Your Favorite Poems from fellow Lit-Netters

[Delta40]

This poem by Princemyshkin is heart rending.

For my daughter

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whenever she might happen to see this
If I were to look inside
at the wristwatch in my heart,
if I were to look inside
and say: ‘It’s time for us to love each other,’

I’m afraid she might reply,
“But, Dad,
we haven’t synchronized our watches.”

[Pensive]

I can see my house from here by Jerrybaldy

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I picked her a daisy
and counted petals
of she loves me
she loves me not.

Simply beautiful!
I will have to add this one in my favourites too!

[Jerrybaldy]

I came here to post MM's poem and just saw your entry. Thank you very much.
Jerry

[Jerrybaldy]

just noticed you were quoting Delta. Thanks Delta. If it werent for MM I may never had known x

[Jerrybaldy]

Have An Accident? by MystyrMystyry

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I remember - don't fully understand

Heart of Glass on the radio

Roaring from the tunnel

Interstate 49 in the fast lane

Which had slowed to a crawl

I recall the noise before impact

Couldn't tell you what it was

Cops everywhere two megaphones apiece

'Move along! Nothing to see here!'

They were wrong - plenty of seahorses

And octopusses drifting across the landscape

Somehow the Pontiac had become airborne

Crashes through the windscreen of the first Big Mack

Which suddenly stops, allowing the Ferrari to

Cruise underneath, losing its lid and scooping

The Beetle up and over the bridge

While the rest of the convoy rear-ends itself

Into a compressed accordian

Bloodied bodyparts strewn for miles

A muffled howling from the Gypsy caravan

Reveals a fortuneteller had swallowed her

Crystal Ball - her flying wig worn by a soaring toucan

The man dressed as a crocodile

Runs around on fire clutching his ears

The blue-eyed buffalo gazing down from the hill

The girl with her head stuck in a bucket

Tapdancing to an imaginary rhythm

One fireman waving his arms while stuck up the ladder

The other spurting water up and over

The astronaut trying to gather his scorpions

Into the hole with a wooden box around it

While being booted in the butt by an irate goat

The submarine stuck upright into the embankment

The rhinocerous in the tree

Silver knights on clydesdales plodding to the joust




The storm breaks just then - a fork of lightning

Ripping through the stray airship which bursts into flame

And spirals downward toward the horizon

As the cooler-than-cool retired detective arrives

'Everybody just keep calm -

'I've seen this sort of thing before...'

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Last edited by MystyrMystyry; 04-10-2011 at 07:29 AM.

I love this. It makes me want to write.
JB

[MystyrMystyry]

Thanks JB - First time up here I think

For this week mine's already established:


Bix

Leon Bismark "Bix" Beiderbecke
(March 10, 1903 – August 6, 1931)

It was said of Bix
That his Cornet spat out notes
Like shooting bullets at a bell
And his solos sounded as sweet
As a girl saying yes.
Bix Beiderbecke was simply the best
He was at the birth of hot music
His light illuminated
The jazz age
His Cornet accompanied
The roaring twenties
He was a romantic legend,
The young man with a Horn
But in keeping with the character
Of the very best of youth
His flame burned very brightly
But equally it burned quickly
And like the most beautiful star
He burned himself out
All too soon
Bix lived for the jazz
But died for the booze

[Jerrybaldy]

The Drive
by Delta
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She tried to stop
her husband from leaving
so she hung onto the windscreen wiper
and side mirror till he got hungry.
He pulled over at a pizza joint
and after straightening her hair,
they licked breast milk ice cream
off the bonnet of the car.
They watched a man strip naked
in a field across the road.
He covered himself in cow manure
then jerked off into a wad of tissues.
Inside, Gino hollered ‘Mama Mia!’
when he saw the face of Jesus
appear on a 3 cheese pizza.
Everyone oohed and ahhed
then rethought their diet.

[Delta40]

Thanks for the nomination. I hate writing poetry (I think its poetry) but I can't stop either.

Sock puppet says: Read poetry and then you will know!

[MystyrMystyry]

The Rise and Fall of Anne Boleyn

by

Dark Muse

My Lady Icarus
rose like the black-checkered
queen and set your sights
too high,
with the world already
tilting beneath your feet
you sought to reach
what even fate could not bestow.

By night's shadow
you weaved your own
wings upon which you
believed you could fly
endlessly, unrestrained,
but even you, moon faced
beauty, where women could
only hope to reflect
the light of men,
was scorched by passion.

Wanting more than
the scraps that were given,
world-shaker
how your pale fingers reached out
to touch
what should not be touched
and you were burned
by lust and ambition
for not even you
could hold the sun between your hands
or thighs.

For how can he,
golden crowned
with the world before his feet
know any but the love of self,
how he has always
burned through the hearts
and beds of women,
until nothing but ashes were left.

For one brief
glorious moment,
you thought you had conquered
all, and you beheld
the universe,
but it was too all consuming
as a bird on broken wings
you fell into the depths
of darkness forever
cast from his light.

[Delta40]

Pillow Talk

By Blank Verse

And turning to me you would say
how sometimes you wished that a morning,
or even a whole day,
would drape itself over the clothesline
like a bedsheet or king-size duvet,
so you'd be able to beat the life out of it
if things hadn't gone your way.

[Jack of Hearts]

'Pecking Order' by hillwalker

In these boreal days, upon the cusp of solstice,
spare a thought for all the birds who scavenge here for crumbs of solace…..

the humming bird from far Cathay,
her shimmer like a gemstone in the pelt of winter

the turtle dove from Central Park,
her cooing ever poignant, ever soothing to the troubled brow

the feisty kookaburra, chirruping and cursing at the brou-haha,
the tiny warbler dancing in the margin, never heard but never far away

the Cockney sparrow, vibrant, sparking,
never bowing to the posturing of bullfinches or woodpeckers

the firebird, a phoenix seeking bright ascendance,
lily trotter, feet upon the water, Dylanesque as ever
then a puff of dust as roadrunner goes past in snakeskin boots

and here’s the speckled starling, oft neglected,
mimicking the gods yet with the nerve to shhit upon their shoulders

and on a distant perch, the cockatiel,
his measured words as close as birds can get to being divine,
his every squawk as wise as Socrates

while on the strand, the solitary heron, slow to settle,
fixes eyes upon the waves that scrabble for the shore

the patient vulture enters from the shadows, poised to probe
the rotten carcasses of those who perished on the barbs of criticism

havoc cried aloft upon the wing, a hawk a-hover on the lilting wind,
with talons bared yet tipped in velvet

all eclipsed by looming shadow from a mightier wingspan,
hooded eyes attuned to form and syntax,
scattering seeds and peanuts as she hits the table…..

but alas too late to make a difference
as that ruddy kitty-cat emerges from the fireside; all is quiet, all is calm.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I have a quibble with this
"the rotten carcasses of those who perished on the barbs of criticism"
because it's the one place I could see where Hillwalker stepped aside from the avian world to comment - indeed, to judge - the human one. Apart from that what a triumphant parade this is of noticing and honouring these bords.

[Jack of Hearts]

An untitled poem by PrinceMyshkin

Between the scramble
in your mind and the slop
in mine we could assemble us
a stew of an unusual kind.

[everyadventure]

Mood Swings, by Delta

Sucking in the cool jet of oven gas
gives me little comfort.
While an egg boils on the stove,
the grease stained door sticks into my ribs.
This will never work, I think.
It's like trying to catch piss with a sieve
and the toast is bound to pop up before I pass out.
I fill my cheeks one last time, while remnants of logic scream,
Who will butter the toast dummy?
I try to imprint my face in the yellow block on the table.
Hard and unrelenting, I realise nothing will soften its core,
not even my wheezing, noxious breath.
I reflect on the odium of misery that I have spread throughout my life
and scrape all hope of eggs and toast into the bin.
A sleepy eyed child in Pooh Bear pyjamas appears by my side and tugs at my apron.
To be sure the radiant sun bursts through even the darkest of clouds!
He-wo Gwan-ma. Me hungwee.
From above, two bowls of Cornflakes rain down like a gift from God.
Feasting on life's heavenly crunch, our mirth is the milk of such joy
that we tumble to the floor in a furious tickle match.
Tomorrow I swear to do better.

[Delta40]

and