Miyako, I must say, I am honoured to find my piece here. Thank you.
I have not visited this part of the site before; it's certainly humbling to peruse the fantastic poetry that has been placed here.
Miyako, I must say, I am honoured to find my piece here. Thank you.
I have not visited this part of the site before; it's certainly humbling to peruse the fantastic poetry that has been placed here.
From Personal Poetry by Delta.
Dirty Laundry
Washboard lies
wakeful nights
all that scrubbing
like a fat irish woman
whose thick arms have
crushed child after child
against her breast.
Would that her pudgy hands
plunge into such soapy untruths,
the bubbles resting on her brow
under a morning sun and
a long lost song
till she finally wrings out
the mighty cups
where they swing so free
to drip dry on the family tree
and future stains kneel
beneath them
their mouths wide open.
Thanks so much FF but I'm fighting to keep the cup for this poem...
Before sunlight can shine through a window, the blinds must be raised - American Proverb
This used to be regularly used as people felt the need to put an exceptional piece of work here. It's lack of use since January is a sad indicator of the demise of this forum.
For those who believe,
no explanation is necessary.
For those who do not,
none will suffice.
Wax and wane? Come and go? The forum certainly misses hillwalker anchoring it down.
J
That must be some mote in your eye that you can't see the gems beaming right back atcha, such as this one.
It's definitely yours fooly's "favorite poem from a LitNutter."
dying with brio...
image.jpg
I definitely second Bar but I'm glowing inside Auntie!
Before sunlight can shine through a window, the blinds must be raised - American Proverb
Untitled by qimissung
I was imprisoned
By the knave
His wild heart
Wrapped in tapestry and furs
Enslaved me
Though I wore a poker face
He always knew, he always knew
What I was thinking
My heart on my sleeve
His for the plucking
Grief, lusterless and white
Lies on my brow
And small children
Will not walk in my shadow
Oh jack, but still your face
Your face upon my eyelids in the dark
Untitled by qimissung
I was imprisoned
By the knave
His wild heart
Wrapped in tapestry and furs
Enslaved me
Though I wore a poker face
He always knew, he always knew
What I was thinking
My heart on my sleeve
His for the plucking
Grief, lusterless and white
Lies on my brow
And small children
Will not walk in my shadow
Oh jack, but still your face
Your face upon my eyelids in the dark