And the word is...

[ampoule]

She sings of pins, the mouths of birds,
among the sheets her mother hangs,
of wings which rise with night
and stir the air of dreams throughout the house.

Monsignor tells her, God hides in song,
and waits for her at the hour of death.
She is more direct with spirit things,
dreams of Kyries to feed the wings of sleep.

Father guides the choir, gives her scales
she evaporates in meadow larks,
and thrushes on the way, the room left quiet,
hushed and still like unnoticed rain.

The sisters give her pages, signed with clefs,
and birds in cages fluttering solfeggios:
she sets them free before their paper clouds
in a sky the sisters do not see.

She sleeps in sheets crisp with the day.
Like will-o'-the-wisp her breathing winds
around the bed, the chair and past the open sill,
as birds wait silently in the unfinished air.

Oh fire, this is so achingly beautiful. I am printing this off to tape into my choir folder this morning.

[PrinceMyshkin]

When Adam heard the voice of God
in the Garden call out:
“Adam, where are thou?’
he went and hid
–as we have been doing ever since.

But then the voice of God
drew near his hiding place
and called out once again:
“Adam, where are thou?’
He found another hiding place
–as we have been doing ever since.

But God came close again.
“Adam, where are thou?’
And Adam understood
there were no more hiding places,
stepped out and said:
“Heeneni!” (Here am I!)

As you and I must do
now - or soon.

[ampoule]

~
~

evanescent

~
~

[Pendragon]

Fade to Black

Just a breath of whispered air,
A touch of faded might-have-been,
Memories lit by firefly glow
Hard to recall, eroded times.

Smoke from a campfire rises to the sky,
Mixed into the mist of maybe so.
The eyes that once never missed a thing,
Now play havoc with the words.

The mirror shows the face of someone else,
Carved out canyons on puffy flesh.
It’s the eyes that have lost it all,
They now give visions of pain, and not the soul.

Each night the prayers still go up to heaven,
“God bless all my family and friends.
But if you’d have sometime left over after that
Would you mind if I just went home?”

Funny, he isn’t really all that old,
And probably has a lot left to share.
But every day that goes by it seems a little more of him dies—
Tired out from fighting and homesick…
Just slowly fading to black…

Pendragon
© 9/27/07

[firefangled]

Fade to Black

Just a breath of whispered air,
A touch of faded might-have-been,
Memories lit by firefly glow
Hard to recall, eroded times.

Smoke from a campfire rises to the sky,
Mixed into the mist of maybe so.
The eyes that once never missed a thing,
Now play havoc with the words.


Pendragon
© 9/27/07

I really like these two stanzas, Pen. Excellent poem, but so sad.

BTW, should "might" in the last line be "mine?" Or am I misreading?

[firefangled]

Who lives with the poet but himself,
with his ash and cinders of reality,
things he first burns in the mind’s kiln?

The real and imagined are dewy mornings,
the sun and moon equally bright in the sky,
and he must state which is the reflector
and which is the furnace — his progenitor.

And from which would come his love’s Sonata,
and where is love divided from the whole and how?

Who lives with the poet's immense, ubiquitous love,
when love must be substantial, a heartbeat, clear
and cozy, rooted in the deep redness of life,
even as it gathers the dim, distended morning into words?

On the concrete streets in a bright day,
the man next to you will board the same daily train;
you do not see who walks with him in the tiffany air,
fading sun in his left hand, evanescent moon in his right.

[TheFifthElement]

Who lives with the poet but himself,
with his ash and cinders of reality,
things he first burns in the mind’s kiln?

The real and imagined are dewy mornings,
the sun and moon equally bright in the sky,
and he must state which is the reflector
and which is the furnace — his progenitor.

And from which would come his love’s Sonata,
and where is love divided from the whole and how?

Who lives with the poet's immense, ubiquitous love,
when love must be substantial, a heartbeat, clear
and cozy, rooted in the deep redness of life,
even as it gathers the dim, distended morning into words?

On the concrete streets in a bright day,
the man next to you will board the same daily train;
you do not see who walks with him in the tiffany air,
fading sun in his left hand, evanescent moon in his right.

Firefangled - why aren't you famous? I'm yet to read a poem of yours that isn't beautiful, touching and wonderful. This is no less so.

[firefangled]

Firefangled - why aren't you famous? I'm yet to read a poem of yours that isn't beautiful, touching and wonderful. This is no less so.

Could you please make that rich and famous.

[AuntShecky]

Firefangled, you never cease to amaze me. You should submit "Bixby Bridge" to a poetry journal.

[gothic]

Fire,may be you wouldn't believe it,but the truth is-your poem brought tears into my eyes(assuring you,i am not that weepy-kind! ). how beautifully you presented the obvious lonliness of poets! I am touched.

[gothic]

I'm afraid if the subject has been changed...okay,here goes my attempt on 'hidden'....

Hidden forever

I reign everywhere.
I'm above,beneath
and beyond you.

I remain hushed and obscure,
despite all your quests for ages.
Time alone can define my solemn mystery.

Veiled with the myriad queries,
I prevail-the unique answer
To your existence.

[ampoule]

I'm afraid if the subject has been changed...okay,here goes my attempt on 'hidden'....

It's okay if the subject has been changed. You are welcome to post a poem about any of our words. The current word we are working on is EVANESCENT.

I liked your poem.

[Pendragon]

I really like these two stanzas, Pen. Excellent poem, but so sad.

BTW, should "might" in the last line be "mine?" Or am I misreading?

Thanks, Fire. Brain gets ahead of my fingers. I was never that fast at typing. The word should have been "mind". Changed now.

[firefangled]

I'm afraid if the subject has been changed...okay,here goes my attempt on 'hidden'....

Hidden forever

I reign everywhere.
I'm above,beneath
and beyond you.

I remain hushed and obscure,
despite all your quests for ages.
Time alone can define my solemn mystery.

Veiled with the myriad queries,
I prevail-the unique answer
To your existence.

I like this, Gothic.

[stephofthenight]

umm. what is our current word???