preference to Nothing About the Author Also from William Ralph Press

Walt Whitman (1819-1892) is widely considered to be the greatest and most influential of all American poets. LEAVES OF GRASS, Whitman's sole book published at his own expense, represents almost the entirety of his poetical output. The first edition of LEAVES OF GRASS, which he would continue to revise over the course of his life expanding and rewriting it until the year of his death, appeared in 1855. This volume represents the final edition, commonly referred to as the “deathbed” edition, and comes with a prefatory note from Whitman asserting that this is the version he most considered full and complete. While it was a commercial and critical failure during Whitman’s lifetime, LEAVES OF GRASS has gone on to become one of the most canonical books of poetry ever written, influencing and inspiring countless artists in the last two centuries. Written in a groundbreaking prosodic style Whitman referred to as “free verse” LEAVES OF GRASS takes the individual and a young American democracy as its themes and illustrates them with a long-lined cadence Whitman coined his “barbaric yawp” along with all the details that constitute them, a few ...

O Captain! My Captain! O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;                     But O heart! heart! heart!                          O the bleeding drops of red,                               Where on the deck my Captain lies,                                    Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;                     Here Captain! dear father!                          This arm beneath your head!                               It is some dream that on the deck,                                    You’ve fallen cold and dead.   My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed...

Contents Introduction LEAVES OF GRASS INSCRIPTIONS One's-Self I Sing As I Ponder'd in Silence In Cabin'd Ships at Sea To Foriegn Lands To a Historian To Thee Old Cause Eidólons For Him I Sing When I Read the Book Beginning My Studies Beginners To the States On Journeys through the States To a Certain Cantatrice Me Imperturbe Savantism The Ship Starting I Hear America Singing What Place Is Besieged Still though the One I Sing Shut Not Your Doors Poets to Come To You Thou Reader STARTING FROM PAUMANOK SONG OF MYSELF CHILDREN OF ADAM To the Garden the World From Pent-Up Aching Rivers I Sing the Body Electric A Woman Waits for Me Spontaneous Me One Hour to Madness and Joy Out of the Rolling Ocean the Crowd Ages and Ages Returning at Intervals We Two, How Long We Were Fool'd O Hymen! O Hymenee! I Am He that Aches with Love Native Moments Once I Pass'd through a Populous City I Heard You Solemn-Sweet Pipes of the Organ Facing West from California's Shores As Adam Early in the Morning CALAMUS In Paths Untrodden Scented Herbage of My Breast Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in Hand For Y...