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Quote:
Originally Posted by Granny5
I am giving you a big spontaneous hug that I can't help. I hope you don't mind.
You are such a perceptive parent to know this. Once we grow up, we must begin to have relationships as one person to another person for true love to grow. I try and explain this to my oldest. Sometimes she confuses independence with distance and it makes her sad.
May your cookies and coffee be the best you've ever had!
OK, HOw can I refuse that. I'll be right there.
It took a while for both of us to understand it all, fire. motherhubbard and her sister and brother are our best friends now. They have developed into independent adults and I don't think they live their lives trying to please us. That makes it easy to be friends. I think we just like each other a lot more now.Quote:
Originally Posted by firefangled
OH MY GOODNESS!!! No cookies, nothing to fix for lunch....why do I make these silly promises??? I'll put on the coffee.:lol:Quote:
Originally Posted by motherhubbard
What I want to know, is it US you are going to talk about. hahaha...you know, since we're the ones who aren't there. :D
oh, you are here. We don't have any good gossip about you, amp, to talk about unless you tell us something juicy.
words are............
but not less;
can be a soul in a parchment.
Thank you for coming
have a nice day
come visit again
now please go away
How did you sleep?
Did you rest well?
I work all the day,
played with some kids,
did homework with one,
then a bath and a story,
your phone call to say
"Good night my love".
Then I took that little
White Pill that I saved for
Last night and I slept
the whole night away.
Suspended in time
Waiting for you
To come home
To start living
again
Thanks Granny! :DQuote:
Originally Posted by Granny5
I left it up to you
to remember the constellations.
How they've become just holes in the sky,
now that I don't remember
their names.
This was great. It reminded me of something I read once about Gertrude Stein and her "long time companion," Alice B. Toklas when they were living in France and all the up and coming writers, the ex-patriates used to come and visit. Either Gertrude or Alice said, "We love to see them come, but we really love to see them go."Quote:
Originally Posted by Granny5
I wrote the following when I read the news story that said that people who socialize are healthier than lonely people, which reminded me of a title of one of Saul Bellow’s novels: More Die of Heartbreak:
Heartbreak
Hurts, but it’s familiar
and thus comfortable
and well-known by fans
of the Red Sox (or the Mets
or the Cubs) and by single
gals who spend weekends
with a crossword puzzle
and a cat --
and the legions
of those still waiting
for a lucky break.
You want to know
who has it? At your
next gathering, don’t
look at the spoilsport
sulking in the corner.
Look at the guy
telling jokes in the
center of the room.
Aunt Shecky
All rights reserved.
Aunt Shecky this is so true. The loneliest person is always the one at the centre of attention. An excellent poem (but tiny it is not!).
Yes, you should have started a thread...very huge poems. I get it. I like it.
[QUOTE=TheFifthElement;446368[/(but tiny it is not!).[/QUOTE]
Too long?
You have to admit
the lines themselves
are short.
About the only
thing I have
in common
with Dr.
William
Carlos
Williams--
teeny
tiny
lines!
(Have to get off the computer now! Hope to see you all tomorrow. I LOVE this site!)
Ex Libris
They’re all pals o’ mine:
Janie Austen, Nate
Hawthorne, Larry Sterne.
Personal friends,
Best buds
Across centuries.
You know how you’d be
reading their text
messages and all of
a sudden they say:
“Dear Reader”?
Well --
that’s me.
Aunt Shecky
All rights reserved.
I've never done this before. here goes:
In the economy of tacit favours
I can never pay you back.
For every undeserved smile
I'll raise a private army
to stand ready till the day
this simmering world
makes up its mind
to drown
Bête Noir
Security, modern man adores
you! There is no storm
nor pestilence nor poverty
nor even the deadly beast
lurking behind every door
that scares us more
than freedom.
Photographiaphobia
Maybe God is
not dead at all,
just camera-shy.
I think I've posted this somewhere before, but it is sort of tiny.
Press
If we
had no books
only ourselves
what would I
read in lines
of your face
how long
could I browse
the corridors
of your eyes
where would
I not hear
the echo
of your voice
even your heat
would speak
and we would
learn by embracing
and the press
of our fingers
And Today, They Found the Spoons
Now and then someone
would ask, “Where does–
did- she keep the scissors?”
“Closure” is a door that
seldom slams, though inevitably
inches away from “open”--
with each item recovered,
reclaimed, a short-lived
memoriam.
Aunt Shecky
All rights reserved.
Firefangled, I like the word-playi in title of the piece, "Press" and the premise -- what if we had no books--
is a provocative one.
Well done!
Yer auntie
Testily,
it's still oblique,
she says, "play me"
Aunty, this is so very subtly done and so true. The door never really closes for a loved one.
Thanks for this.
did not mean to hurt
you(did not mean to hurt
me)please say
you did not
I
for once i thought of......
to be forlorn forever.
faint tears on painting.
Unpick the locks
from my eyes,
I'm tired
of the darkness.
Quote:
Originally Posted by firefangled
Uh, then I guess the poem fails, in that according to your reading of it, it doesn't say what it was meant to say.
I said the door never slammed, but that it inevitably inches itself AWAY from being "open." With time, thoughts of the deceased gets pushed back into one's memory, which isn't piqued unless the subject -- i.e. a missing object -- comes up.
No, your poem was successful, Aunty.Quote:
Originally Posted by AuntShecky
I'm back again! I thought I'd lost this thread( or had it been started anew?) whatever, I'm just happy to see the thread again and put a piece of junk:p
Raining on...
It rains on...
crafting myriad cosmoses upon the soggy surface of the grimy roof,
speaking in circles of lives untold...
It rains on...
your bushy hair, on the gloomy pits under my eyes
one by one they mutely creep down...
It rains on...
and rolls away the green bottle with her last breath;
It rains on...
laying the last pledge of life on death's relic...
I think I need to mention that it's a part of a raw translation of the poem that I wrote yesterday in Bengali. I know that the translation is hideous as ever.I have never been a good translator:(
Magical Walk
Wildflowers grow
In fair Rivendell—
Not the home of the Elves
But a waterfall I know…
The Ancient One fell,
Not a God from the sky,
But a tree on the trail,
Couple hundred years old…
The Council is called
And they circle around,
Stones not at Salisbury—
But in the depth of the woods…
Mystical places like Avalon
Exist for you somewhen—
But you’ll just have to discover them
All for yourself…
Pendragon
© 10/8/07
Chick Sal Sand
Note how
in the dankest digs
someone remembers to water
the plants struggling
through lack of light.
It’s helpful to catch
the briefest spark of humanity:
the pedestrian’s grinning shrug
when the “Don't Walk”
sign won't change;
the abbreviated
lunch order scribbled
on a little green pad.
Aunt Shecky
All rights reserved.
Poem
Sometimes in this light,
a poem rises like dust
and I must hold my breath
and fill its spaces
with my words.
This is beautiful, fire.Quote:
Originally Posted by firefangled
my heart swings with joy
when I see little toddlers
playing happily
on the Literature Forums
with imagery of words
Pretzel
Rolled from a slightly sticky
column of dough, then
turning and turning, bent
backwards and forwards,
looped and relooped :
edible Infinity.
Aunt Shecky
All rights reserved.
There's nothing like
old wine
fresh flowers
youth
beauty
why then I crave for
Hot Cross Buns?
There stands Wendy, a kiss in her hands.
There is Peter, no one understands.
There’s Tink, enchanted and pretty.
And there's Hooke, he held no pity.
she came
but too late
the sun had set
darkness spread
no moon
no stars
jet black all around
engulfing
my evening of life
Music through broken windows
When a gentle breeze puffs
to open the front door
revealing the leaves of autumn
Lying on the floor.
I climbed up
The top of the Everest
but forgot the way
to get down
4 am and I’m alone
No one talking
The dogs sleeping
My shadow even missing
Quiet peace
Surrounds me
And I’m content
4 am and I’m alone
No one talking
The dogs sleeping
My shadow even missing
Quiet peace
Surrounds me
And I’m content
..........
Oh, what a pity!
you are awake in the night
until 4 am
alone
whydon't you get up
and switch on the TV
or cable if you have one
and watch the world
bustling with life
Or, if it may please you
fo out in the garden
have a short walk
talk to the roses
kiss the lilies
hold the chrysanthemums
and if the robin is awake
rub your beak with his bill
your nose with his nose
spank him
until he makes you laugh
and you laugh and laugh
until your eyes close
you fall asleep
and dream of me !
How lovely, mazHur! But it's my favorite time of the day. No one to bother me or want anything. I can read or write or just sit and think. But, I bet dreaming of you would be as nice.
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Pendragon