Your Favorite Poems from fellow Lit-Netters

[Pendragon]

Over one thousnd served

I hope no one has already done this, if so, it deserves repeating.

I would like to acknowledge Riesa for starting what has become such a pleasurable thread. That is the Cinquain thread.

Secondly, every poet who had contributed deserves to be recognized for these little gems and for giving to it such a long and interesting life. I hope I got everyone at least once. It is a lot of fun and good exercise.

Often I am in a hurry and cursing because I want to write or read poetry not go to work, but I have to have my fix for the day, so I can feel I have accomplished something this day, if only 2,4,6,8,2.

So, thanks to Riesa and all you have kept this going. Here is a sample:

Pendragon

ever,
always exist:
never pass from life, but
remain eternal, without end—
no death

Pendragon

our grasp
exceeds our reach
so the dreams crash and burn
failure but another name for new
effort...

Wow! Fire, what a painstaking effort you have taken to honor your fellow poets. I really don't recall the first one, but the second one is fresh in my mind. You really deserve the praise for outstanding acheivment in taking the time to do all of this... Wonderful and thoughtful tribute to the cinquian thread.

Thanks so much,

Pen

[Demian]

I'd have to agree wholeheartedely--this cinquain that firefangled posted took my breath away! There's a lot of great talent here. I think that cinquain should be re-posted on a thread of it's own (has it?) so that it gets maximum exposure. Keep up the good work!

[Granny5]

This is just beautiful and sexy, too! I think is should be on this thread.
Stormy Sky you did an awesome job with this one.

Touch

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm stiff as an oak tree,
born with a straight bent of unyeilding bone
my body bereft of grace,
and i was once told,long ago by my mother,
a puppet would dance better
But in your arms ..
I bend.....
Like a slender stalk of wildflower
I bend...........
Upwards,downwards,sideways,
Like a blueflowered creeper,like wet clay
I bend

A finger on the small of my back
I arch........
a kiss on my waist
I curve.....
your teeth on my shoulder
I wilt.....
your tongue on my thigh
I stretch......
Your blatant ,brazen hands.....
your hands give me form.

[ampoule]

I do not want this beautiful poem by firefangled to get 'hidden'. I love this.

Hidden

She sings of pins, the mouths of birds,
among the sheets her mother hangs,
of wings which rise with night
and stir the air of dreams throughout the house.

Monsignor tells her, God hides in song,
and waits for her at the hour of death.
She is more direct with spirit things,
dreams of Kyries to feed the wings of sleep.

Father guides the choir, gives her scales
she evaporates in meadow larks,
and thrushes on the way, the room left quiet,
hushed and still like unnoticed rain.

The sisters give her pages, signed with clefs,
and birds in cages fluttering solfeggios:
she sets them free before their paper clouds
in a sky the sisters do not see.

She sleeps in sheets crisp with the day.
Like will-o'-the-wisp her breathing winds
around the bed, the chair and past the open sill,
as birds wait silently in the unfinished air.

[firefangled]

Thank you, Amp. I'm glad you liked it.

[dyingflame]

thanks for your kind words adol

[symphony]

This deserves to be here:

If I Were A Poem

If I were a poem—
Could my language possibly capture
The agony of a spirit
Trapped inside one’s own body?
Would the words tell the tale
Of how the madness has chained me forever,
My skills and my promise
Never to be fulfilled?
How the haunting of dreams
Mock me from the Night shadows,
The Lady I used to go to for comfort
Now a harbor for despondency and despair?

If I were a poem—
Lines laced with darkness,
Spider web tracings on parchment—
Soiled and blackened by age:
Who would pause in their daily routine
To brush away the grime of the ages,
And read with understanding
Meanings inscribed in my very blood?
Would they recoil in their horror
That such tormented lines even exist,
And toss the sad rags of my sorrow
Into the flames to be destroyed?

If I were a poem—
The lines would seem to be madness,
You might think me reduced to insanity,
Gone beyond any real hope.
Look past the dark glass’s reflection.
The distortion from the mirror of life—
There is a hidden peephole
You might have to search a long time to find.
Then things fall into perspective,
The shadows retreat and the light focuses on
The real person I am under the masquerade—
I am a poem—
Take time to read me, please…

Dale Harris
© 10/17/07

[TheFifthElement]

I agree symphony, a wonderful poem by Pen.

[Granny5]

These are three poems by motherhubbard that I am very proud of. The last is because I know my Mother would be proud. The other two are because they tell me she listened to some of the things I told her when she was growing up.
She grew up to be a pretty strong woman.



forbidden voice

If I use my voice
A voice so loud the young will cry and
the deaf will shield their ears,
so powerful that strength will crumble and
weakness will vanish
giving voice to inner thoughts.
Self expression.
It would be criminal, forbidden.
Submit, lie down
Hold your breath until you disappear
Still silence screams with force, a terrible force
Hear and see that there is more, I am more.

strong as clay

What do you see before you?
Am I a workhorse that tends your home,
serving meals and scrubbing surfaces until they gleam?
Maybe you see the Madonna,
babe at breast, nourish and comfort - maternal.
Or perhaps a great pillar
ready to bear more? Just cast it upon me.
A great many things stand here.
I have found my purpose,
my passion,
my strength.
I answer to many names.
I am more than I expected I would be,
but my feet are still made of clay



Reaching into Forever

The picture is old, faded in spots,
corners folded, fuzzy with years.
Look closely and you’ll see the faces are the same.
They are my grandmother and me.
Our two faces touching, and becoming one
in a spot on the cheek in front of the ear
Both faces are younger and
older than the years they have seen.
In each face is reflected the other,
one just beginning life,
the other nearing its end
This connection lives on
transcending time,
and thirty years later
our cheeks are connected still.
The great divide, the timeless eternity, the shadow
That moves between us like a vapor
does not separate our cheeks.
I am no different than her
just an extension -
reaching from the past into forever.

[Pensive]

If I Were A Poem

If I were a poem—
Could my language possibly capture
The agony of a spirit
Trapped inside one’s own body?
Would the words tell the tale
Of how the madness has chained me forever,
My skills and my promise
Never to be fulfilled?
How the haunting of dreams
Mock me from the Night shadows,
The Lady I used to go to for comfort
Now a harbor for despondency and despair?

If I were a poem—
Lines laced with darkness,
Spider web tracings on parchment—
Soiled and blackened by age:
Who would pause in their daily routine
To brush away the grime of the ages,
And read with understanding
Meanings inscribed in my very blood?
Would they recoil in their horror
That such tormented lines even exist,
And toss the sad rags of my sorrow
Into the flames to be destroyed?

If I were a poem—
The lines would seem to be madness,
You might think me reduced to insanity,
Gone beyond any real hope.
Look past the dark glass’s reflection.
The distortion from the mirror of life—
There is a hidden peephole
You might have to search a long time to find.
Then things fall into perspective,
The shadows retreat and the light focuses on
The real person I am under the masquerade—
I am a poem—
Take time to read me, please…

Dale Harris
© 10/17/07

That's an extremely well-written poem!

[AuntShecky]

Ampoule, your taste is exquisite, as is your selection,
"Hidden." Firefangled might be the LitNet's superstar.

[Pendragon]

Thak you, Sy and Pensy!

I dunno. maybe those days off helped more than I thought. My poetry certainly went a new direction...

[scarlet pain]

come at dark depth
when water drops tune a lyre
and call it a rain.


come as my thoughts
when i think about you
and call it a dream.


come as my voice
when words make a harmony
and call it a song.


come as my sorrow
when a pearl arise from the sea
and call it a tear.


be my vision
when thousand colours dance together
and call it a rainbow.


be my shelter
when i live in you
and call it a home.


be with me
when i hide you behind everyone
and call it a shadow.


let your hand touch me
when moonlight touches the earth
and call it a heaven.


let your soul meet me
when true souls give birth to a story
and call it a history.


born as a sire of streams
and flow in my heart
then i will call it love.
-AHSIAM

this one's my fav and ofcourse there are more.........

[quasimodo1]

To Pen and scarlet pain: For what my opinion is worth, I think both of your poems are great. May I be so bold as to encourage just a slight bit of editing. quasi

[ahsiam]

come at dark depth
when water drops tune a lyre
and call it a rain.


come as my thoughts
when i think about you
and call it a dream.


come as my voice
when words make a harmony
and call it a song.


come as my sorrow
when a pearl arise from the sea
and call it a tear.


be my vision
when thousand colours dance together
and call it a rainbow.


be my shelter
when i live in you
and call it a home.


be with me
when i hide you behind everyone
and call it a shadow.


let your hand touch me
when moonlight touches the earth
and call it a heaven.


let your soul meet me
when true souls give birth to a story
and call it a history.


born as a sire of streams
and flow in my heart
then i will call it love.
-AHSIAM

this one's my fav and ofcourse there are more.........

thank you, thank you, thank you................ scarlet pain
i dont know how to thank you more. i am very much happy that my poem deserves to be your favourite.
moreover its my third poem that i ever wrote. i am really surprised and at the same time very happy. and i cant express how much.