The sun is given a little time
to shine through snowfall.
I turn my back to it,
hoping to see a snowflake rainbow.
There is no rainbow, and now
the falcon I was watching
has flown away.
Type: Posts; User: DanBierce; Keyword(s):
The sun is given a little time
to shine through snowfall.
I turn my back to it,
hoping to see a snowflake rainbow.
There is no rainbow, and now
the falcon I was watching
has flown away.
Thanks for all the kind praises on this, guys. I might self-publish a little book of these someday if I ever get them to where I really want them. Seems like never, maybe, but I enjoy working on...
Enjoyed this a lot. It should be printed on a picture of some kind or a poster made of it.
Feathers may have been
the final refuge of the dinosaur.
An old neighbor in her bamboo blind
dwells on theories such as this.
Feeders hung around her pond
lure finch and sparrow remnants
of...
Fine read, Leaves. The first lines are my favorite. I would think about changing "chilling" to 'chilled,' and "whispering" to 'whisper.' I have a thing about using "ing" as sparingly as possible....
OK: I think I'll go back to "would." I think it sounds a little better than "may" or "might." It's more direct, too.
The last line of this poem doesn't sound as perfect as it could be. I'll...
Thanks for the words of praise, guys. I have posted this a few places. I might have even posted it here before, but I did a couple of small edits and wanted to toss it out to some readers again.
...
If you were the prairie
and I was grass,
married to your skin,
mustang and antelope
would press me into you
as they run wild over your body,
the occasional fire,
born of lightning-gay
Thanks, everybody. Glad you all got something different from this. I think that's common when it comes to poetry. Most prose pretty much is what it is and says what it says, but a lot of different...
I don't want to write a bad poem for you.
One that is flush with forced rhyme
and passe ideas
scraped from the brain
of an unknown whose future
shall remain dubious.
I don't want to write a...
Thanks, Delta. I did an edit in L-2, S-2. Changed "word" to "lyric." I think it sounds better with the other L's in that stanza.
On my back in the grass,
I look up and watch you sway.
There is a song in your head,
and you let a lyric or two
bubble from your lips
between smiles.
The blue/white white/blue backdrop...
Thanks, guys. I'll look at the line that confuses.
Loners don't cause the flower's tremble;
it's the found who pick them
for the windowed home of temporary light.
Polished suitors hit the shops;
purchase them with plastic cash.
Sheathed or...
Thanks, guys. Enjoyed your poem, V. Jaya.
The rhyming of this is quite good. So is the meter. I'm wondering, though, if the rhyming quatrain form is still popular with most contemporary readers. I don't think it is. This is the first poem...
I saw a clown,
and the moon was his belly.
He wore a wild smile,
but his stride was so long
his belly couldn't keep up,
so it was left behind.
His head wisped and spread
east east east
Yeah, that's a good one. My favorite of his is the one below:
~Love's Not the Way to Treat a Friend~
Love's not the way to treat a friend.
I wouldn't wish that on you.
I don't want to see...
Seven mobsters
and one pigeon
spread a blanket on the grass.
Their basket contains cheese,
wine, and sourdough French bread
all the way from San Francisco.
"'Frisco fog,
Mr. Capone...
Very fine read, Sophia. One of your best, IMO. Especially like the sounds in this:
dressed in my best tux, fishnets, spikes, top hat, cane
moulin tilt and dizzy ruby sky pirouette
into the...
Fine job of 'showing,' Jersea. As far as the ending is concerned my idea is this:
We'll start a new love affair;
you, me, and vodka against the world.
Enjoyed the read very much....
Thanks, Blazeofglory. Glad you enjoy the poem.
I find Brautigan amusing. I like his prose much more than I do his poetry. Sometimes I will put a dash of Brautigan spice in my own poems.
I think...
I'm not really much of a Kerouac fan. I think On the Road was probably pretty cool for the time it was written, but after the '60's it lost much of its specialness. I was a hippy in the '60's. Now...
Thanks, Jersea. Chapter 12. Her name is "Terry."
The plumage
of a rain-soaked crow
looks better
than the haircut I got
from a gay old man.
I think he was nervous.
The electric pruner
shook in his hand
as my hair