Another strong piece, Haunted.
If we are allowed to choose a
favorite, I adore D22. It is a fine
bit of work...peace...
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Another strong piece, Haunted.
If we are allowed to choose a
favorite, I adore D22. It is a fine
bit of work...peace...
Bar, I value your opinion, thanks!
dafydd, how can I argue with you! Thanks! And so sorry you too had your own version of paper chase...
hack, thanks for taking the time, your kind comments are greatly appreciated!
You have great imagination Haunted. Your head must be a very weird and wonderful dwelling :)
keep them coming
JB
Thanks Jerry. Mostly mush inside my head but I can be inspired, especially with a comment as encouraging as this!
forecast
it’s hypnotizing
how the red cloud
morphs ethereally
into a hundred
free flowing silk threads
as the scented water
gently blends with
the blood
by the time it turns
into a sunset pink
the morphine
should kick in
Haunted your work is always quite thought provoking. Well done again chickie...
Hey Haunted
Im seeing a close up shot of a syringe and the blood pouring back in, creating a bloody morphine sunset. A Haunted sunset. Your words painted it in my minds eye. In fact im having problems getting it to fade . Beautifully done, Haunted.
Thanks Mary!
Jerry, I like your line better, "bloody morphine sunset". You are good!
Various images pop in to the mind, all of them moving! Keep it going! Oddly, it made me think of an old friend, dead now, who virtually survived on morphine, but still stayed positive, albeit a touch fiery. She was always known as The Welsh Dragon, because she was so sparky, but what a character!! Thanks.
Dafy thanks for the encouragement. I'm trying to get back into writing, it's good therapy, just what I need right now.
Morphine is a double-edged sword. For the gravely ill, if given morphine they might never wake up. So use it wisely, unless one is a dragon, like your friend. My condolences.
Haunted
you have many dimensions as this whole thread shows. I like them all. No sychophancy. Just like what you write.
JB
yes Jerry, I confess, I'm multiple personality :wink5:
penitentiary
the long slow deep
scratch marks
on the dilapidated wall
tell a story
on the ground
broken fingernails
lay as material witness
there’s no set schedule
for torture
the anticipation
is part of the torture
screams echo
in the empty cell
at times it’s only
in the head
outside
freedom awaits
in silence
there are
no visible scars
no feelings
nothing
it’s a different kind
of emptiness
so many times
I wake up not knowing
which side of the bars
I’m on
You my dear Haunted... I have no idea why you call these poems Trashy. They are all exceptionally good. But this one is better. This has now become one of my favourites. I love it. It's how most people feel, but deny. Well done again chickie.
this is really beautiful poem dearest,
i know the feeling.
but don't worry this world is illusion. the soul is real. truly :)
Mary, thanks for believing in my work! The trashiness will return, I promise.
Nik, I'd like to think that this reality is just an illusion. I'll always look to you for spiritual pureness.
Well if you are on the inside, you instruct not to be rescued. And as the haunted lady, bars are no barrier. particularly like the first three stanza's.
Jerry
(reality used to be a friend of mine) (PM dawn)
very observative Jerry... so, eh, what happened to your friend?
ask PM dawn ;)
ahh I was going to ask too, what's PM dawn?
I've got to say, Haunted, if I could write "trash" half as good as this stuff, I'd be feeling pretty pleased with myself! Keep the "trashiness" going, is all I can add!
Dafy, you are too kind. There will be more trash and I hope you'll return for the next one! I edit the first post each time I add a new entry, just hover your cursor over the thread title. See you soon on the next trash day ;)
overnight snow
we weren’t aware
the rain changed
over to snow
and snow melted
into slush
my boots squishy
socks soggy
all the while standing
on tiptoe
for the longest
goodbye
kiss
How gracefully this moves. Thank you.
I may be miles off the mark, and I may be reading too much in to this, but with a combination of the poem and your avatar, I can see a fond farewell on some awful, winter railway station, then a long absence. Done a couple of those! No matter whether I'm right or wrong, it's a beautiful piece of work. Thanks for sharing it. (Trash, indeed!)
I appreciated it, Prince!!
Dafy, I adore the visual you described and the storyline, why didn't I think of that! When I was writing this I was thinking of my driveway and then the scene moved to a New York City side street. The slush there is something else!
I love it when you talk trash! Thank you for your nice comment :)Quote:
Originally Posted by dafydd manton
Ah my Haunted once again, you show class and style.. Keep those trashy treasures coming. Mwah.
Ahh its trash day again :)
Loved the unexpected kiss at the end. There is a whole world of pleasure in an unexpected kiss.
thanks Mary, be careful what you wish for, there will be more. :)
yes Jerry, it's trash day again! I'm so pleased that the unexpected ending worked for you, thanks!
Some things are worth every second...and they would make the most miserable conditions worth remembering...and cherishingQuote:
Originally Posted by Haunted
I wish I had it in me to write right now...
Bien thanks so much for taking the time!
This goodbye kiss goes into eternity as if by the power of levitation, at odds with the law of gravity totally inadequate to bring and keep the moment down to earth....
Beautiful. Bar
Thanks Bar! I must say that your comment is way more beautiful than the poem you were critiquing.
the little dancer
she waited
till everyone’s out of the house
then ran into her parents’ room
pulls out their bedsheets
within seconds
she’s in a white gown with a very long train
waltzing with Prince Charming
the love of her life
focus.........
she waits
for her cue
Massive Attack’s Angel
ta tata ta dat
ta tata ta dat
from the heavens she descents
in a jet black patent leather bra
she’s a sensation in slow motion
her sinuous body waves
her soft and firm tongue rolls
on hands and knees she moves
along the edge of the stage
right into their fantasies
they wait till they bust
just to feel her in the flesh
they stuff 20s in her string bikini
still they want to give her more...
every tom dick and johnny
but tonight
the pole
is her only lover
Sic Transit Gloria Mundi! A lovely poem about a fall from grace. Or is it? I wouldn't like to judge the girl! Thanks, Haunted.
Fall from grace indeed. Childhood dream versus reality. Thanks Dafy for your comment!!
I wonder, is that last line meant to be a double entendre? Nicely done, I appreciate the transition from her innocent play-acting as a child to the somewhat less innocent play-acting expected of her as an adult woman.
You certainly can say that Prince, I opened it to interpretation. I really appreciate your feedback!
A clever piece, Haunted. And who knows what ambitions children have - as you say, dreams v reality? - great musical accompaniment as well
thanks Hill, glad you enjoyed the music :D
I was reflecting how simplistic the world is to a child, and how things really are when one grows up :(