We have seen some of the favorite poems by other LitNetters, now let's
see what your favorite poem written by you is.
We have seen some of the favorite poems by other LitNetters, now let's
see what your favorite poem written by you is.
Avatar by Pendragon
"All we are saying is give PEACE a chance." Beatles[/SIZE]
Granny5's Blog
http://www.online-literature.com/for...p?userid=35805
A lovely idea Granny5 - perhaps you can start for us?...
Want to know what I think about books? Check out https://biisbooks.wordpress.com/
Well, today it is one I wrote for Poppy when he was out of town. I don't think it's really good, but it does say how I feel about him.
Dan
This life that you’ve given me
without selfishness and
with great thought
is what I waited for
I give you
my soul within yours
safe from all that would harm me.
My heart within yours
shielded from all danger
by your strong love
my love for you to hold forever
And after I go I will watch over you
till you arrive
I will be waiting to see
you smile when you see me
That special smile you have
for only me.
Avatar by Pendragon
"All we are saying is give PEACE a chance." Beatles[/SIZE]
Granny5's Blog
http://www.online-literature.com/for...p?userid=35805
Granny, it's a lovely poem, full of heart in the best way.
My favourite poem of my own is this one:
Naked on Exmoor
The moors languish at
my feet, watching;
a wanton lover, tattooed in
purple and gold.
He flaunts his nakedness,
brazen in spite
of the chill that raises
the hair on my arms
and stains my lips.
His words are the
whisper of a
breeze sending
shivers through
the scrub,
unfurling leaves.
He wants me -
I can’t resist.
My clothes fall
as a sudden
burst of rain,
pooling to the
ground.
This is no time
for modesty;
and neither
the great winking
eye of the sun,
or the motorist’s
horns beeping
as they pass,
can deny
this moment
of pure freedom.
Want to know what I think about books? Check out https://biisbooks.wordpress.com/
these are great u 2...
Interesting idea, Mammy Y, but isn't a bit like asking us to name the favourite among our children?
PASSING THE SALT
The thing is, we've none of us found the stranger yet,
with whom to open the perfect conversation.
Faces we take to be unknown, glide
into sly familiarity, the warmth of once particular skin,
phrases that appeal to us now
because they did then.
There are things we still haven't said.
That we are frightened sometimes,
though there's no reason for it--because
there's no reason for it. And,
in a certain tone of voice, "I love you."
It takes everything to say "I love you"
in just that way, as if it were nothing
--'Please pass the salt,'
or a belch in easy company.
Again and again, behind some face
that pretends to be new to us
there lies hidden that other
to which we answered dutifully once,
"I love you,
too." The face of an aunt who died young
of self-pity or an uncle
who rested his hand on your shoulder
and left it damp to the bone.
Or a lover, known, who became unknown.
But still we believe in him or in her
and whisper, "Come. Feel free. Speak,"
in voices that haven't yet grown familiar even to us.
We believe in the stranger's inarticulateness
as we believe in our own.
Which of us has learned already to speak?
"You must be the change you want to see in the world." Gandhi
No, Jerry, it's not like asking you to name your favorite child. It's like asking which of your poems you like best today.
Avatar by Pendragon
"All we are saying is give PEACE a chance." Beatles[/SIZE]
Granny5's Blog
http://www.online-literature.com/for...p?userid=35805
Sez who? In the last of my 2.5 marriages, my step-daughters used to tease me about which of my grandchildren I liked best. I had just the three at that time and finally, in the hope of silencing them, I made up this verse:
Gabriel is my favourite!
Hella is the best!
And as for little Lucy,
she beats all the rest!
Great idea Granny. I'm not sure which one I would pick. Perhaps this one.
Limoncello
A rainy evening in April
Brings us out to celebrate
The observance of her birth,
The kiss on the cheek,
The flick of the light switch,
A scent of her florid perfume
As we pass our glinting threshold.
Unfolding the umbrella,
A heavy fall of spring rain
Feeds the tulips and the budding grapevines
As we rush to the car, cold and wet
Another kiss as we settle in with a sigh
I turn the key and headlights gleam,
A Saturday night, a saturnalia of sorts.
An Italian restaurant.
Across at dinner, a quiet corner
We smile and listen, laughter of families,
Ting-a-ling of china and wine bottles
Her luminous face lights the table,
A singer trills Italian songs,
The waiter brings our wine.
A lovely smile, lambent and dark,
Chiaroscuro lips proudly assert,
“I do not look my age.”
My glass of Cabernet licks my tongue
And a thought, do I feel my age,
Having drifted entwined until sunrise
And run three miles in the morning?
Seafood in a marinara sauce
Mussels, shrimp, clams, calamari
Fructi di Mare, over linguine and crushed pepper.
Another glass of Cabernet – Yes –
Brings thoughts of sailors in rough seas,
Farmers with tomatoes and garlic on sunny days;
But, oh, a tuft of grey beneath the dye.
Carrot cheese cake and espresso
With a sliver of lemon peel.
“Would you care for a Sambucca,
Or perhaps a side of Limoncello?”
Limoncello? Yes, a side of Limoncello
Sweet and bitter, snappish and acerbic,
In a conical glass on a stem.
The table, stolidly plane, is now clear
And I stiffen to an alcohol induced buzz
Like a fly entering the cerebellum,
Or is it trying to get out?
The cloudy, chilled liquid, lemon-scented,
Distorts her face as light bends and swerves.
Bending and swerving I fidget childishly
Rocked to rain and flowers and song,
I imagine nestling up to her breast,
Swallowing the last drop of Limoncello,
Not truly believing that my conquering heart
Will one day cease to beat against
The darkness of the universe.
LET THERE BE LIGHT
"Love follows knowledge." – St. Catherine of Siena
My literature blog: http://ashesfromburntroses.blogspot.com/
Not a favorite of others but perhaps a favorite of mine.
Here it goes.
Modern Life & Insanity (Part 1)
Daily schedules and sleepless nights
is this how we live this modern life ?
Good things in life are really hard to find
Depression, confusion, frustrations usually thrills my mind
I never realized before about life that how hard it could be
And things never happened the way it should be
This modern life is running too fast and have no time for your own
Everybody's running and I'm not the only one
Sanity has gone from loneliness, rejection, & failure
Jealousy burns, anger ends in misery, and ego clashes for sure
The more we learn, the more we fake
The more we love, the more it generates hate
Overworked and tired face, lonely and tiresome days
Blessed are the ignorant, it's what I learned from this modern age
Modern Life & Insanity (Part 2)
hectic pace of this modern life
never satisfied, never pacified
modern world with cutting-edge technologies
high-tech solutions yet byzantine complexities
questions questioning for more alternatives
living on the edge with uncertainties
this world is evolving and transforming it's face
everybody's running for their time and space
always have to win to stay in this game
always have to change the track to get out of this pain
the more we go deep, the more we face reality
this modern life may dig down the hole to insanity
Of course another one which I had written when the world (my girl) left me all alone in pain....
Without you
I know your pain & sufferings
and I know how you've gone through
dreams I had for you have now only been dreams
and they never came true
was our relationship that weak ?
it has been blown away like it was written in the sand
it has faded away with unknown reasons
may be I'm the unfortunate one with fake lines in my hand
nights without sleep when I've suffered only with tears
only questions were running in my head
I was wondering for what I have done wrong
and remembering the things that she said
I couldn't erase those memories & I tried a lot
I even screamed, laughed, cried and tore all the pictures
It ain't easy to forget the time we spent together
and the talks over phone for hours and hours
I tried to generate hate just to forget you
but it brought you even more nearer
I tried being numb just to get you out of my mind
but the picture I had you in my mind got more clearer
so now you've chosen the separate way
in which I can never walk upon
I'm fallen back to the path where I was before
and I thought that I'll never cross that line again
I found the difference of not having you
I was quite empty and got nothing to do
the daily routine which I had has changed now
I was quite lost on my own and got nowhere to go
now I have to live in the present and I can't always live in the past
now I have to change the broken track into something new
even though I was not invited at the best moments of your life
anyway I wish you a very best wishes for your new life and saying a goodbye
I like it even though it's a bit direct
Mr Virgil, have you got links to your other poems? I think I've only ever read the one you've quoted, while you help me with mine all the time
my fave by me at the moment started out as a bad poem (as you can see from the first two lines) in the write a really bad poem thread, but Mr blp says it's good:
roses are not red enough
nor lemons green
to phrase the wall of glass you built
between your heart and mine.
Nor can all the penguins in paradise
sing the soft shutting of the freezer door
made by your gap-toothed smile.
When I'm the emperor's dachshund
I'll pass a Lautgesetz, a Grimm's Law,
to wrap you up in hornet's furs
and shout with mournful joy:
"There's beauty in rejection!"
I'm also quite comfortable with this one:
Among the boulders
head – purplish-grey heather
scratchy cushion – tickles – neck
back – sweaty – pricey shirt – clings
figertips exploring – dusty earth
feeling – sand – dry – grains
on top – wet underneath
distant bleating: children and sheep
where once the scouring glaciers
scarred the rocks with hair-thin grooves,
basal-sliding, flowing, melting,
washed up debris of the past,
where once the creeping glaciers slid
he lies among the boulders
and the unrelenting sky
sears with blue, too blue for itself,
too much, swollen, a blaze of blue
like eyes
too bright for itself, it casts around
it needs to share, inflict,
paste on its blue,
about to burst
he drinks it all in
unfocused, unblinking
between breaths
and listens to the silence inside
throbbing spine
simmering air beats his face
cheeks – neck – arms – toes
bursting blue, like an inner elbow
inflamed with imagined love
want to show
want to show these hills this sky
want to show this to someone
anyone
her
not here; why not?
Why not?
in the heather, purple,
perennial shrub
where once the creeping glaciers slid
he lies among the boulders.
Washed up.
Deposited.
Well well well... this is tough. Whatever I write becomes my favourite hehe!! Gotta agree with Uncle Jer on the choosing-between-your-children-theory
Anyway, of the countable amount of poorly-written poems I've got in my sack, I think this is one I'm particularly attached to:
To the Tree at my Window:
And so it is,
Now that I am leaving you,
I am as silent as you always are,
Just as calm and just as indifferent
Mine outer self is.
But inside I’m shivering
Like your leaves did
When the rain rushed upon them—
The panorama that never
Failed to enchant me
By its divinity;
And so it is, now that I gaze
At your silent silhouette,
A single tear
Rolls down my face
Like a nameless ode.
.
...the smell of flowers through metal labyrinths.
I told my other kids that I liked them too, but this one your Mommy (my muse) and I had the most fun conceiving. Of course, With the Elephants had to ask, "What's Conceiving, Daddy?" I just said, "Ask your Mother."
Penance for Chains and Jars
The slow pulse of the black-water ballet,
in the deep country of the fireflies:
In yellow memory, in chains,
fragrance cupped from the dark lawn
— every petal was a mouth —
hungry, efflorescent stars,
one for many on a milky stem:
They fell with the veil of night, laden
with the bright of sun, and we would wait
for what was done in the dale of evening,
in the pale of the moonlit grass. They died,
if patience failed to hold us for their flights,
such fragile dolia of blossoms gone to light,
we galled them with a child’s haste,
watched their constellations slide
down blades and on our skin
with the scent of dandelion.
Oh silent aria of desire,
world of blind intent,
keep the secrets of your child:
wild flowers can redeem us
wishes gray make wishes green
fire hides in the quiet air
the choired whispers of the sea
are born in the twists of shells
and this cool water with its stars
ripples briefly in our eyes.