Mudcat Poetry Corner

Subject: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 10:07 AM

I would like to offer you all a place to put your poetry, whether it is rigorously structured, , freeform, shmaltzy rhyme, haiku, irreverent doggerel, earth-moving Yeatsian profundity or cummingsoid rockets. Mostly I invite you to add something to the beauty in the world. here.

If time permits, I may get together with our Gaelic Goddess and start us an online book of it along the lines of the Mudcat Song Book of which she is the honored Keeper...

Please do not include epics. Paeans to television shows are discouraged.

Guests are welcome to contribute -- being members of the honorable community of Anons who have added so much to our rich poetic legacy.

Write well, write often, and add some beauty.

Regards,


A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 10:23 AM

Rainer Maria Rilke offered this to a young aspiring poet who was asking for his approval:

You ask whether your verses are an y good. You ask me. You have asked others before this. You send them to magazines. You compare them with other poems, and you are upset when certain editors reject your work. Now (since you have said you want my advice) I beg you to stop doing that sort of thing. You are looking outside, and that is what you should most avoid right now. No one can advise or help you - no one. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple "I must," then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your while life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse.

I include it here for encouragement.


A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 10:27 AM

Let me add that rules are simple: good efforts are invited and encouraged; no criticism of a destructive sort is permitted, veiled or not; anyone may include anything within the general guidelines.

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Mark Clark
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 10:30 AM

I know this isn't a musical thread
And I'm adding nothing to what others have said
But Rilke's advice to the insecure poet
Is true, too, of music... if you din't know it.

      - Mark

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: *daylia*
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 10:40 AM

Amos this is a wonderful idea! Thank you!

Inspired by such brave 'Catters as Thomas the Rhymer, I've had a lot of fun over the last few weeks posting some of my thoughts in rhyme. I really love doing it! I'm now duly inspired to create a poem that will stand by itself, without the context of a thread to have it 'make sense' (if that made any sense!) So now yer all duly warned ... it just might appear here!

Creative Mudcatters RULE!!!

daylia

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Chip2447
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 10:43 AM

One composed for my Niece O'Malley at the request of my sister in law...

Wishes        
Chip Martin
(C) 2002 H.A. Martin Jr.

Birthday candles and countless stars
Twinkling in the night.
Pennies in the well
And coins in the fountain.
Dandelion seeds drifting with your breath,
Shooting stars and secrets
Told only to your diary and
A few trusted stuffed friends.
My wish for you,
Is that all your wishes come true
And you can say, I Believe.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,dark and cold
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 10:47 AM

its dark
and cold
outside
but its darker
and colder
inside
my mind

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: harpgirl
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 10:50 AM

Don't Leave your Ropes out in the Rain!


The high rise window washer sways
Amidst the birds, on sunny days!
A speed break locks around his cable
And this keeps vittles on his table
I watch him Sqeegeeing the fixtures
with vinegar and ammonia mixtures
Hanging, seemingly suspended,
by fragile ropes and lines untended!
I marvel at thee window washer!
Within my office, low and posher!
Perhaps I'd offer reassurance,
If I didn't sell insurance!


inspired by a window washer friend in Arkansas who plays fiddle....hg

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Micca
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 11:55 AM

SHIPS THAT PASS

        In the night
        that has lasted years
        the ships we are
        pass
        The ripples you make
        shift and change my life
        create adjustments
        corrections of course
        and
        having rocked the boat
        they pass
        At dawn
        on the empty sea
        I watch the sun
        rise.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: katlaughing
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 12:33 PM

A DIGGER OF ROOTS

They are hidden
In vaults, real,
And, those within the minds
And memories of folks:
Tattered scraps.
If I am lucky,
Whole clothes,
Direct lineage
To my ancestors.
Making me a skilled
Observer, interviewer,
A digger of roots.

© K.LaFrance

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 01:17 PM

WOW!! Dang, you guys, I am shivered!! This is terrific! Thanks!

A

---

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Sandy Creek
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 01:25 PM

Monsters

My monsters hide
In the closet
And crouch under my bed
Mostly they thrive in my cranium
And crawl around my head
They come dancing out at night
When there is no light
They feel so right
Scurrying and prancing
In front of me
And only I can see them
And Only I can see...

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 02:21 PM

Interesting range of perspectives herein, I'll say that! :>)

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,Foe
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 03:02 PM

Hey! There's a stick

And a puddle mix

Of mud and water

I know I ought'a

Keep on my way

To work today

They tell me I'm

Too old to play

But who can pass

The chance to see

The look of mud balls

Droppin' from that maple tree

I could climb up high

And wait for Suzy Mae

To come on by

And then I'd show her

How I really love her

By droppin' down these mud balls

From the sky high up above her

But no, I must get to work

Suzy Mae's a long past memory

And they would say I play the simple jerk

A grown man with a suit and tie

Sitting high with mud balls

In a childhood maple tree

*******

copyright 1999 by Forrest Meader

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 04:06 PM

Aw, Forrest, I love it!

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 05:09 PM

Only the pleasures you can freely have will arrive;

Those you despise will drive

Harsh injustice into your heart and mind,

And make it logical.

Then, shun life and retire,

Or court it for sure madness,

Until your own kind turn from you, despairing that

You have forgotten all healing.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Bardford
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 05:23 PM

Excellent thread! But then there's this,er,doggerel,written when I was 8 or 9, but remembered for just this opportunity for critical international recognition:

We have a cat called Nugget
My mom won't let you bug it.


Peace,
Bardford

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 07:17 PM

Within and Without

Fire is in the universe,
And all the bodies dance it love.
Each spark has understood, each tendril of flame,
The universe is its combustion wholly!
This is why fires sings "Wow!" all day long.

Here by the morning camp,
Coffee-smoke twines higher
The still pining branches stay polite,
But the breakfast fire laughs to the sun,
Saying "One! We are one!"

Fire sings all the day,
Knowing the instant is the answer,
Since fire Is.
Fire is
the Universe.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: katlaughing
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 07:27 PM

Forrest! I love that; excellent for reading aloud! Thanks for sharing.

Great thread and talents, folks!

kat

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Sandy Creek
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 07:28 PM

Mindful

Where does one's mind go...
Where does it wander,
I wonder...
Does it go on vacation?
Change its location?
Does ir abort and abondon?
Does it take a hike?
Go cross country by bike?
How about an exotic cruise.
I have to be careful
Not to lose
My mind.
I may not remember
where I put it.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 10:50 PM

Montreal in Autumn

To flames, the ashes weigh nothing.
When you are among them, they do not matter.
That they were old timbers, spoke to owls,
Is only a dream to tell to water.

To ice. the summer water is faint memory.
Once you have surrendered and formed up,
The picture is lost of what you knew.
Freedom is the cruelest dream,
Of ashes or of ice.

Rhythm comes easy to the wild .
It is their answer in time
To ashes and frozen spaces.
Under maple leaves where their wild dreams are playing
They can show you dreams in Time's own frosted face.

Days are a matter of
Time and fire
Hours of summer waters yield to old ice
Leaves to ashes turn for prediction
Freedom is the completion of
All desire,
And it is in the very air.
Freedom is in the very air,
The completion of all desire.






Montreal, October 2000

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 11:08 PM

Engineers


They know, they know. They know because
Confusion pains the heart and dulls seeing
Not to know is heresy and being
Outcast in their own home universe of laws,
Immeasurably sinful

Therefore they need, and find
A way to know; and undo pain.
This brings reward, this brings catastrophe.

The catastrophe is avoidable
But not the reward. This makes things
More difficult. How they need, would die to have
A better way of knowing.

San Diego
August 16, 1994

---

Ok, enough already!! Your turn!!

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Metchosin
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 11:36 PM

Hot Vents

Surging
Oily vapors,
Belch from twisted stacks
And Tolkienian cracks of doom, black smokers spew
Into the relentless, cold, bathyal void.
A shimmering mirage of sulphurous waves,
Teeming with luminescent bodies
Darting to an alien rhythm of life,
Hidden from the
Nature that we
Fathom.

Copyright©1999 S. Grieve

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 11:41 PM

Wow, Metchosin.


Just wow, is all.


A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 11:42 PM

Two Haiku One


Each petal that falls
Adds grace, no
Matter where.
Wise gardner!

*

Some stars
Give more light, some
More beauty.
Am I responsible?

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Metchosin
Date: 12 Feb 03 - 11:48 PM

I feel I'm in distinguished company, there is some really, really good stuff on this thread.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Peg
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 12:01 AM

nice idea for a thread Amos! and lots of very good work in here so far!

This poem won the Morris Cup (best poem in English about a Cornish subject) in the Gorseth Kernow in Cornwall this past year...


Boscawen-Un, 30 October, Midnight


This black hood , pierced by stars, hangs about our heads,
a warm drapery, pressing down like stones
Upon the breasts of unrepentant witches.
The hallowed dew darkens our clothes,
torn as we plundered the gorse hedgerow,
branches tittering, alive with nightbirds,
(it blooms gold, but is russet red now, humbled in its descent to winter).
We flung ourselves upon this windblown heath,
attracted by dolmens, by demons,
by the mad epiphanies of a drunken dowser,
into this court of kings and ghosts and dancing maidens,
outlaws of heaven, time-keepers of earth.
Our hearts are become stone, throbbing, laughing,
older than books, wordless, hewn by barley sheaves,
Blessed, kissed, by cusp-born acolytes.
In daylight, we would be as bluebottles crushed upon a rough sundial,
consumed in powdered heat,
then lapped up by some lumpen, hairy, splitfoot throwback.
but now,
we are time itself, we gaze into deathless depths,
and see the pointed horns of bulls,
the gleaming eyes of archers,
the stag and the serpent,
blood of the warrior, wine of the mother,
the dust of stars that swirls down paths of ancestor glory,
cosmic ley lines linking planets to moons, summer to autumn,
heart joined to heart, and lip to lip,
confounding childhood lessons of the sky.


copyright 2002 by
Peg Aloi

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Rustic Rebel
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 12:13 AM

I just posted this yesterday on Jed's thread but I will put it here also,


                         Looking Out
I sit holed up in this little cabin in the woods.
I watch the snow come down, and the sun reflect it's shine
       Looks so divine.         Fairies glitter spread atop of the world.
I watch through the window at the little chick-a-dees
       Scampering off erratically
The blue-jays squawk and do their dancing in the trees
       Holding their heads high and gracefully
The wolves cry is the lonely cry of winter
The wind seems to sigh at the wolves capture
         For the deer fall silently as the snow.
I don't know if it's the wind that tells the owl    Or the owl to the wind
          Of all the wise and wonders of the land
Occasionally a pair of leaves, captured by a breeze,
          Dance along spirited and playfull - Yet restless for their journeys end
      Back to where they came.
A fox chase rabbit game is also played out-
          To the foxes delight he wins the game
A high squeal emits from the rabbit   Could it be a squeal of delight also?
            For it no longer has to play the game.
And with the long winter will come an occasional thaw
             The icicles repeat themselves, throughout this time
The sun will do a dance through them
             With reflections of spring to come.
I watch intently the life of winter And wait patiently for the sun to dance
               Through the final icicle.


Peace.Rustic(1986)

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Metchosin
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 12:37 AM

GROUND ZERO

Just outside of my window is raging
The confusion and chaos of war.
The legs and the corpses are piling
The abdomens drained of their gore.

The bodies are sere and discarded
The lives of a hundred or more
Legs tattered and matted and shattered
No sign of their life from before.

And up in the corner I see her
The cause of this plunder and gloom
From out of the shadows she ventures
The spider is tending her loom.

Copyright©1999 S. Grieve

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Metchosin
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 12:47 AM

And from my dear husband with a headcold and fond memories of chilhood.....

I think that I shall never see
....snort
A poem as lovely as a tree
....fort

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Rustic Rebel
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 12:50 AM

This is what I adore about Mudcat. There is so much talent and inspiration here. Thank-you Amos.
Amos, Mark, Chip, Dark and Cold,Harpgirl, Micca, Katlaughing, SandyCreek, Foe, Bardford(gotta love those short ones!),Metchosin and Peg(Congradulations Peg!) I say Bravo to you all!
I will add another...



                                                                                           Nov.14, 2002      
                  
                                       Drum

          I 've built myself a drum today using all the finest of materials.
Fine wood and leather, feathers adorn it, dangles and beads surround the base.
What a drum to beat on. I beat on it now with all full self.
Mingle with abandon the steady rhythms that I pound.

          Forces un-beknown to me, heed my call as I drum.
I am within bounderies of infinite wisdom.
I fear the calling of the angels.
I fear the calling of the gods.
I fear the whispers of the wind as they blow through my brain, and I drum.

          With the child-like extremes I endure, I drum
          With the child like extremes I endure, I drum.

          Visions of the past are abound and I call for assurance of my existance.
I rapidly ascend through the outer reaches of my grasp.
I falter only for a moment upon reaching the destination I have achieved. That is the drumming.

         That is the drumming of my soul as I soar.
          That is the drumming of my soul as I soar.

          I built this drum with passion and inspiration and hope.
Adorned with majestic aspiration and evolving dreams of love and peace.
Futuristic passions of things I have not forgotten from past existances.

            With drumming I am free to unlimitless desire
             With drumming I am free to unlimitless desire.

With drumming I am free , my drum does not limit me .


Peace. Rustic

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 01:02 AM

Dance of the Hearts

Ah, my dear, I turn the lights out
The candles reach for the overhead
Shadows dance across the room
Flickering upon the walls
Your hand is tender and soft
As I caress it with my lips
So hold me close to your breast
Let your heart beat against mine
As I place my mouth upon your lips
Let them dance together in time
The stereo is gently crooning
An old Scottish song of love
You hair gently drifts down your face
I wipe it back from your soft brown eyes
My lips press against your throat
And the dance of hearts begins
So hold me close to your breast
Let your heart beat against mine
As I place my mouth upon your lips
Let them dance together in time

nt

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: hacksawbob
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 05:33 AM

The little Haiku
   Opens window to the soul
       Freeing mind

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Sandy Creek
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 07:18 AM

Great stuff folks...here is a great site to "store" your writings and ramblings AND to share your thoughts with lots of other folks. Amos, are you familiar with this website?... angelfire.com/co4/carlmill7

Visionary

Does the darkness ever lift
or does it forever shift
from my left to my right
it makes for a very long night
there is never enough light to see
sometimes I am very much afraid of me

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Sandy Creek
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 08:31 AM

Storage

He cupped
her memories
in withered hands
this old man of clay
alone
in an old house
of gray
shuttered darkness
and the sad starkness
of one faded blue dress
fraught with yellowed flowers
hanging
in a closet
with no door
and Sunday's shoes
resting on the floor.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 09:14 AM

Wow!! This is amazing!! All so beautiful!!

I love thast drum of yours, RR!!

Sandy, I hadn't seen that site before. I'll have to go explore it tonight.

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,Foe
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 09:22 AM

Haiku


1.
Bluebird puffs himself

Against a new found rival

Window reflection

2.
I plant the pea seed

In a row with his brothers

Miracle appears


3.
A tiny whirlwind

Twists on the blacktop driveway

Dead leave come alive

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Sandy Creek
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 09:56 AM

By and By Children

By and by children
don't you know
forever you can't cry?
That someday you must grow
   by and by
into lives of paint
that smooth their lines
   with aged strokes.
The sun will hide
the starless night
   and the stars sleep
   all the time.

By and by children
   don't you know?
You'll grow up to die.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: MMario
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 10:08 AM

Not mine - but my nephews: (I want to adapt this and put it to music someday)

Small Gods and Moon

The day wanes, and the Sun creeps ever lower in the sky, his light fading. Shadows fall across the wood-land, echoes of the dark soon to come. They await a reply from the sinking globe above them, but none will come, for his time on this Earth is now over, and his sister's reign begins. She, the queen of night, slowly ascends to her rightful place, watching her brother plummet beneath the horizon.

His is a graceful descent, majestic. None can deny that the realm of day is his. But it is a band of twinkling stars and the pallid Moon that must now supply light in the darkness. She is a gem in the heavens; a pearl within the great oyster mother that is the night. Her shining is sure to delight the denizens of the woods and fields and streams below her, for she is gentler than the Sun.

Now,
she beckons her courtly attendants to her side, and sends them off, sliding on Moon-beams down to the Earth below. Once there, they gather together and utter the summoning.

From deep inside the woods the answer comes.
Small gods,
fuzzy gods and furry gods, all
scampering and scurrying
to answer the call of their great white mistress,
rushing to pay homage to her
they all kneel, and bow down.

The pale lady looks down at them as a tender lover looks upon the object of her affection. Slight breezes blow through the crowd. All they hear is a soft murmur as the Moon's blessing is given.

The creatures below, care-takers of the wood
and water, immortal and eternal ones,
small gods,
join paws and wings to celebrate all things good
about the night and about the lady Moon.

The small gods go
to collect nuts
and berries for
the feast
to come.


Small gods with wings
search for twigs and sticks
to build
a fire
with. They all return

with what they sought after and the dance begins.
Whirling and twirling each other about,
the animals of the forest are alive
as they had never dreamed they could possibly
be. Lovely
wild prancing
continues
until it
seems that they
must collapse
into a
deep slumber.
And so they do. They sleep,
and nocturnal nature
cannot manage to keep
their eyes open, or cure
the strange drowsiness that possesses them, body and soul.
They lie in the clearing where the fire still smolders, their whole
divinity spent on the dance.
The darkness is seeped in silence.

The Moon laughs, and reaches out to stroke the heads of her fur
covered subjects. They shiver at her touch, as light as it is, though their sleep is heavy, they start to stir. There is one last thing to be done.

When the night is over, it is understood
that gifts are given to the Moon by barons,
small gods
that are greater than the rest. The lady should
receive them, and in return, she grants a boon

to the giver of the best gift. The gods move
forward, and one of them is chosen. She
grants him his heart's desire, a glimpse of her face.
The small gods return to the woods,
return to their charges, now that
the celebration is over.
Night is finished.
The day will come.

Now it is her turn to fall to Earth. Now she must defer to her brother, the Sun, as he comes into sight. He shines with a powerful glow, brighter than she, so high, so mighty, the entire world is his to command.

Birds sing.
They are
small gods
no more.
Animals
are now just
animals, not
powers of the night.
The darkness brings
fancy and the
Sun
brings
comfort.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Peg
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 11:16 AM

wow MMario that is fantastic!

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: MMario
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 11:32 AM

*beaming w/ Uncle-ish pride*

yeah - I know.
He insist that the line breaks are part of the poetry. Myself, I'm not so sure.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: katlaughing
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 11:46 AM

Oustanding, MMario! WOW! And, Peg, congrats!!

I am waiting for a tune for this one; even had a publisher tell me it sounded like a ballad:

Waves of Sorrow

Oh, doest thou know then,
Of my heart, O weary man of sea?
It bends and breaks unto the ground
My love belongs to thee.

For I, a simple woman be,
Yet, the sea she is your bride.
In sorrow now I wander
Midst the bracken and the ruin.
Lost thou I have, alas, now then
The sea take me to my doom.

Then gather'd he, at midnight's rest,
Saw her ghostly pale divide
Twixt mournful sea and shore
When he came in on the weary tide.
With despair, his heart..he lost it
Out on the brine that night,
And knew not another, ever more;
No mortal woman's delight.

His maiden, bride, and mistress,
La Mer, called him out sad, but brave,
And there he dwelt on the Waves of Sorrow,
'Til he joined True Love in her grave.

© K. LaFrance

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: katlaughing
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 12:14 PM

I can post this now that I know my dad is home and okay. He had a health crisis two nights back and we weren't sure he was going to make it. As I sat waiting for news, this came to me:

Do you lie
Dying in your bed?
Or, are you better,
Living, awake, and well?

Am I an orphan yet?
Don't hasten that Moment, please.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Rustic Rebel
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 01:34 PM

Howl At the Moon

The night was upon us, We had nothing to do but wait for the rising moon.
We knew it was to be full and bright
on this night,
we were going to howl at the moon.

Found the spot, we all agreed, would be perfect for our quest.
Layed out the blankets in the grass, for which to lay upon and rest.

Our bottle full of moonshine, for which to help us all along.
The howling would commence, after drinking, dance and song.

It all was getting clearer, as the evening did go by,
the moon would do a number on us, for there was not a cloud in the sky.

Suddenly the moon began to rise above the trees,
The moonshine in our stomachs, already had us on our knees!

"Let the howling begin!" I heard someone yell.
Our low, guttural howls, soon did swell.

The moon rose higher and so did we, as our dance began at first subdued.
The higher the moon rose, our dance became lewd.

Clothes flew through the evening light.Shadowed visions of delight.
We danced in a circle, holding hands so tight, howling at the moon with all our might.

Every emotion inside, did come forth that eve.
We became the moon, that night, I believe.

Between the moonshine and the moonshine, my soul did fly,
as we howled at the moon, way up in the sky.

Before we knew it, the dawn was between the moon and the ground.
We were alright with that, because our voices couldn't be found!

We sent them away with the passing loon.
That night we did, howl at the moon.


Peace. Rustic (2000)

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 13 Feb 03 - 11:59 PM

Man, what a wild wide range of beuaty there is to behold here! I am really impressed, no kidding.

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 14 Feb 03 - 01:25 AM

Woodwork

Love brings out the fine grain

In the rough carpenter?s gentlest print.

Really, this is so ?

The ancient arts are signs

Of a deep-sea heart greening. Thus,

The fisherman endows the sea in a green love

And the builder, home his craft to discover

Finds no friend but a lover in green seas calling.



No hand who will not find the fine grain in his heart, should we allow

To bring any harm to trees; for fear

He will live dried days,

Of the green
heart bereft.



Here,

Hand on plane, the fine carpenter

River-tongues among cold stone,

And fires indifference to the core of gold

Sparking lights in mirrors. Grain

And the sea?s love calling

Bring him forward over the boundless bitter candle

Of time, to home.


Regards,

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Metchosin
Date: 14 Feb 03 - 01:38 AM

BALLET

Autumn's prelude
Arrives with the subtle change of afternoon light
Embracing an erratic dance
Of delicate wings.
From decaying logs beneath the duff,
Amber termites scramble
To begin their tremulous flight.
First one,
Then three,
Then finally a bustling host,
Wings newly flexed and fragile, fluttering into light.
Carelessly
They flit
To have their frail wings rent
Like Isadora scarves
On the spun wheels
Of awaiting fat chocolate spiders
With cream banded legs.
Or crash land,
Hurriedly discarding their wings, as if ashamed
They are not innately
Creatures of the air,
Then scurry,
By twos
For hidden places
Where a novice troupe will make an aerial debut
Next summer's end.

Copyright©2000 S. Grieve

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Metchosin
Date: 14 Feb 03 - 01:42 AM

I love this thread.....an incredible range of perspectives.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Chip2447
Date: 14 Feb 03 - 03:16 AM

I composed this haiku, one afternoon when I watched a Monarch butterfly fly down and land on the picnic table I was sitting at. The butterfly's final flight, for it worked its wings once or twice and then died.

The tortured scream of
the butterfly, echos through
all eternitiy.

Rather on the bleak side, but that was the mood I was in.

Chip2447

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Sandy Creek
Date: 14 Feb 03 - 09:07 AM

Lemmings

We seem hellbent on dying
rushing headlong to death
as if our last breath
will truly be our last.
We drag our ragged past
into the future
marching steadfast and sure.
We quickstep in time
with no rhythm or rhyme
and delight in this decsent
into our abysmal abyss.