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Ooops, Auto, this particular thread is not a contest. I was hoping you would have a poem for us.Quote:
Originally Posted by autolycus
I like yours too, Prince. Shortly after I was married we bought a Zenith stereo system that sounded sooooo good. I vowed I would never get divorced for fear of losing it in a custody battle. LOL
:idea: ...Isn't that part of what poetry's about?Quote:
Originally Posted by autolycus
*Grin* yes, it is, which is what made it such a hard choice; yours was equivalently but not identically as powerful as the other two in form and style...
Oops. I was wondering how to pick someone to hand off the next word to...
I'm sorry for making it look like a competition!
But there's no poem here from me, only a quotation:
"When is a raven like a writing-desk?"
Ageing (I)
A wall clock,
rooted to the wall suspended,
though its arms ceaselessly marching on
with the unceasing time,
is resonating tick tock every second,
like a heartbeat reverberating,
no matter if day breaks out
or darkness encroaches, howsoever,
just keeps carrying out its chore,
even though it seems bored
of its mechanized behaviours,
but don't really make a fuss
until it's famished,
and keeps on beholding the ageing world,
ageing people, ageing surroundings,
and is aware of its own ageing
on the one track lane of the time,
but remains bold and calm
knowing nothing in this world is perpetual.
all of us
the old surround us,
either in the mind or the being,
but all of us reach that point where we do,
then those arround us are saying...
the old surround us
Ageing
I think I remember you
Do I
Remember you
It was a long time ago
Wasn't it
Or
Maybe it's just now
This second look
But
Anyway
Nice to meet you
Again
ampoule, May Eleventh, TwoThousandEight
My Fog: The Moral Cleaner
I sat by droplets licking the light of a sunset's glean;
It dubiously trickled, then quickly took form,
On my shoulder's, in the guise of compassion it waned my forlorn,
And just like a friend on whose shoulder you lean,
When adversity is the visage of all that you've seen,
It seeped out my woe in the form of an evil conformed,
and hurled it in the crest of a volatile storm.
My heart was set free in a verdurous green,
My sockets of fog-lifted pupils now showed,
Life in creatures and redolence for what it was,
the last frost on the end of a dead tree bow,
a silver-limped collection of mushroom villa-fuzz
the rebirth of green from a seed moist sowed,
and a pollen adhered bee irradiating every petal with its buzz
while I sat by droplets licking the light of a sunset's glean
I really like your poem, Adolescent09.
I'm not sure which word qimissung has chosen for us to write about so why don't we go with the word....FOG.
Fog
Like the Coast Highway,
He was afraid of my bends, my curves,
The way I settled over him,
Leaving a wet chill,
He begged me to stop, quiet, not a sound,
At first, then the crashing waves,
I kissed the sweat on his brow,
His heart beating so fast,
But my kindness, like the sun,
Began to burn through and when he rolled
Over to the side, I let him get out.
ampoule, May Twentieth, TwoThousandEight
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.