Starting a thread of tiny poems

Quote:

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Originally Posted by AuntShecky

I like the last four lines of this. Re: ambergris. It's whale vomit,usually found washed up on beaches, but you are
right in that it floats on the sea. Perhaps you could write a second poem on the paradoxical nature of the foul-smelling stuff, which is an essential ingredient of perfume.

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I am just one of those weirdos who can smell the Channel through the vomit. I actually saw ambergris once from the bow of a ship in 1959 and it seemed like it went on for miles. I have never seen so many gulls. Only once so many birds (Cedar Waxwings) in one place. The sound is deafening.

Trapped in a teardrop
I can't stretch my arms
stifled heartbeats
make me miss
the freedom
of being

father’s fist of words,
forgiving is love,
forgetting is salvation,

perhaps another time —
long smooth backstrokes:

blue mother,
and yet this refrain,
and yet you listen

Quote:

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Originally Posted by firefangled

father’s fist of words,
forgiving is love,
forgetting is salvation,

perhaps another time —
long smooth backstrokes:

blue mother,
and yet this refrain,
and yet you listen

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I loved this! Firefangled is one of the stars of the network.
Your poem reminded me of "My Papa's Waltz" by Theodore
Roethke.
See? Your Auntie isn't all negative!

I have to agree with AuntShecky on this one - that's a beautiful poem firefangled.

I'm no Jacques Derrida nor Cleanth Brooks.
I'm just an ol' dame who likes jazz and books.
I didn't try to get fancy,
I tried to be nice.
You'd think it was Nancy
And Tonya back on the ice --
For out came the cry,
"Why, Auntie, WHY?"
Not brain surgery, merely debating,
Not Tarantino slicing up a PG-13 rating.
They thought they'd been stabbed! But --
It was only a scratch, a paper cut.
If penance you want, I'll jump in a quarry.
But what can I say --
after I say I'm sorry?

(Note: The speaker -- the "I" of the poem-- and the author
are one and the same.)

that was a very cute poem AuntShecky. I for one did not have my panties in a wad. I'm sure if we could have seen your body language while you asked us the question out loud there would have been no hurt feelers.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by AuntShecky

I'm no Jacques Derrida nor Cleanth Brooks.
I'm just an ol' dame who likes jazz and books.
I didn't try to get fancy,
I tried to be nice.
You'd think it was Nancy
And Tonya back on the ice --
For out came the cry,
"Why, Auntie, WHY?"
Not brain surgery, merely debating,
Not Tarantino slicing up a PG-13 rating.
They thought they'd been stabbed! But --
It was only a scratch, a paper cut.
If penance you want, I'll jump in a quarry.
But what can I say --
after I say I'm sorry?

(Note: The speaker -- the "I" of the poem-- and the author
are one and the same.)

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Awww, very sweet, Aunt. And this thread you started rocks. Take care, Kizzo :)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by AuntShecky

I'm no Jacques Derrida nor Cleanth Brooks.
I'm just an ol' dame who likes jazz and books.
I didn't try to get fancy,
I tried to be nice.
You'd think it was Nancy
And Tonya back on the ice --
For out came the cry,
"Why, Auntie, WHY?"
Not brain surgery, merely debating,
Not Tarantino slicing up a PG-13 rating.
They thought they'd been stabbed! But --
It was only a scratch, a paper cut.
If penance you want, I'll jump in a quarry.
But what can I say --
after I say I'm sorry?

(Note: The speaker -- the "I" of the poem-- and the author
are one and the same.)

---

AuntShecky - a good poem, if unnecessary. No apology was ever required.

I've made a start on my Pylon poetry. First one really belongs here:

matchstick men
without matchstick
cats and dogs.

Equipment

Didn’t you ever listen
When you were taught—
We only fall down
To get up again…

You say you can’t see,
Eyes can mislead—
Trust what’s beyond senses
The heart and the soul…

That abysmal stench,
You find so overwhelming—
May be rancid reflections
Of your own broken dreams…

That pungent venom you spit out,
Lest it cause you to vomit—
Is it Castor Oil that you’ve prescribed
For other’s perceived ills?

Stretch out your blind fingers,
Seek out the roughest place on the tree—
Where the bark is so weathered and worn,
That side faces North…

Use what you’ve got,
You’re equipped for the journey,
The answer lies only
In using resources correctly…

Pendragon
© 8/25/07

^^^ I love this one, Pen.... especially this ...

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Pendragon

That abysmal stench,
You find so overwhelming—
May be rancid reflections
Of your own broken dreams…

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Great stuff! :thumbs_up

Quote:

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Originally Posted by TheFifthElement

matchstick men
without matchstick
cats and dogs.

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Cool, hope you post tons of these! :) :thumbs_up

This one's kinda old:

Merrily he shot with a grimace
six-shot hypocrite
with floating seashade eyes.

Scoutlike sentry,
comic book dreams
of knots unravelled.

.

Love, like life,
is experienced
in the
in-between spaces.
The places we think
are too small....
The places we think
nothing can exist....
The places we sometimes
ignore
or
forget.

.
cdn/26aug07
.

.

The silence crowds out
the words that should be said.
Neither of us asks,
because neither of us
wants to answer.

.
cdn/10feb07
.

My week,
Sunday begins it,
Church is the culprit
and I its accomplice.