write or share a poem

Interesting poem, Penn; I like the way you have reversed the words for the second half - takes on a different sort of meaning or feeling, doesn't it? I think the poem is emotional and very focussed. Very cleverly, the poem completes the circle or cycle, which is the main theme here, correct? Being trapped in the emotional circle?
I like this poem very much. Interesting that you wrote this one in 1996. I feel it is one of your best that I have read. It is clearcut and more symplified and relies on the impact of the words and structure or reversal; it is quite unique. Good job, Penn!:thumbs_up

Penn, I really liked your comments to Zanna, this being part of what you said "Here, we all can learn from each other, that is the beauty of this forum and why I love to stay here." Your entire paragraph is so true and I feel the same way about being here. We are all equal and learning from each other....completely true.:)

Thanks guys, how about this for the first line

A curious, wrinkled confection
toward the bottom of the bag

Hi Ledsepp,

Here's your old lines -

An odd wrinkled crippled retarded confection
toward the bottom of the bag

New lines -

A curious, wrinkled confection
toward the bottom of the bag

Yes, I like this much better and it flows well - matches the second line lyrically, don't you think? Good idea. The word "curious" is a good one to start the poem off with. It makes one curious to read on. Your first line is now much more inviting.

Hiow do I post a poem? Ignorant in california?

Quote:

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Originally Posted by zwiefka

Hiow do I post a poem? Ignorant in california?

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Hi awiefka...wecome to Lit Net Forums!
All you have to do is - post your poem! Everyone is so nice here. It is fun, don't be shy. If you press "Go Advanced" you can better edit your text and also format, etc, and use the menu at the top. Then press Submit and you enter your post.
Hope this is helpful. Shared Haiku is fun, too, and you can get to know more people by their poetry. Hope to read your poems soon. Janine

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Ledsepp

Thanks guys, how about this for the first line

A curious, wrinkled confection
toward the bottom of the bag

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Yes! This line will jump off the page and grab the reader's attention in a very positive way! I think your poem is completed! And a winner! :thumbs_up Very good.

Here is a sort of test poem.
I'm doing my best to convey stong images through poetry. Here is a small attempt. Its about the several effects of blueness. It can be happy (bright blue skies) it can be angry (crashing blue waves) or it can be sad (cold, blue and dead). Tell me what you think:

Blue

A sketch so white,
streaked with blue,
iotas of dots,
in motleys of shapes and colors,
are many flocks of varied feathers,
above ravaging tempests,
lapping sandy dunes,
blue waves wash on sea shells,
playing catchy tunes,
and in that boat rocked yonder,
lies a corpse so wrinkled and worn,
white and shriveled, withered and blue.

(This poem is also a reflection of the short story called Angler no Longer, I wrote 2 weeks ago and will be posting soon.)

Blues

The slow walk of notes wail into a southern night
Escalating forced movement into tired limbs
the joints of an old man fly across broken keys
Notes jangle out, meandering conversation of keys
destined to open the locks of a clanking blue inspiration
The thrum of a beast, low throb based on a deep sea color,
the depth of a fiery music flares to life in grinding chords
Screams of joy emanate from a metallic mouth,
harmonious growls rumble from throats filled with inspiration
eyes flashing with a vision dredged of human sorrow
A fantasy pulled of the all to real human experiences
A steel blue legacy passed on by the scholars of deep thought
philosophers of a theory based on vibration appear from the smoke
Golden honey pours from the mouth of this earthy monster
Passion fed fiery and raw down shattered glass tones
hungry maw of the cobalt beast, down its cerulean throat.

here is a reworking of a poem i wrote earlier, but decided later on that it needed work, it is a bit of a continuation on the theme that you speak of, but talks more to the musical side of BLUEness.

I thought Blues was the name of thaat music genre; I still like it very much.

Like both poems 'Dole and Trisk.

'Dole: I can see the Blue Jays, the sea, the drowned man all in the poem...

Trisk: Yeah, I would change the name to Blues, as that is the musical genre, but images of Beale Street, Louis Armstrong, B.B. King, and others flow from the poem.

You want color poems? Dark as can be, maybe?



COLORS

Red is the color of the bubbling blood
that flows in scarlet streams from the slashed skin
of my right forearm. Watching it, I laugh.
It gives me a wonderful sense of release
from the pressures of a weary, tormented mind.
Sylvia Plath would recognized the feeling…

Blue is the color of my mood; the color of my feelings—
feelings too often painted in letters of blood;
the scattered ravings of an oppressed mind
encapsulated in a thin veneer of skin;
a caged animal seeking blessed release.
The imagery alone is enough to make one laugh.

Raven-black is the color of the hopeless laugh;
humor that never reaches the eyes, nor expresses the feelings
of the soul; just a pressure-valve, a release
to prevent total madness. The thin trickle of blood
is never a life-threat; the blade barely breaks the skin.
Any therapeutic aid exists solely in the mind.

Grey, it is said, is the color of the mind;
a twisted mess that resembles worms! What a laugh!
We lavish so much time and attention on our skin
and bones to feed worms! Isn’t THAT a creepy feeling!
One red worm crawls down my arm, a worm of blood,
while the worms that will devour my flesh seek release!

Yellow is the color of Light, of release;
the point of enlightenment that takes place in the mind.
The light engulfs my body, my bones, my blood.
Now, there is genuine mirth in the laugh,
an uplifting of the spirit and the feelings.
Energy pulsates all through this prison of skin.

Pale-white is the color of the skin
in which I live. The spirit struggles for release;
an emotional storm explodes in my feelings,
and a tiny voice (my own) whispers in my mind
things that I find so ridiculous that I laugh.
With a small cloth, I easily stop the flow of blood.

Having stopped the blood, I know a new scar will form on my skin.
But I don’t mind. I never have. I laugh.
If you have never experienced the feelings, you wouldn’t understand the release.

D. L. Harris
© 1996




Please feel free to comment. I've probably heard criticism far worse before. :nod:

Tickle her kisses off your chin;
Cough up those dusty memories
Thick and discoloured;
O'ersee the skaters scratching their faults thin

Perchance to Dream

Time as we know it is fleeting,
The moments are passing away
I’m getting so tired of chasing my dreams
And falling off of the edge of the world.
People think that because they know your name
They can see inside of your soul.
But they wouldn’t want to view the x-rays
Of the damages the years have burned into my heart…

They wonder why I am often a loner—
Why I stay away from the crowds.
They don’t seem to hear the scream of the silence
They miss all the flags, and the barriers themselves.
Haunted eyes tell a story better than words ever could,
But they don’t dare to look me in the eyes.
Are they afraid of the reflection that they might see?
Would they see an vision of themselves?

The dreams have turned into stark nightmares—
That demonic headless horseman chasing me!
I stumble through mazes that make a labyrinth look easy—
Poe or Lovecraft designed images in a glass darkly.
All I ever want is just to sleep quietly, slumbering sweet
On the soft downy feathers of my old feather pillow
Never a care in the world, angels watching over me—
Tonight I just can’t sleep…

D.L. Harris
© 2/16/07

I love it, Pen! It's beautifully written. One question, when you say "the reflection that them might see" do you mean they might see? Other wise I loved it especially the line immediately following the one I just quoted. It is very true.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by seasong

I love it, Pen! It's beautifully written. One question, when you say "the reflection that them might see" do you mean they might see? Other wise I loved it especially the line immediately following the one I just quoted. It is very true.

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Yes, I did. :blush: Thanks. I corrected it. That comes of writing too fast and not editing! :)

Wine lit light

(The light paused by my blue bay window)

It passed with a glance and shouted beauty through the screen-less
Panes.
When winds die, and the heat of day
Beds down,
Light comes to the window to rest its
Weariness
Upon my guests;
Washing them in hues of mellow
Green and
Honey brown.
It continues across the hard
Wooded
Floors, sunlit oak, bathed in light,
Glares past the quivering winded curtains.

Melds of orange, banana, kiwi.
Another cocktail round, and back again to a wine floor,
Aging into dullness. The sun has now crossed the
Tree line and angry spikes molest the floor and burn wildly into the
Paneled wall.
I relish
This
Transparency of
Drunken light; its aerobics sloppy and revealing.

I am devoted to its finish, My guest also remain silent.
I have paid dearly for this finish, (I will never
Leave this
Show.)

‘Looking along the remaining shore, browsing tenderly at its haggard nests of rock, “back from wench it came” we joke aloud.’

Light has gone too far to see.
An addiction now,
Craning my neck
For just a little more.
Lust full!

‘Sinful!’ Another joke around the table.

The wine has flowed too easily

Asa Adams 2007 copyright