Welcome, TA. I am just jubilant, by Jove, that you joined the jamboree. I like the idea of playing off the astronomical terms in NOTS. Those terms have a lot of meaning outside of astronomy, which is a cool gimmick. I am not supposed to talk about the poems. Someone told me that. I think it was me.Originally Posted by tailor STATELY
Thanks, Taylor for joining. This group of poems has a happy lighheartedness about it, like spring dances on a lawn. I have already submitted the beautiful poem of yesterday.
"I seemed to have sensed also from an early age that some of my experiences as a reader would change me more as a person than would many an event in the world where I sat and read. "
Gerald Murnane, Tamarisk Row
I'd like to add a poem of cacian's to the list if she would accept:
a castle in my dream
It's just a dream
the life I know,
I make it all up
in my sleep,
I often run away from me,
the truth is that I never
see
the things that matter most to me
I build myself up to be big
just like a castle
brick by brick,
and then I tare it all down
to be fit,
pretending that it was a game
and I was the maker of realm
It's just a dream
I know it is,
I pinch myself up to be
real
but then I end up losing
fear
I wish I could wake up
and feel
the senses
the logic that tolls
about a life I hear of more,
I must confess I gather
tears
I never know what else is dear
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY
tailor
who am I but a stitch in time
what if I were to bare my soul
would you see me origami
7-8-2015
tailor STATELY I am utterly shocked and flattered at the same time.
I have totally forgotten about this piece I admit.
I thank you very much and I do accept it is very kind.
it may never try
but when it does it sigh
it is just that
good
it fly
Wow. What are people scared of to post on this thread? 99.999 % of you will never be published to any meaningful effect. What's the issue ?
For those who believe,
no explanation is necessary.
For those who do not,
none will suffice.
Any news about the publication of the book?
"I seemed to have sensed also from an early age that some of my experiences as a reader would change me more as a person than would many an event in the world where I sat and read. "
Gerald Murnane, Tamarisk Row
Sorry, Danik, saw your post but didn't have time to reply at once. Well, as far as I'm concerned, I'm still on board but I decided some weeks ago to lean back and watch if other people are interested in this project at all. Looks as if the answer was a loud and thunderous 'No' if you except those who participated so far. I guess the project can be considered dead and buried…
"Im Arm der Liebe schliefen wir selig ein…" ("Liebesode" - Otto Erich Hartleben)
New poetry collection available (Kindle and paperback)
Requiescat in pace.
Well, I suppose people that really value their own stuff have already posted it in some blog.
Than that´s that. Among other things it would have been a nice recollection of the site if it ceased to exist.
"I seemed to have sensed also from an early age that some of my experiences as a reader would change me more as a person than would many an event in the world where I sat and read. "
Gerald Murnane, Tamarisk Row
We'll always have Paris.
For those who believe,
no explanation is necessary.
For those who do not,
none will suffice.
“Hope Is the Thing With Feathers”
I really don’t care what people say—
Their advice shatters; broken stone tablets beneath Sinai.
I’d love to return to Yesterday…
“Tomorrow things will be different.” Indeed. So they may.
But in all likelihood I’d search but the path I’ll never find.
I really don’t CARE what people say—
Day after dismal, gloomy day—
I HAVE tried to face up to these difficulties in my life.
I’d love to return to Yesterday—
Before this accursed illness came creeping my way,
Battered down the doorways to my mind and crept inside!
I really don’t care WHAT people say—
All I can do is long, hope, and pray
To the One whom alone can (if He desires) send help from on High.
I’d love to return to Yesterday—
But the pressure continues to build and fear holds sway.
Have the walls been breached so that to win is to die?
I really DON’T CARE WHAT people say—
I’d love to return to yesterday…
Pendragon© 9.21.97
POE
The waves wash upon some forgotten shore,
The wind sighs softly among the gnarled trees.
Somewhere a dark bird croaks “Nevermore,”
From his perch upon a bust of Pallas above the chamber door.
The dark clouds split and the heavens bleed.
The waves wash upon some forgotten shore,
As a wild-eyed man searches for his lost Lenore,
Calling out; desperately expressing his needs!
Somewhere a dark bird croaks “Nevermore,”
In tones of Doom as the man implores
The Unforgiving Heavens to return his dreams.
The waves wash upon some forgotten shore,
The beach where she’d played in the days of yore—
He turns to the bottle, trying to drown his needs.
Somewhere a dark bird croaks “Nevermore,”
And the echoes echo the name “Lenore…”
He traces her name on the tombstone as he reads.
The waves wash upon some forgotten shore,
And somewhere a dark bird croaks “Nevermore.”
© 10/6/97 Pendragon
Some of us laugh
Some of us cry
Some of us smoke
Some of us lie
But it's all just the way
that we cope with our lives...
This one was on my blog here. I was doing a lot of haunted places as "prose poetry." They were fairly well received.
http://www.online-literature.com/for...-of-Five-Years
The Significance of Five Years
Full moon rises over the bayou,
Mist hangs in the Spanish moss in the trees.
Saw someone moving in the Cemetery at Cyprus Grove
The hour is Midnight in the garden of good and evil.
She wails away somewhere in the swamps
Voodoo Queen, dead undying Marie Laveau …
Gonna be some trouble come morning…
My cloak always hides me in the darkness of the night,
Seems some old boy acquired a hand of glory.
I could tell him that in theses graves Tis best to leave the dead alone.
But he has the spells and the wax and now the hand.
He moves away towards his target, a mansion near the entrance to the Grove,
Laveau screams in the dark somewhere behind him…
Now he’s made his move inside the house and the Hand of Glory flames.
As long as those fingers glow blue none in the house but he can move!
What does he want from them? Their daughter. How pleasant! Lovers.
They are outside now. He draws a water pistol filled with milk and removes the flames.
In a second or two he has recovered the limp hand of the hanged man,
Now something follows as he carries his girl away in the fog
Said I not these graves in Cyprus Grove are best left undisturbed?
It is Laveau again, but this time chanting, as if dancing in a spell.
The Young Man lays his burden down to rest for a moment,
And taking the hand out seeks to throw it as far as he can.
The wind sighs down through the Cyprus tress stirring the beards of moss.
A hand takes the young man by the throat.
Eyes like flames inside of cannon barrels fixate themselves on his face.
“I’ have back my hand, me. You take from Rene, eh? Rene take from you.
“My han’ have five fingers, yes? You use no p’misson. I tink I take 5 years of your life.”
The Horrible eyes turned and spotted me among the stones,
“You tink Rene be fair, Reaper?” I silently raised my scythe in a sign of justice.
Now you know why the haunted graveyards of New Orleans are so popular.
The have a lookout to see things go on, but go on fair.
The couple were married and are doing quite well.
He worries about the little tattoo mark on his chest now and then
And he still hear Marie Laveau cry in the misty nights.
He shouldn’t worry that much. That mark just sped up his date with me.
By exactly 5 years…
Pendragon
© 12/21/07
Some of us laugh
Some of us cry
Some of us smoke
Some of us lie
But it's all just the way
that we cope with our lives...
Good findings, Pendragon! I specially liked the poem about Poe´s Lenore.
It reminded me of another haunted "Lenore", an old German ballad of Burger. I found an Englisch version of it:
http://www.rossettiarchive.org/docs/...ardms.rad.html
"I seemed to have sensed also from an early age that some of my experiences as a reader would change me more as a person than would many an event in the world where I sat and read. "
Gerald Murnane, Tamarisk Row
Here are two of my own I will put in here for the heck of it.
Anchored Mistakes
those eyes—
harboring in the shadows
even in a bucket of sun
you can't escape
Sad Leaves
Outside my window
I see the melancholy
drift—
the sad leaves free
of not knowing where to go
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