I know we've got talented, artistic types here. Poetry can express so much. So, let it out, we'd love to read it!
Poetry
- Thread starter Nighthawk
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Well, I've tried it a couple times but not all that good at it.
I am a bit jealous of those that are good at it.
It's going to be interesting to see if we got some talented people here!!!!
But talented or not, all attempts welcome.
I am a bit jealous of those that are good at it.
It's going to be interesting to see if we got some talented people here!!!!
But talented or not, all attempts welcome.
Exactly! I have a lot, but it's on an old computer that I have to 'get around' to rescuing. Some of it's ok. lol It's a great outlet at any rate!
I walk into the night letting it engulf me.
Wrapping its arms around me as a lover.
Letting it quite my mind and spirit.
I feel the tension release from my body as I peer into midnight.
I feel my mind release the frustrations and deliberations of the day.
I close my eyes and feel the closeness next to my skin, a closeness only night can bring.
A familiarity of senses and sounds unique to night delight me.
Bringing me fond memories and bittersweet memories.
The moon shines at my feet as if choosing a path for me to walk.
Do I walk it, or return to the relative safety of the light?
I turn my back, and return to the light.
Smiling at the night with remembrance.
Wrapping its arms around me as a lover.
Letting it quite my mind and spirit.
I feel the tension release from my body as I peer into midnight.
I feel my mind release the frustrations and deliberations of the day.
I close my eyes and feel the closeness next to my skin, a closeness only night can bring.
A familiarity of senses and sounds unique to night delight me.
Bringing me fond memories and bittersweet memories.
The moon shines at my feet as if choosing a path for me to walk.
Do I walk it, or return to the relative safety of the light?
I turn my back, and return to the light.
Smiling at the night with remembrance.
The FDA Sucks
Oh my the FDA Sucks
The FDA SUCKS.
A perfect haiku, if I do say so myself, and note the clever rhyme of "sucks" with "sucks". I can provide poetry lessons to anyone interested for $75/hour.
Oh my the FDA Sucks
The FDA SUCKS.
A perfect haiku, if I do say so myself, and note the clever rhyme of "sucks" with "sucks". I can provide poetry lessons to anyone interested for $75/hour.
Check out a bunch of mine at ninetowns - giantbank!
the architect and the arsonist
how is it that within the mind at times there exists a giggle, a cricket, and a neoplastic sphere
and at other times a constricted, shadowful ocean, its captives moving slowly with the undercurrent?
how is it that within the mind at times there exists a house in the woods, and behind its secret staircase, a small boy
and at other times a wall of glass bricks lit by the hazel sky, that reminds me of your eyes?
in the mind now sitting with the eyes dry, elderly, counting my regrets
feeling my master's hand firm upon my back, I stand and fix my eyes upon the horizon
it is time, in the mind at times, to see the creamy, white arc of a thousand gulls
and to follow it across a thousand miles, to dive down a subway shaft to hear the blind man's songs
next in the mind, this time, this must be the first time I ever touched anyone, ever
to know that I would forever think of this as a weathered oak post in the snow
against which to measure love's expansion and contraction between us
it is as a raspberry thicket, we pull our bloody hands out, full of gravity
I could hear you now, your raspy voice almost gone, faded into a noisy whisper
what you said was lost in listening to the shape of your words, as they were scratched into a wall
singing, the singing of finely broken glass, is in the mind
falling, falling slowly enough to live an entire life before striking the ground
amidst largish snowflakes, a square folded paper object travels toward me
it is your last letter to me before the incident, written in red
reading, I can recall the reason for my actions, I was young
and I longed for someone with which to share my life
and i longed to die, because a myriad of scenarios crowded in the mind
not knowing what to do, I stole the heat from your hands one last time
I am looking down a 147 floor building from a floating staircase
on my hands and knees, clutching, asking please stop the wind
so I go to her and as my arms begin to tremble
I speak softly this:
have I loved you less?
have I loved you more?
have one hundred thousand silvery fish swam to us
in the darkest night?
have one hundred thousand shadows been chased away
in the middle of the darkest night?
did one hundred thousand men and women eat from our plates
as the sun rose, warming the backs of our hands?
did i kiss you enough?
did I embrace you tightly enough?
did I tell you?
I love you?
its hard to tell from here, it is fading fast
I am almost to the ground
dear alexander,
the architect and the arsonist
how is it that within the mind at times there exists a giggle, a cricket, and a neoplastic sphere
and at other times a constricted, shadowful ocean, its captives moving slowly with the undercurrent?
how is it that within the mind at times there exists a house in the woods, and behind its secret staircase, a small boy
and at other times a wall of glass bricks lit by the hazel sky, that reminds me of your eyes?
in the mind now sitting with the eyes dry, elderly, counting my regrets
feeling my master's hand firm upon my back, I stand and fix my eyes upon the horizon
it is time, in the mind at times, to see the creamy, white arc of a thousand gulls
and to follow it across a thousand miles, to dive down a subway shaft to hear the blind man's songs
next in the mind, this time, this must be the first time I ever touched anyone, ever
to know that I would forever think of this as a weathered oak post in the snow
against which to measure love's expansion and contraction between us
it is as a raspberry thicket, we pull our bloody hands out, full of gravity
I could hear you now, your raspy voice almost gone, faded into a noisy whisper
what you said was lost in listening to the shape of your words, as they were scratched into a wall
singing, the singing of finely broken glass, is in the mind
falling, falling slowly enough to live an entire life before striking the ground
amidst largish snowflakes, a square folded paper object travels toward me
it is your last letter to me before the incident, written in red
reading, I can recall the reason for my actions, I was young
and I longed for someone with which to share my life
and i longed to die, because a myriad of scenarios crowded in the mind
not knowing what to do, I stole the heat from your hands one last time
I am looking down a 147 floor building from a floating staircase
on my hands and knees, clutching, asking please stop the wind
so I go to her and as my arms begin to tremble
I speak softly this:
have I loved you less?
have I loved you more?
have one hundred thousand silvery fish swam to us
in the darkest night?
have one hundred thousand shadows been chased away
in the middle of the darkest night?
did one hundred thousand men and women eat from our plates
as the sun rose, warming the backs of our hands?
did i kiss you enough?
did I embrace you tightly enough?
did I tell you?
I love you?
its hard to tell from here, it is fading fast
I am almost to the ground
dear alexander,
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I wrote a special poem for "Happy Hump Day"~Ahem~
Roses are red, violets are blue, I like peanut butter, can you swim?
The End
Roses are red, violets are blue, I like peanut butter, can you swim?
The End
You are
my hearts desire
the one I want
the person I crave
wishing to hold you tight
cradling you at night
opening your sweet eyes
every morning
kissing your soft lips
caressing your smooth skin
nibbling on your tender ear
If I could have a valentine
it would only be you
your love sustains me
cold showers keep me sane
my hearts desire
the one I want
the person I crave
wishing to hold you tight
cradling you at night
opening your sweet eyes
every morning
kissing your soft lips
caressing your smooth skin
nibbling on your tender ear
If I could have a valentine
it would only be you
your love sustains me
cold showers keep me sane
Thanks Nighthawk, perhaps another.
It breaks my heart to see you thus
so sad and troubled
Just the two of us
Did share a time
and step too far
into the land
of peace
We are
Human
It breaks my heart to see you thus
so sad and troubled
Just the two of us
Did share a time
and step too far
into the land
of peace
We are
Human
Thank you! Please do keep them coming! I love reading and writing poetry. My writing comes in fits and spurts though, nothing coming through just lately. I will add some when they do.
Imitation and Time Travel
Put myself in your shoes
imagine how you feel
build a model of how you share
like train tracks
The sense of smell leaves me no choice
but to remember it all, break her fall
something sweeter than what we have now
crawling all the way back
"A lot of it has to do with diet."
A red haired voice, a southern accent
creeping into that still place
like theater light across a face
I sound just like you, but I'm not
All these years I've tried to be something else
in the back row, thankfully, still there
are still here
There is forgiveness
and what you used to call angels
they're in the work, and rest
George Harrison said:
If you don't know where you're going
any road will take you there
Put myself in your shoes
imagine how you feel
build a model of how you share
like train tracks
The sense of smell leaves me no choice
but to remember it all, break her fall
something sweeter than what we have now
crawling all the way back
"A lot of it has to do with diet."
A red haired voice, a southern accent
creeping into that still place
like theater light across a face
I sound just like you, but I'm not
All these years I've tried to be something else
in the back row, thankfully, still there
are still here
There is forgiveness
and what you used to call angels
they're in the work, and rest
George Harrison said:
If you don't know where you're going
any road will take you there
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EDIT: Grrrr. "Looking up '....' in French" is NOT how that line reads. Think c-word.
"Palimpsest"
i.
I uncover you most easily near the
margins
naked or angry or
wandering drunk and smiling
through the stacks.
ii.
Tools
(edged bone, dye,
overexposures
seen in all spectra)
do not sharpen
these fine-figured leaves.
iii.
I feel my way through
filigreed lace layers
trace edges,
will and instinct ease
the mottled amber patina,
fine faded lines
etched
scratched
scraped
left behind, sated,
violently worked away.
iv.
Fragments scrawled
drawn and re-drawn maps
on receipts and tissue scraps
paper my walls.
I read upside-down.
I imitate handwriting.
I look up "....." in French.
I have to be sure.
v.
No one forges Shakespeare
as even the dross
is divine dross.
I cannot interpolate.
vi.
No one feigns madness
and stays sane long.
I cannot interpret.
vii.
I have to be sure.
When I am
I pen it into a notebook
left-handed
tear out the page
match scratch flare and
hold it burning
in my bare hand
rub the ashes between palms
and paint my body
with your blackened secrets.
"Palimpsest"
i.
I uncover you most easily near the
margins
naked or angry or
wandering drunk and smiling
through the stacks.
ii.
Tools
(edged bone, dye,
overexposures
seen in all spectra)
do not sharpen
these fine-figured leaves.
iii.
I feel my way through
filigreed lace layers
trace edges,
will and instinct ease
the mottled amber patina,
fine faded lines
etched
scratched
scraped
left behind, sated,
violently worked away.
iv.
Fragments scrawled
drawn and re-drawn maps
on receipts and tissue scraps
paper my walls.
I read upside-down.
I imitate handwriting.
I look up "....." in French.
I have to be sure.
v.
No one forges Shakespeare
as even the dross
is divine dross.
I cannot interpolate.
vi.
No one feigns madness
and stays sane long.
I cannot interpret.
vii.
I have to be sure.
When I am
I pen it into a notebook
left-handed
tear out the page
match scratch flare and
hold it burning
in my bare hand
rub the ashes between palms
and paint my body
with your blackened secrets.
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