So......doesn't anyone have a new word for us? :(
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So......doesn't anyone have a new word for us? :(
If I may, in honor of your return, how about ... HOME. :yawnb:Quote:
Originally Posted by ampoule
Yes, HOME. Thank you fire.
Where the Heart Is: Home
Down at the end of a short little block in town they call Maple Street,
There is an empty lot on the right hand side of the road.
I have all of my memories buried there always waiting, it’s my retreat—
As a boy in the 60’s the little white house there seemed like a treat,
As poverty-stricken as we were, at least we had a home.
Down at the end of a short little block in town they call Maple Street,
My mom raised three kids on her own sometimes wondering how to makes ends meet,
And I learned responsibility and how to hold down a job of my own.
I have all of my memories buried there always waiting, it’s my retreat—
How those old wooden floors resounded with pounding of happy feet,
My little brother and I, lost in our dreams and our fantasy tomes.
Down at the end of a short little block in town they call Maple Street,
We finally had to move away from there to an apartment complex from difficulty.
I was in the hospital at the time and when I was let go, I didn’t go home—
I have all of my memories buried there always waiting, it’s my retreat—
But the old house fell in the great flood two years later; we were safe as could be.
Stood and watched from across the river until the old homestead was gone—
Down at the end of a short little block in town they call Maple Street,
I have all of my memories buried there always waiting, it’s my retreat—
Pendragon
© 8/7/07
Earlier the night long rain ended,
and now rises like watery ghosts.
Everything is muted with morning
as if morning is trying to recall
what it has been doing
and where it has been, and I
know from some old experience
not to speak. So my eyes whisper.
Sitting on the damp rock wall
watching the wet waffled empty
bench, I sense someone there,
but there is no one now.
The concrete walk shines, reflecting
nothing but indistinct sky, soft
and ethereal like a child’s hair,
distant lone trees and towers
stand like shadows in a darkened room.
On the walk is a brown long neck
bottle, its reflection sharp, another
bottle joined at the hip, the whole
making alligator jaws or binoculars,
through which I look this windless
gray morning, wanting to see
how distance found its way here,
wanting to find the lens that reaches home.
You have truly beautiful vision, firefangled. Thanks for this.
.
greeted with a warm smile
whispers of comfort and acceptance
easy communication in familiar surroundings
an acknowledgment of radiance shared
the peaceful luxury of being
myself
friends never met
keyboards only connect...
can this be home?
answers escape me
questions scattered in the wind
a breathless moment away
.
cdn/02jul06
.
Footlocker
No burro, no horse, no ox,
but a wooden box of army-green
lopes along, carrying my treasures
from house to house,
but it is my true home,
that footlocker.
Father-built,
a baby girl playpen made room
to hold Tiny Tears and paperdolls
and books with golden spines,
and Mother said whatever fits,
you can take and the layers began.
A Chinese tea set with dragons,
Korean dolls from Father keeping peace,
a tiny silver and turquoise ring made
by roadside natives, lava rocks, and
a tearful note from a little friend
whose party I would miss.
Layers of photographs and stacks of 45 love,
with books by Uris, the love scenes earmarked,
and letter sweaters and yearbooks and ribbons
and trophies and poems and stories and books,
always books and love notes hidden,
all frosted with Grandmother's garden quilt.
Yes, like some luscious rectangular layer cake,
I imagine the contents turned out upon a plate
to make my mouth water as I eye all of the
wonderful fillings, just sweet enough with memory
and the right amount of teary salt and sprinkles,
sprinkles of color from all I have seen and done.
And as I look around this messy room,
stacked with papers and books, music and photos,
what would I choose today to fill that box,
and I know...Tiny Tears, paperdolls, books
with golden spines, a Chinese tea set, Korean dolls,
a silver and turquoise ring...all that, and a thankful heart.
.
I love those morning drip drops after the rain has just passed by.Quote:
Originally Posted by firefangled
And whispering eyes...how beautiful.
Home is where we are, right?
I love the buddhist saying, Wherever you go, there you are.
Another word please. Someone, anyone, please choose.
Well, to follow "HOME", the next word is.....
Heart
This is my first go on this thread, so here goes
The heart of the matter
Peel away the layers as if it were an onion.
I know the juices make you cry.
Maybe if you hold it under cold water
or cut off the root first
the sting will be lessened.
It is a hard thing to face the pain
or general discomfort one finds
at the center of their own personal universe.
What things are hidden there-
secrets, lies, fantasies, ambitions, longings?
Peal away each thick layer and examine it.
Is it fodder or fit for your consumption?
Once you have revealed the heart.
hold it up for all to esteem
and chew over the sweet juicy center.
.
“Keep that door closed!”
the heart shouted back.
“Don’t you know any better?”
And he stomped off,
in search of a stronger padlock.
.
cdn/10feb07
.
Quote:
Originally Posted by motherhubbard
What things, indeed, MH. Beautiful beginnings for this word.
Psssst! I am cheating and writing this at work. I will tell them you have encouraged me to, if they ask. They won't ask. I am the strange writer with hawk feathers hanging on his computer screen. It's good to be strange. :p
Heart was the word, correct. This one may be too personal, and if you think so, PM me, and I'll remove it. OK?
Feeling empty again…
Forgive me if I sound bitter
I’ve tried so hard to understand
I know your job is important
And that things can’t always go as planned
But I just came through hell again yesterday
And I can still smell the flames
And here I sit again alone
I’m not saying you’re to blame
It just seems that when I need you most
Other things always get in the way
I can’t fight this battle all alone
I just don’t have the strength
God knows you’ve been more wife to me
Than I ever will deserve
I’d never have made it half this far
If you hadn’t helped to heal the hurt
Oh, but I wish and long to be together
To feel that magic once again
To feel the pain get chased away
By your fingers on my skin
To gaze into those deep green eyes
And fall in love with you all over again
To feel the brush and taste of your sweet lips
As you tell me I’m your man
Oh dear God it’s so hard—
Feeling empty again…
Pendragon
© 6/25/05
Heart out on the sleeve, perhaps, but heart...
It's a brave poem Pen, and beautifully done. I hope you share it with your wife, 'cos she's the one who needs to read it.
One of my own:
An Empty Heart
It takes me just a moment
to realise you are not here.
Your name echoes around the
empty chamber, reverberates off
the walls until all
that remains is
a nebulous murmur.
There was a time when
the thought of you sent
blood rushing; my veins
pulsed to the beat
of your voice.
Then it was gone.
And over time
the muscles weakened,
the valves closed;
I am left alone
in this lifeless
silence.
Please do not remove this Pendragon. Sadly, it speaks for hundreds, maybe thousands of marriages. Yes, it IS personal and it IS sad and troubling but it is....now what were we talking about on another thread....truth. You have poured out your heart for many with this beautiful poem.Quote:
Originally Posted by Pendragon
I'm reminded of the naming ceremony of the newborn grand-daughter of a friend of mine, when the child's father held her in his arms and spoke his wishes for her future, among which was: "My daughter, I want you to be strong enough to admit when you are weak."Quote:
Originally Posted by Pendragon
Quote:
Originally Posted by ampoule
My neighbours have taken to walking
their pet anchovy
at peculiar hours of the night. A rather
laconic anchovy it is
or perhaps it is saving its words
of fish wisdom for some other
‘hood. This one
is becoming decidedly déclassé
with that flashy marlin
driving his pimp-mobile
and the three dissimilar
trout sisters with their perfectly
identical Smart cars.
How on earth do they know
which belongs in which?
If the anchovy knows
he isn’t telling.
Sounds fishy to me. Are you poking fun at some of us? It's very 'cute' with lots of fun images.
Anyone else?Quote:
Originally Posted by CdnReader
Like a weary wanderer funnelled
through his course, beating
the last waves of a feather's lust
for sky
this feeling lingers in the chest
as droplets do in tubes compressed.
Oh, she has read it. She is the rock that first convinced me to submmit my poetry to magazines and the rest is history. I always pour emotion into poems or songs, without it, I couldn't write.Quote:
Originally Posted by Bii
Thanks to all of you, and God Bless.
Pen
http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1.../PuppyLove.gif
I know the sound of two hearts beating
One softly in a fast flutter
The other like a battle drum
The two intertwined in a rhythm that is not broken
They grow together and mesh
And as one begins to rest the other takes over
To become the greater sound
The stronger drum
That faces the battle for both
I've only been able to read from post #256 onward today, and I am deeply touched by the poems Pen, amp, Bii, Il Penseroso, CdnR, and Mother.
Birds like black smoke rise
from Autumn's fire. Cool nights
pull fescue from its roots,
and wire grass hunkers down
under the brown and amber past.
I am sad today that I must go,
the Jonquils now are sleeping fast.
Yet gold lies all around; to be,
rather than to seem, a sign
that first green too may last.
My boot print leaves no trace
in your mountain streams. Look
there in a trout's face for me,
or on a patch of once tended ground
where rue grows with the columbine.
What led me here I cannot say
for sure, or what kept me here
was ever meant to be,
but I know my heart was blue
long before I saw your skies.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Pendragon
pen, beautifully bitter tears will be shed with this poem; but they need to be. it is a beautfiul poem, thank you for allowing us to read it.
steph
This is really lovely and full of a sense of release. Thank you fire.Quote:
Originally Posted by firefangled
And Steph. Thank you for quoting Pen's poem Feeling Empty Again ...
This one is very moving Pen. It seems that love lost or love being lost is taking over now and I'm just so emotional.
Heart
Tall, I stand against you and
trace your heart with my fingertip,
the scar so knobbly.
Your skin, so rough, it scratches my cheek,
but I place my ear against you
and hear the pulse of seasons.
Strong arms, I remember, lifted me high
into the sky so I could see a robin's
early breakfast or late night stars.
I put my arms around you and squeeze
and though you do not move,
I know you like it.
Again, with my fingertip, I trace your heart
and the arrow and two chiseled names,
with tears for the pain it caused you.
This is charming amp.
Those three opening lines are like the stirring sounds of a battle hymn! and the rest is more than up to them. What a moment or two or three it must have been for you in writing them! Did you perhaps get up afterwards, throw open your front door and shout out to the evening sky I've just written a bloody good poem!Quote:
Originally Posted by motherhubbard
Thanks Jerry, for the compliment, but I liked #252 better. I'm beginning to think I have an obsession for onions. It did make me miss being pregnant.
Thank you. :)Quote:
Originally Posted by apples of gold
What?! You are NOT pregnant? That is as if one of the laws of nature have been revoked!Quote:
Originally Posted by motherhubbard
I wouldn't say I liked this better or less well than the onions poem, but as with all our poems, we make each of them with love and then release them to the world, and the world chooses how to receive them.
Quote:
Originally Posted by ampoule
Oh, A. this took me by surprise. I was thinking a person and that it was too much for that with knobby scars on hearts...but the end ripped me. I am a freaking tree hugging pinko commie.
Beautiful.
And here is what that old man (I say that with utmost affection) Jerry was saying. He expects these surprises from your poetry. Like the flower uprooting itself and walking to the nearest raging river for a wild ride, having had enough of #^%!!@ droughts and flash floods. Like me he may be set in his ways. :yawnb:
Amp, I think ths is most lovely. I can loose myself is swaying branches and even find beauty in the bare winter branches. I think I'll print this and put it in the cover of my copy of The Giving Tree.
Yeh, and prolly one of those who's in favour of universal health care & AGAINST global warming, smog emissions control &c. &c.Quote:
Originally Posted by firefangled
Yo! Mr Spring-chicken! Remember what Oscar Wilde said about youth...Quote:
Beautiful.
And here is what that old man (I say that with utmost affection) Jerry was saying.
Dude! Even my ways are set in their ways!Quote:
Like me he may be set in his ways. :yawnb:
Hmmm...let me guess which one: As soon as people are old enough to know better, they don't know anything at all.Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
No...wait...wait...don't tell me: I am not young enough to know everything.
I just made $300 for that plug.
Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
But I think maybe...To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable.
I like this one, especially!
For more of the importance of being Oscar Wilde go IBOW.com
Thank you very much mother. The Giving Tree. What an honor. That book is amongst my top ten favorites.Quote:
Originally Posted by motherhubbard
A little story.
I read The Giving Tree to my class every year. I used to tell them, 'Now boys and girls, I might cry a little when I read this, but it's okay. I'm okay. It just makes me happy and sad at the same time'. The problem then was that the children spent most of the time looking at my eyes to see when I was going to cry instead of listening to the wonderful story. Now as I read it to them, I just let my emotion show and most of them 'get it'.
And fire....thank you VERY MUCH for your explanation. That really helped.