Riesa, came home from dancing salsa and saw your supportive message. I am floored. Thank you so much!!!!!
Riesa, came home from dancing salsa and saw your supportive message. I am floored. Thank you so much!!!!!
Girl Talk
If I could speak to you - Frida, Léonor, Leonora - Margaret
I would fiery say your sibylline minds change me.
Those double jointed hips, diarized scars,
stapled nipples, retractable wombs
skeletons wired with explosives -
it was the fallout of you.
The heap of cleavage and clitoris.
Dirty laundry, dirty bombs imploding
the femme enfant only authorized
to live - to love between man’s while.
Clearly - giving life means taking life,
the quickening egg devouring its host.
I would tell you I have a new canvas
turned to the wall - the birth of death.
Remedios nailed to a bed, raptors emerging
two by two from the nest between her legs.
Fiercely - your sibylline hands rearrange me.
By ~Sophia~
Everyone knows what's in room 101.
Everything becomes irrelevant, when the sky tears open.
"Hey Kevin." "What?" "Theres a ditch there." "Sh*t!"
I'm so very flattered Kevin. Thank you! This poem is important to me and I'm grateful it touched you.
Last night when I struggled to close the blinds,
I promised myself: “Tomorrow when I reopen these
I'll see clusters of evergreens and a cloudless sky
mirrored in an inland sea.” This morning’s yank
uncovered the same old stark cement,
same unobstructed view of disappointment
undisturbed, still parked there.
Magic thoughts ride horses wishing for a longer road,
which winds up looking at a dead-end. Change,
that engine of desire, stalls, chokes. It’s no
game, this life, yet we cheer it on, like fans
watching their team lose, season after season.
We tell ourselves next year will be different,
and all the while, we wait.
We're all lined up, it’s said, on the same shore; it’s not
supposed to matter which side of the lake we're on.
Next door to mansions, shacks should know their place.
In squalid cities, trash cans overflow
with the waste of crumpled dreams. Tidy
is the sentiment that failure and a lack
of success are not the same.
Who still believes that sarcasm has no soul
or sincerity necessarily has a heart,
when earnestly we're always told
we're not alone; we do not suffer alone?
For amid the dust of a darkened room
each one of us knows that we are,
and we do.
Being and not having is no curse, and hope
beats memory any day. Alive or not
there are some I once knew well, and some
I no longer know, yet still remember,
and others I have never met at all
but somehow know. With any of them
there’s nothing that I'd want to share –
–except the thought that next time they open
their blinds their sorrow-laden eyes will rally
with a brighter glimpse; and for you, this drink
from an imaginary well is on me, peeking
through a knothole in the left field wall. Let’s
raise an empty glass and toast the sky.
(You know who you are.)
by AuntShecky
In this poem, AuntShecky says she is asking: In a world of failure and squalor are we asking to much of hope and imagination?
I reply: not with poetry like this. Thank You AuntShecky; I raise a glass to you.
"The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its' own reason for existing." ~ Albert Einstein
"Remember, no matter where you go, there you are." Buckaroo Bonzai "Some people say I done alright for a girl." Melanie Safka
Thank you, qimissung. I'm touched (in more ways than one.)
No really, thank you!
That really is a great poem Auntie!!!
Okay so this is one that i personally feel belongs here...
PARENTS
Argue, shout, scream
Invade every dream
Walked out on the mother
Made me hate my brother
Uncaring, Unfeeling
Belittling, Decieving
Misinterprate, misunderstand
Really is a better man
Always working, never there
But however, pretends to care
Questions, Questions every day
How I wish she'd go away
Not her fault
She just dont understand
Just respond the best I can
See I'm not that kind of man
Dont discuss feelings
Dont discuss plans
Just sat with the knife
Cutting lines in my hands
Kilted Exile
"Come away O human child!To the waters of the wild, With a faery hand in hand, For the worlds more full of weeping than you can understand."
W.B.Yeats
"If it looks like a Dwarf and smells like a Dwarf, then it's probably a Dwarf (or a latrine wearing dungarees)"
Artemins Fowl and the Lost Colony by Eoin Colfer
my poems-please comment Forum Rules
This is a great one from PrinceMyshkin.
http://www.online-literature.com/for...ad.php?t=43649Tumult was my table
Tumult was my table,
tohu-vavohu my daily bread.
Half my passion
was another man’s fatigue
and I was wandering,
wandering, down a road without a sign
where all the other travellers
were blessed or blind.
The din of life
was loud and overwhelming.
I heard it as if every orchestral player
was playing from a different score.
And I was losing half my mind
along with all the other travellers,
some of whom were blessed,
and some of whom were merely blind.
LET THERE BE LIGHT
"Love follows knowledge." – St. Catherine of Siena
My literature blog: http://ashesfromburntroses.blogspot.com/
Clueless
________________________________________
Sometimes it is nice when people do use complete sentences instead of SMS-language...
You wrote me
"I want U 2"
and all got confused
Mixed up
Do you want me to
do what?
What did you say last time?
Blow to the head
Did we talk about her?
Do you want me too
also
Placing me second
asking me to accept
I probably read way too much into this
I just hope
You are getting tickets
to their concert.
Don't know about you, but I really like this poem of Sapphire's!
Thank you Prince. This wouldn't have been written without you (literally, as this was inspired by Prince's poem, "In the News Today").
"The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its' own reason for existing." ~ Albert Einstein
"Remember, no matter where you go, there you are." Buckaroo Bonzai "Some people say I done alright for a girl." Melanie Safka
To stop the dream now so soon and for what,
because we have forgotten how to dance
in quarter time? This is not us sleeping:
the lobster traps are empty, the past hides
in our breathing, a cough to right the dream
that floats in water like the wrinkled moon.
Look into the mirror of the sea, it peels
where the nets drag, the lobsters are dancing
backwards, in a quadrille, while dead champagne
gathers in the tide pools with fallen stars.
The mirror is a world that’s still a world,
though you turned your back and now it is changed.
There is a girl who is no more a girl,
cinnamon and wave, poor Alice, she stays
inside the games and puzzles, backwards talk
cellar the in rats the though and, she knows,
she mourns for what small things can make us glad.
You must step through the past, into the clear
reflection of the dance of hearts. Don’t think,
dance in this new world, as if you are dreaming.
by firefangled
I love the images created herein, the world reflected again and again, our perception of it changing with the blink of an eye and the small things that make us glad.
"The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its' own reason for existing." ~ Albert Einstein
"Remember, no matter where you go, there you are." Buckaroo Bonzai "Some people say I done alright for a girl." Melanie Safka
This one, by Delta40:
Brian the Conkerer
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bits of string to the wood
where the conkers be
There you might find
Ye old chestnut tree
A small foot in the crook
lifts a boyish body high
Yucky grimy knees
scraped on every side
So go forth young Brian
wrap your hand around
the fattest horse chestnuts
to ever be found
Pluck from its bough
choicest of the wise
stow within your breast
Find you the biggest prize!
Oh Conkerer see others
scrabble at your feet
shake, shake the tree!
let them grab the prickly treats!
leap back down to the earth
and colour autumn best
with the ancient song of herald
throughout the golden forest
'Oddly oddly onker!
Brian has done thee proud
I have my first conker!
begone you beggarly crowd'
Effortlessly brilliant.I Have a Butter Knife, and I Know How
To Use It*
All around this place bags abound –
white ones from the supermarket
and the dollar store, colored and clear
sleeves that the newspaper came in.
These bags are not toys! They're plastic,
and lethal. What’s to prevent me
from wrapping one over my head?
We've got a cabinet shelf full
of over-the-counter medicines,
little bottles with child-proof safety
caps, and capsules behind shrink-
wrapped bubbles you can't open
without a blow-torch in full flame.
But I wouldn't hesitate
to down the lot of ‘em. Maybe
I'll do fifteen Tylenols and die
of boredom waiting for
something to happen.
And there’s that oven that brags
that it’s “self-cleaning” but hasn't
lifted a finger since we've been here.
Still, I'm this far away from turning
the knob and putting my head in.
On the electric coil I'll broil
my nose to spite my face. A first
degree burn is worth the third
degree you'll get from the Authorities.
You hear me? I'm not kidding around,
not just whistling “Dixie” here, not that
I ever learned the song all the way through
or ever got the hang of whistling. I mean
it, though! You'd better watch your
step, Mister. I'm just saying.
*With sincere apologies to Dorothy “Resumé ” Parker
I would have added this one, Blnk vrz, if you hadn't.
'For sale: baby shoes, never worn'. Hemingway