Your Favorite Poem by You

[Granny5]

We have seen some of the favorite poems by other LitNetters, now let's
see what your favorite poem written by you is.

[TheFifthElement]

A lovely idea Granny5 - perhaps you can start for us?...

[Granny5]

A lovely idea Granny5 - perhaps you can start for us?...

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.

[TheFifthElement]

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.

[littlewing53]

these are great u 2...

[PrinceMyshkin]

We have seen some of the favorite poems by other LitNetters, now let's
see what your favorite poem written by you is.

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?

[Granny5]

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.

[PrinceMyshkin]

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.

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!

[ampoule]

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!

That is absolutely precious Prince.

[Virgil]

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.

[dibyendra]

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

[dibyendra]

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

[SleepyWitch]

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.

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 :blush:

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 (http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=28437) 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.

[symphony]

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 :p

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.

[firefangled]

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.

[Pendragon]

Probably this one:

The Raven: Parody #2

Once upon an afternoon so dreary, with my body weak and weary,
The eyes all red and bleary with watching for the mail;
Hoping that the post would bring me, something calculated to spring me
From my doldrums and the things we endure from broken dreams—
From the cold emptiness that echoes from the shades of broken dreams—
All this I wished and more.

I spoke aloud to the evening air each line I’d written with great care
And mailed to someone waiting there, for their consideration.
I’d tried hard to fulfill their needs, sent poems from a heart that bleeds,
Praying that this one succeeds where the others failed before—
Praying to the Great Almighty One this doesn’t fail like those before—
Like the hundreds sent before!

I waited with anticipation, (and a touch of aggravation!)
For submissions I had sent around the Nation to return here to my door.
Then I held the envelope, crossed my fingers and I hoped,
And then the tiny note slid into my sweaty palm:
The pale white tiny note I held within my sweaty palm
Said—“Sorry.” Nothing more—

©D. L. Harris 1995
Published in Tucumcari Literary Review #80
Los Angeles, CA


(And yes, #1 sold as well, but I like this one better!)

[Pensive]

Great entries, lit-netters!



Gabriel is my favourite!
Hella is the best!
And as for little Lucy,
she beats all the rest!

That's is sweet and clever enough to pacify them all! :)

Here are three that I like, and feel I can't make up my mind about posting one so here are all three of them. But before that I would like to change PrinceMyshkin's poem a little bit to express myself. :)

Just One Day is my favourite
Her Choice is the best!
And as for Love Will Find A Way
It probably beats all the rest! :p

When I wrote Love Will Find A Way, I never knew I would like it as much as I do now. Oh well, views change.


Just One Day

The stormy night has gone away
It gives a chance to the calm day
To bring a smile on the face of this girl;
Sleepless, unhappy, and alone
On this rising sun now
She has placed all her hope
By seeing the beauty the pleasant day holds
Would her unhappiness mould?
In the view is standing a tree
Tall and erect
She sees how with birds it does interact
Chirping birds and so pretty
Free and fair
Moving here and there
Making her happy at first
But after a time, she starts feeling hurt
They are free, she is not
They can travell; all by their own which she can not
Expressing themselves to other birds without any care which she can not
Look at the irony people
How she considered!
Human beings the best of all creatures
Hated those not happy with what they are
Despised envy
Resented those changing in minutes
A sight had forced her to change so much
So can the next sight
Would she hate herself now?
Unhappy is she now
Then a pityful breeze comes from somewhere
Giving life to her
The touch of breeze
Along with the sight of blue sky
Brings some joy
A blue sky - not black
Is there any form of prettiness that it lack?
She looks around and see
Again the tree
The tree she had planted
Her very own tree
Bearing fruit
Would that make her happy?
She watches as its leaves dance with the wind
Seem to be singing along with the free birds on its branches
She gets dreamy, and thinks and thinks
While rainy water on the ground sends to sky a wink
But unaware of anything, she thinks pensively
Until some thought makes her smile merrily
The tree had faced the night
It had to fight
Sleepless it had been
But it overcame night with all its might
Now, it sang and danced and actually 'lived'
So would she after having fought with her oponents
So would she!
One day had taught her too much, the tree
Along with its friends had made her learn enough
One thing these living things, though seem-ingly different from each other, have in common
To struggle for existence
To struggle for happiness


Her Choice

Bo-oa first came five years ago
Eager to tell her Amma good news
Her ears pinned to the wall
She heard it all
And what Bo-oa had said:
Suddenly made her feel good
Next day they came
The women came
Those women Bo-oa had told her Amma about
They came and talked
Said the nasty words
Told her mother that her daughter was not what they wanted
They wanted good height for their tall son
They expressed themselves without considering how much they had taunted
They came and went
Scornfully, rejecting her

Bo-oa came four years ago
Again, dying to tell Amma good news
She knew what Bo-oa was up to
Pushing the events of previous year away
She again felt a flicker of hope
She was dragged by a powerful rope
Into a happy fantasized world
She remained there until the women came
Again, those jerks found her personality errors;
Very necessary to name
Now, their lame excuses were her skin colour and her nose
Her nose wasn't straight and her cheeks not as red as a rose
After completing eating the food, they went
As if they had come for a house to rent

Bo-oa came three years ago
Wishing to have a word with Amma
This time Bo-oa was so dead sure
"This family is different and decent," for her Bo-oa's words were a cure
Keeping the past events at an arm's distance, she again smiled
Her days were full of laughter until the next people arrived
"Just Matric?" the woman looked stunned on her qualification
And then rejected the poor her without any hesitation
All three women went in the same way they had come
Their rejection was easy to detect as doing a plus minus sum

Bo-oa came two years ago
Wanting to talk to Amma
It was the Summer of 2005
The thought that five was her lucky number
Granted her a new life
And some friendly good women came
And to her happiness, they approved of her
But on finding that they were not from a Syed family
Her mother was like, "what a shame, shame!"
This time, Amma and Abba were the ones to reject
And this time her mother was furious at Bo-oa
For bringing someone from a non-Syed family
Her parents could be wish-killers, she could not digest that fact

Bo-oa came last year
Apologetic in front of Amma
Telling her that she had a good news
This time, she did not feel good
No good feelings, on the other hand:
Fear
Fear of being rejected
Loss
Loss of tears
And she remained in that condition till the day
The day those women wearing a lot of gold came
One looked at her like a person ready to slaughter
And the more time spent, her face grew hotter and hotter
The women's gazes made her eyes water
Then with her Dupata, she removed the tears
In a strife to become courageous, she controlled her fears
"Your house is small," one sneered
"Can't you afford a big one," across the whole room, other peered
She suddenly felt as if it had got a way too much for her to bear
She threw the tea-cups on those women's face, without any fear
"Get the hell out of here," she snarled
Her Abba slapped her
Her Amma pushed her to her own room
But she was not like what she was yesterday
A moron!

She did not care if she had not a good height
Or if she was not very much white
She did not care if she was a Matric-pass
Or if she was a poor, living in a small house, lass
She only cared about one thing
She, too, had self-respect
She, too, was a human infact
She was not a show-piece
She was not a toy
A toy that one would enjoy
And then badly destroy

That day, and now
No Bo-oa has ever been seen in her house
What if she has no spouse
At least, she has her self-respect
Which is a great deal,
At least that is what she feels!

Now she is a school teacher
Earning for herself
As well as her parents
Not a burden
And her self-respect lives!


Love Will Find A Way

Beneath the stars
Beyond the moon
Along the river
Across the sea
On the earth and in the sky
In any truth or in every lie
Sung by birds
Dreamt by trees
Hidden in the book
Blooming in the flowers
In rainy season, in the shape of rain
Travelling through every track like a train
Everywhere; here or there
In any form or like a storm

Love will find a way

[PrinceMyshkin]

I thought the last verse of Enough Said was especially fine.

[Lote-Tree]

Remembrance

...and do you my love,
Do you ever think of me now
After all these years?
Do the memory of "You & I"
Still surface to your mind
As you go about your daily life?

Does your heart tremble still
When in your mind
You see me by your garden gate,
Waving at you,
With handful of delpheniums?

Do you still smile to see me?
Or do you turn away with tears in your eyes
And with an angry chide
Toss the memories aside
And get on with your life
As nothing ever happened and
Nothing will ever happen again?

[PrinceMyshkin]

Remembrance

...and do you my love,
Do you ever think of me now
After all these years?
Do the memory of "You & I"
Still surface to your mind
As you go about your daily life?

Does your heart tremble still
When in your mind
You see me by your garden gate,
Waving at you,
With handful of delpheniums?

Do you still smile to see me?
Or do you turn away with tears in your eyes
And with an angry chide
Toss the memories aside
And get on with your life
As nothing ever happened and
Nothing will ever happen again?

There is something rather heartbreaking about that last line. It is somewhat flat, of course - less musical than the other lines - and the flatness mimics the deflated feeling of the persona.

[Virgil]

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 :blush:


I'm not sure if all of them are linked, but my first few blog entries either contain one of my poems or are linked to it. Thanks for asking. I'm always looking for feedback.

[Madhuri]

Great entries, lit-netters!



That's is sweet and clever enough to pacify them all! :)

Here are three that I like, and feel I can't make up my mind about posting one so here are all three of them. But before that I would like to change PrinceMyshkin's poem a little bit to express myself. :)

Just One Day is my favourite
Her Choice is the best!
And as for Love Will Find A Way
It probably beats all the rest! :p

When I wrote Love Will Find A Way, I never knew I would like it as much as I do now. Oh well, views change.

Pensy, I really liked 'Her Choice.' I can understand how the person feels at such times, it's really really bad, or let's say the person is made to feel bad. I wonder why certain societies are like this? And, 'am living in a similar one, I know how mean people can be. I liked the ending of the poem, it's ultimately the person's choice, and life does change drastically when a girl decides to take a stand against such pressures. Good one :thumbs_up

[Pensive]

Pensy, I really liked 'Her Choice.' I can understand how the person feels at such times, it's really really bad, or let's say the person is made to feel bad. I wonder why certain societies are like this?

Maybe because they think it's the right way to be? (the thought of which might sadden many people like you and me)


And, 'am living in a similar one, I know how mean people can be. I liked the ending of the poem, it's ultimately the person's choice, and life does change drastically when a girl decides to take a stand against such pressures. Good one :thumbs_up

I too decided the ending after a lot of musing. At first I thought of making her commit suicide but it would have been really tragic and there would hardly have been any point of this poem. But anyway I thought the present ending was unrealistic. In many places the society doesn't even let unmarried women live their lives happily. But I had to throw Bo-oa out and all those women who apparently came for asking her hand in marriage with their sons/brothers/etc but went away critisizing and taunting her, so I followed what my emotions wanted me to do, and seems like it's not a bad choice I made. Am glad you have liked it. Thanks!

[Madhuri]

Maybe because they think it's the right way to be? (the thought of which might sadden many people like you and me)

Or maybe it's because what others (society, family members) will say?


I too decided the ending after a lot of musing. At first I thought of making her commit suicide but it would have been really tragic and there would hardly have been any point of this poem.

Exactly !


But anyway I thought the present ending was unrealistic. In many places the society doesn't even let unmarried women live their lives happily. But I had to throw Bo-oa out and all those women who apparently came for her hand in marriage but went away critisizing and taunting her, so I followed what my emotions wanted me to do, and seems like it's not bad. Am glad you have liked it. Thanks!

It's not unrealistinc, Pensy. It's true ! Well, maybe not the throwing of the cups / tea on the face part. But, taking a stand is definitely true. It's difficult to do so, because there will be a lot of resistance from others and much boo-boo in the society, but it's very much realistic.

[Niamh]

I also liked her choice Pensive.:) Some strength in that poem.

[Amfortas]

I think its probably this one called "Lullaby to my heart" =>

Awaken my heart , awaken,
Do not tremble for you will not be forsaken,
Truth will not forget you ,
Nor the ages forbid you
from sailing past the moon.

And if moonlight dares to pierce you,
remember it does not despise you,
it simply does not care ,
for bleeding hearts and broken masts,
of either friend or foe,
it only seeks to grow.


Sleep my heart , oh sleep,
lay down , forget how to weep.
After the stars and beyond the curtains,
no light shall dare,
to illuminate your wounds,
or tell of your despair.

[Mattch1331]

I don't know if this is my favorite, but whatever...

My Worst Nightmare

I awoke from my
Sleeping with
Cold sweat
On my pillow.
It is always
The same,
This nightmare...

It starts in Nashville
On an adventure
With elephants.
They bully me with
Their immense Size.
Then elephants turn to pigs,
And the pigs can fly!

We end up flying
To Hell
But it is frozen over.

I wake up to find
Nothing has changed.
Thank God.




This is meant to be a comment on my abhorrence to change, it's not an actual nightmare I have...

[trippy star]

There are two poems of mine of which I am particularily fond; one is fairly recent, and one was written a long, long, time ago (in a galaxy far, far, away).

Strife (Hernardo)

And then, flying
High above all
I had known; careless
As a rock fashioned by the sea,
Called its home. Not an individual:
Not at all alone;
When it! The bane
Of a life, now lived loved – lost;
Denied the callous cowards the price
They would have paid; spat,
With ardent vigour in the
Face of a society,
So “morally just”;
Exposed the fraud: esthetic, material, lust.

And then, striding
Tentative, headlong,
Into a world far removed; not
Foreign, yet entirely new:
With peoples scattered about like the dappled morning dew.
And suddenly I was confronted,
By neither apparition nor strength of arms;
But, by a passion fierce, a compassion boundless,
In this world apart.
Dry eyes, wet with wandering tears, stemming
From spurned comrades, exploited without behest;
Wiry boys. Frail, little girls,
Crowned by orange crest.

And Lo! Behold!
This school, newly arisen.
This path unproven yet
Undeniably old;
From the lethargy of life have I been driven,
Where now there is fire, there once was cold.
And I have been freed, by the poverty surrounding,
Gasping, gaping; infused
With new life.
This Grief, whose pangs will never escape me,
Could perhaps prove the end of merciless
Strife.

Why is it always so?

So long, so short
So fast, so slow
One second your there, the next your not
Eternity passes by
You are eternity, the only forever
For me.
Again I feel it; the world passing my mind
The world, my world, you.
As the vision fades, the feeling remains;
The love, the hope, the need;
I can see it again:
Your hair in the wind, the ring on your finger
My only light in the dark.
Without you I am only a half, scarcely alive,
I need you here by my side.
And I will wait
For eternity, for you, my love.
So long, so slow
Time is my vice and I’m unable to break free
Why is it always so?

[PrinceMyshkin]

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.

What a glorious poem. It almost cries out to be set to music: "almost" because it seems already to have been.

[PrinceMyshkin]

On second thought:




Intimations

A shiver of something quick
goes through us now and then
as if
the misaligned heart
were about to fracture under bone

or, far off in outer space,
a silent planet
thinned itself
against the dark, alone.

[TheFifthElement]

What a glorious poem. It almost cries out to be set to music: "almost" because it seems already to have been.

Thank you Jerry - this remains a pivotal poem for me; it was the point where I thought 'Yes! I can do this poetry thing.' and so I think I will always have a fondness for it.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Thank you Jerry - this remains a pivotal poem for me; it was the point where I thought 'Yes! I can do this poetry thing.' and so I think I will always have a fondness for it.

But isn't it dangerous to conclude that one can do "this poetry thing"? Someone once asked Auden (I think it was) how he felt after writing a poem, to which he replied: "I feel like a man who might never write another poem."

Now, PLEASE don't let that spook you!

And I can't help wondering if that feeling you had was like making love and feeling that one had finally, at long last, got it right!

[TheFifthElement]

But isn't it dangerous to conclude that one can do "this poetry thing"? Someone once asked Auden (I think it was) how he felt after writing a poem, to which he replied: "I feel like a man who might never write another poem."

Now, PLEASE don't let that spook you!

And I can't help wondering if that feeling you had was like making love and feeling that one had finally, at long last, got it right!

:lol: :lol: yes indeed! Of course we are only ever as good as our last poem, or our next perhaps?

[Whosis]

It's probably true that the last poem holds sway over whether it will be the best or not. My recent last poem is my personal favorite. It's about imagining a scream in a dream, which may not sound like something at first, but the poem is well crafted. It's all one sentence, too, which is nice for a fourteen line poem. It unifies the theme and makes it read like a sentence that has one beginning and one explanatory end. I would post it here, except that would probably nullify my chances of seeing it published in a magazine, for example, because posting it online is considered publishing :p. I have quite a few Shakespearean sonnets written--this is one of them, so that the poem stands out is exceptional. I'm Benjamin Anderson by the way, author of Sirens of Morning Light and Eighteen In Cross-country Odyssey. You should be able to see my poem out in print soon (not too soon). If I remember, I'll consider publishing it by the time I've published the book of poems.

[cacian]

this one:

it is corny when love is wicked
and when it is not
it is insipid
it looks clear
but the intention
to fear
is evident
love adores
you to adore it
but when you ignore
it
it internally
appauls
jealousy to its awe
claws
at the ready
it draws
I hope you thaw
to seize it is slow.

[tailor STATELY]

Hard to choose from my collection; for today I choose this one:


Lost

the bobcat hunts
lost is that
tacet clarion -
the still noon

tail bent
north to the lost
this still as bone
cat couchant

lost is the silent
tao blur -
that cool-tint
note chants bach

no cotton lace
that's it - still -
the sabbath
the unicorn lost

2/15/2016 Each stanza an anagrammatic representation of the lines:
"Narcotics cannot still the tooth/that nibbles at the soul" by dearest Emily

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[Danik 2016]

Interesting elaboration of an anagram. I have to pass though. My poems are all very recent, any older ones are hidden in the forum.

[spikepipsqueak]

Aggregate some steel around those nerves.
Lay them in the fire until they are immune.
Work them ... hard.
When they are malleable, open to impression,
Create.

Ploughshares are better than swords
But dree your own weird
And keep your temper.

[Danik 2016]

Thanks for this impressive poem spikepipsqueak.

[tailor STATELY]

Duplicate bug

[tailor STATELY]

Great poem spikepipsqueak !

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[spikepipsqueak]

Thank you both.

For some reason I woke at 4 this morning, thinking about this thread and that this is a better fit for the thread.

Teddy Tour Tag

They are not your toys anymore.
Replenishing the blood that fed your
Vampire lust, they grow past the ropes
And ties you used to bind, and hope
Can learn to flourish, though they
Never can forget the offhand way
You used them. You, who batten
On the innocent. Create a flattened
Affect in a child whose potential
Was for joy. Their lives, their essential
Being, diverted to feed your cold, dark thirst.
In all the sick, sad world, your type is worst.



(Blush) I was angry. But this is probably my favourite.

[Danik 2016]

Interesting poem, SQ, but angry indeed.

[tonywalt]

And now what?


The snow this morning falls
it is wet and young

and will wash away. I can smell
the grass below
my shoes ease down into the mud.

The few women from my life
are still sleeping
somewhere in Minnesota or Ohio

I walk across the pasture with only
a few young colts for company.

Timid and big boned
they are like girls I remember

from school, who never
said much, and kept their heads

looking down, and their arms crossed
against their growing bosom

They are nearly forty now.
Like me, they must sometimes look out

windows on early mornings
onto silent backyards, with rusting barbeques
and the fences of houses in neat rows

I imagine they go back to bed
and think of whoever used

to make them happy
and wonder where

they have been taken.


I don't know why I'm wandering
out here this morning

I don't care about the girls
Whether they've made
sense of their lives.
They can have it.

I only want to walk
a little longer further away
from the house

and feel the cold,
raise my face to
the falling snow.

I will resolve nothing today.

[Danik 2016]

Love it, Tony. Will I ever graduate from verses to real poems?

[tailor STATELY]

Great poems :)

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[tonywalt]

Love it, Tony. Will I ever graduate from verses to real poems?

Expression is what gets me. When the form appears, the expression wanes, sometimes, unless one is really good.