Very clever and nicely done. Loved the gray.
I happen love those PCH bends, particularly the ones where I get a little dizzy from being so close to the edge. ;)
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Very clever and nicely done. Loved the gray.
I happen love those PCH bends, particularly the ones where I get a little dizzy from being so close to the edge. ;)
In morning’s last darkness I found you out
on your way home, under the full moon,
through a shroud of misty air. You did not know
it was me, the soft white night that enveloped you,
lying moist against your vibrant skin; it was I,
who could not speak, who drifted lightly to your lips
and gently rested there, then played and sparkled in your hair.
Caught within your motion, for the moment captive there.
Unseen you carried me inside your house, and I watched you
take petal from petal of clothing and could say nothing,
and could no longer touch you, could give no sign of love
you would see, but for one small tear, unnoticed on a chair.
Later, as you slept, I moved, silently, a thief enthralled,
through your room, feeling the residual warmth of your
clothing, touching what you hold dear, cherishing
each precious item as do you, becoming for the moment
the enveloped, letting you surround me as I had you.
For hours, hovering above the floor, so close with the fragrance
you had worn, like light against the morning breeze, I danced.
And then, glorious moment, I lay beside you sleeping, where
by your heat I lost all form and melded into you,
and slept as you slept, and breathed as you breathed,
then, in the fading darkness, became the fabric of your dreams
Oh my gosh! And to think I used to complain about the fog. Oh fire, that is absolutely beautiful.
damp tentacles wrap
around each figure
enveloping
it in peaceful serenity
found only where the sky ends
and the fog
begins
where everything
is hidden, everything
is secret
no one is watching.
a freedom in lies
and covered sins
the fog begins
here
embrace it
do not fear it
it brings freedom
Oh, I like that A-Dio....those tentacles, the secret....mysterious, just like the fog.
I remember this....Quote:
Originally Posted by firefangled
It was the first poem from you that I saw in this forum. Loved this then. Love this now. :)
o
Fog
the cold damp touching
my hair and cheeks
like the moist fingers of small ghosts
awakened at bedtime and longing
for reassurance
lying
quiescently, subversively,
like an evil dragon,
coiled in a corner
awaiting his prey
swirling like smoke
from a chimney,
it wraps around my ankles
like a slimy monster from
from a childhood nightmare
shivering, I pull up my collar,
and hurry home to you
qimissung
May 25, 2008
Sorry for any confusion; I was just trying to pay a compliment, but your poems are absolutely beautiful. q
Fog
The white lady caresses
Her lover, the Earth—
Snuggling him in soft blankets
That hide their intimacy…
Pendragon
©5/30/08
Wow, Pen, that is very very good.
I like yours too, qimi.
Thank you, ampoule.
Excellent metaphor, Pendragon.
NEW WORD....PASTORAL
Pastoral
The shepherd guards his tiny flock—
Is there a wolf among the sheep?
His gaze flies across the wooly dreadlocks,
Is there a set there that aren’t skin-deep?
A wolf within a coat of sheep’s wool,
Is still a wolf, a ravening eerie beast—
No place at all here for canine drool,
He must be certain that there is no doggy feast!
But the night is calm, and the sheep are safe,
No wolves around to cause them pain—
The shepherd collects a wayward waif,
Cuddles up the lamb and goes to sleep again…
The shepherd should sleep very deep:
It’s no problem for him to count sheep!
Pendragon
6/5/08
The word is: Fear
Very good, Pen. When I was in a Disciple I class, we had to take bible passages from the old testament and tell what we saw, smelled, heard, tasted and touched. It was a neat exercise and your poem reminded me of that.
Fear
She blinks, knuckles alabaster
White against her dark clothing
She breathes out
Tendrils of fear, twirling, wafting
Psychedelic in all their glory
Rivaled only by the dark fog spilling over
Outside. Watchful, with eyes
Replicate in the darkness
Waiting for your next mistake
Very nice Gilead. I would suggest you post this under Personal Poetry so more people can see it. This thread is considered a 'poetry game or contest' and the current word is pastoral. I just don't want your beautiful poem to get lost. Welcome to the LitNet. :)
Sorry about that, ampoule. A misunderstanding on my part.
Pastoral
It is twelve in the afternoon:
The clouds are docile and
Lazy in drifting where the wind may blow
To set themselves afloat in the sea of
Magnolia
It is twelve in the afternoon:
The trees stir and
Murmur in anticipation
Of the sun that will cast their shadows
Empty
It is twelve in the afternoon:
The sheep whisper and
Talk amongst them
Placidly waiting for the kill
Still
It is twelve in the afternoon:
The day is hazy and
The sun is high
Nothing moves and all things hang
Uncertain
^^^ This is beautiful, Gilead!! Welcome to the LitNet Poetry Forum. :)
Absolutely no need to apologize to me Gilead. I just want everyone to see your wonderful poems. You have captured that moment so vividly.
Very lovely poems, Gilead! :thumbs_upQuote:
Originally Posted by ampoule
Um. Amp, did you miss that I changed the word to "Fear"? Gilead was right the first time! Of course, then we would've missed a great poem... ;) :) :D
Thank you all for your encouragement!
Welcome, indeed. Wonderful work!Quote:
Originally Posted by Gilead
When the swing holds me
with its slats of air,
the blossoms in the orchard,
and the uphill breeze
give me motion not unlike
the clouds sinking
over my front porch roof
into their blue sea,
and I into the ocean of perception.
Aeons ago, or so it seems (I think it was April), firefangled posted a theme of Candle and I thought of this line, a poem, and for some reason I just couldn't seem to get it down. And today I did. Isn't poetry strange? So, this belongs here, really, not quite really finished, but kind of.
By Candlelight
His hands are as steady as the rain
falling through the cracks in the porch roof.
Slow light from the candle.
He cups the flame; the trembling stops
though the after-effects linger.
I shiver.
Wax drips onto the table
and hardens there, a swollen pool.
His breath is the sound of the wind
rattling the door as the storm breaks.
We are alone here,
together,
surrounded by night, the storm,
and somewhere out of view, the stars.
The flame flickers. Our shadows
on the wall melt, amalgamate.
His mouth is as soft as the clouds
pressed into the hills and the dark sky.
We find each other,
fluid, formless as light.
I think: this is how we enter the next life.
Sliding into warm openings,
breathless, hungry and searching;
soft light, a steady light calling us there.
His body is the flame of the light
burning where his skin is touching mine.
We are one,
together
moving like the storm;
destroying, creating the world over.
The candle shudders and dies.
In the damp sky, dawn light pools on the horizon.
You may keep these up now that you are back, but under no pressure from me.
I'm just happy you are back and with such a sensuous and brilliant poem. I for one could have waited longer in the dark, knowing you would be here eventually. What comes comes when it comes.
Good to see you Fifth.
Thanks firefangled :) good to see you too.
Impressions of the square from the monument
“To the memory of the following officers non-commissioned officers
and men who fell in the war in South Africa 1899-1902”
They died for this: stone at their feet,
and beyond a bustling summer market.
Bennett, Bolton, Buckett…
Hot scent of grilled fat,
spilled beer and sauerkraut,
potatoes and bacon in two foot wide pans.
At the other end: wheatgrass,
strawberry smoothies,
hot vegan wraps, and organic hummus.
…Cooke, Cooper, Crinion…
Stone, earth and rocks,
bespoke silver jewellery,
handcrafted bags: overpriced, under-made.
Tulips from Holland, sharp local cheeses,
replica watches, almost the real thing.
…Lally, Lewis, Lindsay…
Jazz brass in the background
(Parker, Gillespie?),
bickering voices rise over the notes.
People rush by, my soldiers they see them
busily talking on their mobile phones.
…Stott, Sellers, Sutcliffe, Smith…
For sovereign and country: they died for this.
Quote:
Originally Posted by TheFifthElement
You structured this so well, the walk. I think the art of this is that you passed no judgement in the way it was worded. The reader is left with the whole question of what you have made them see walking beside you.
At first I was thinking disrespect, but then I read it again and is seemed all about freedom of enterprise and expression.
Well done, Fifth.
Thanks firefangled - you're right, of course, it was not intended as being in anyway disrespectful, more a reflection of the fact that their sacrifice allowed those who remained the freedom to live how they choose, good or bad. And also a thought, or a hope perhaps, that if they had lived they would have been right there, chomping on the hot food, listening to the jazz and, perhaps, dancing. Dancing would be nice.Quote:
Originally Posted by firefangled
What's the word?
Quote:
Originally Posted by AdoreroDio
I believe we're still on pastoral but if you would like to choose a new word that would be great! :D
Hotel Insomnia
I can’t sleep, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have company.
I’m sitting here staring into an unblinking screen,
Surrounded by the ghosts of disappointed hopes and dreams.
Tried a sleeping pill, but I’ve had my fill of medical remedies.
Think I’ll go make myself a nice cup of Chamomile Tea.
My eyes turn into scarlet pits of human misery…
Why when you need it so, does sleep decide to flee?
Pendragon
© Saturday, August 23, 2008
*removed*
I wrote this rather a long time ago. But whatev.
Insomnia
Lie awake,
Screaming headache,
White-hot tears
Follow fears.
I want a sleep
For dreams too deep,
But too many thoughts,
Too many knots,
To be able to steer
Away from my fear
For all the feelings
That I can't feel.
Tell me shadows,
who
has hung the crescent
moon
so slant and golden?
Who
woke me and made this dream
ensue?
The cat watches by the lake, and
soon
stalks his prey among the branches.
Who
made this sleepless night?
Who
gave it to the owl and
loon?
I want to sleep so I can dream about this. Lovely.Quote:
Originally Posted by firefangled
Lovely poem firefangled :)
The word still is sleepless isn't it??
----
Sleepless
A fearful eternity of haunting nightmares and images,
The covers tossed from the bed by a writhing and impractical body.
A candle burning brightly is blown out, and relighted. Blown out, and relighted.
Again and again, in a nervous continuum of threatening silence.
The drama plays itself out, and the suns first rays strike hot and burning,
Eyelids finally closing ...
Closing ....
Awake!
Sleepless
I sit in my chair,
A glass of whiskey
Adorns my hand.
The fading glow
Of last nights embers
Scarcely concerns me:
The advancing sun
Gives more than enough
Light.
I read,
Quietly whispering to myself;
Tales
Of adventures:
Romances, lost
Beneath the waxing
Tides of time.
I feel that,
surely,
I must suffer
A similar fate:
My life,
too,
Must be enveloped
By time's cruel waves...
Advancing across the world
Like the sun's
Golden rays.
---
Whenever I stay up too late, I always find myself becoming very ponderous about philosophicle matters. So, even though my poem doesn't have much to do with the fatigue of a sleepless night, it has alot to do with the contemplation that comes with one -- for me, of course.
This is, of course, not a very modern day poem, and I, of course, do not have any type of study.
thank you balehead and Zeniyama. Very nice. I haven't been around for awhile so I missed these. Thank you.
NEW WORD.....APPARITION
In primary school they taught us addition
as if to hint that everything in life
would grow irrespective of attrition.
Later, when we learned of nuclear fission
we wondered what the point of all that erudition?
Wasn’t it better to focus on acquisition?
Or, taking heart from the Buddha,
conclude that much of life
is merely apparition?