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Mudcat Poetry Corner
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jim Lad Date: 03 Mar 07 - 01:43 PM Where's the right place to deposit some of my songs? |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jim Lad Date: 03 Mar 07 - 01:08 PM I will, Hawker. Still, I'd rather someone less "Celtic" did that to it too! |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: black walnut Date: 03 Mar 07 - 12:17 PM MARCH WINTER Sitting alone With you over there and your cool glass of wine Nothing to talk about Nothing to ask So I stare out the window At the warm blanket of snow And the sky is a bird And the feathers fall like the telling of stories. Held and displayed By untouchable walls Icicles of blue-rooted light Hang frozen on dead wood. I stand and walk Increasing the space between two Nothing to say Nothing at all So I lay down this sweater On the lap of the tall chair By the back door And tiptoe outside to my turned-down bed. (c)2001 D. Carroll |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Joe_F Date: 02 Mar 07 - 08:46 PM LINES INSPIRED BY A GRAFFITO IN _OATH OF FEALTY_ BY NIVEN & POURNELLE Think of it as evolution in action: Nature cares nothing for your introspection. She has far cruder tastes in vivisection, Which don't give either of you satisfaction. Hegel be hanged! It's not a contradiction. Think of it as evolution in action: Call it a conflict or a counteraction, Collisions needed for lubricious friction. It's lunchtime. Stuff your mouth with mame-lokshn And feel your paunch expand with each contraction. Think of it as evolution in action. Don't giggle, or you'll spew the whole concoction. And if you find the only sure distraction Leads first to rage and then to self-destruction, Take comfort in the obvious deduction: Think of it as evolution in action. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Hawker Date: 02 Mar 07 - 04:18 AM Jimn Lad, that is beautiful, have you set it to music? it feels like a song Cheers, Lucy |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jim Lad Date: 01 Mar 07 - 11:36 PM The Highway of Tears (I heard the owl calling out my name) By the side of a lonely highway Where the tall pines bend and sway Where the raven spins on a cold north wind And the owl spends his day. While the snow falls all around me And time drifts slowly by I turn my eyes to the cold grey skies then I hear my mother cry. Can't you hear me cry? can't you hear me cry? Oh Mother can't you hear me cry? And I'm sure I saw my sister Some time in the early morn. She came to me but she couldn't see me Standing here alone. And she seemed to look right through me Though her eyes were open wide. Then she turned around looking down on the ground and walked to the other side. On the other side, On the other side, Oh Sister I'm on the other side. And I wonder Do they miss me? Do they think I'm doing well? Does my brother know how I love him so Or can he really tell? Then somewhere in the distance At the closing of the day If the wind is right, in the failing light I can hear my Brother pray. Can't you hear me pray? Can't you hear me pray? Oh Brother can't you hear me pray? In the shadow of the evening When the moon comes over the hill I stand alone, chilled to the bone And I know I always will. Then morning comes around again It always seems the same My father's near I can almost hear him calling out my name Calling out my name, Calling out my name, I can hear my Father calling out my name. It's a long time now since I heard the owl, calling out my name. Calling out my name, Calling out my name, I heard the owl calling out my name. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amergin Date: 01 Mar 07 - 11:26 PM The Concert The noisy public house grows silent as her fingers gently stroke the strings of her lap dulcimer, fondling each fret to create every note. The music reaches its fingers out to grab and caress the listeners as they sit, entranced eyes gazing up at her face. Once in a while, they they flicker to her hands in a vain attempt to understand her magic. She smiles inwardly as she watches the audience and the first words of the song are tasted upon her tongue, escaping passed her moving lips. She closes her eyes as the hungry words transport her back to burned out castles long since ground to dust. She can smell the blood of murders centuries old, the smoke of battlefields now overgrown, and the sweat of lovers whose names have long been forgotten. Her words fall faint, her fingers slowly grow still, and she hears the thunder as the gathered multitude roars in adoration. Her eyes open and finds she is on the stage once more. nt |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 24 Jan 07 - 09:16 PM Refilling The gas tank when low, the coffee-maker, are easy -- Filled up again when, burned away in cells and in cylinders, They are tapped out. Not many moments to be ready For a new morning and another run down to work, up to home, Over to her place, no? The heart, now, fills and empties on another map of things, And flies furthest when nearly empty, stays home when full, And breaks untapped and unheard. Mornings Are not so easy, but when filled up a new one can be made, Even the moon is not too far. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: GUEST,Illegal Poet Date: 08 Jan 07 - 02:13 PM OLD FRIENDS "Love what lives... fry the rest." Like ragged gravel poured across a gutteral rasp, the words spilled forcibly from his lips as he preached to the rusting shrines, those decaying automotive shells which house their dust laden, forgotten worlds. Sometimes he referred to them as his children, a ragamuffin orphanage of seasoned metal, glass and rubber, shelved, piled -- no, more like configured, with a librarian's precision, sandwiched between each other and his memories of their era; collated recollections selectively inserted here, there; affixed, as dated license plates 'neath grills and bumpers no designers will dare create again; autosculptors, he believes, have lost their nerve and context. Rabbits, lizards, cats and birds, a dog named Bolts... this rabbled collection of disciples who have come, comprise a choir of sifted souls; their brave enlistment, or desperate gestures chasing significance, join them to the sacred grounds which grow the dirt beneath the eyeless carcasses, broken-toothed chromium grins, and creaking groans of squeaking rust. These meticulous caregivers occupy Eden's corner, nurturing via the pat of feet, fluttered wing and choruses of chaotic praise, this fragile garden. A quite distinctive fragrance wanders there when whisper-soft melting rain, splatters icing over every thirsty surface, activates a secret scent which fills his nostrils, with... imagination; as freshened soil and weeds enhance the fleeting prospect of those shiny, momentarily reborn painted metal skins; which in that greying light lose blemish, dent and sorrow; unmasking lost personas. Upon occasion he does settle gently still upon a dustly aromatic cushioned seat inside some chosen craft and sometimes studies starry depths through glassless windshields, notes the moonbeam-laden dashboard, and is comforted by those white-blue reflections dancing across such glorious art-deccoed landscapes stretched inside from door to door. As he fingers silver buttons, rotates dials, remnants of the last of all the real radios, sometimes he allows himself to hear a greater Tune which enters slowly, through open, hanging door; almost audible, the rich wrapped groan, chorded moans, heaven-spilled raptured tones of cello, low and lonely plays mournful, powerful, complete. Washing through the car, it effortlessly wraps him in the blanket of a God who apparently, also, pays attention. G.Brown |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: katlaughing Date: 07 Jan 07 - 11:02 PM Well done, Lucy and slowerairs! And, Jerry, who better to write a poem about but your mom? Thanks, folks! The folks I know Would to a person say I'll give you my love My caring, your pain takeaway. The friends I know Open hearts, open minds With gifts from above All the same, yet different kinds. The dearhearts I know Give to each or to all All kindness and care Though none sought glory to recall. (Bah! Haven't written a good poem in 2-3 years. Time to practise!!) |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jerry Rasmussen Date: 07 Jan 07 - 10:32 PM I are not a poet. I think that I've written a grand total of three poems in my life: two in high school under duress, and this one, after my Mother's death: Love Is Not Like A Bicycle Love is not like a bicycle You can't sit on it, or ride it It is not of the physical world Love may be expressed through words But words are not love Actions speak louder than words But actions are not love Love is not limited by time or space Love is omnipresent God is love In loving, we touch divinity On Friday, October 13th, Mom died But her love did not die Neither did our love for her die True love remains Jerry |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Metchosin Date: 07 Jan 07 - 07:21 PM Oh wow! This thread still gives me goosebumps. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Hawker Date: 06 Jan 07 - 08:28 PM and a seasonal offering...... Jacky Frost When Summers blue sky fades to grey And swiftly ends the shortening day When coldness takes the flowers away Ill dance the dance of winter Over hedges see me trip To frost the leaf and haw and hip To petrify each sparkling drip And dance the dance of winter Ill fade the roses red to white Redress the landscape in one night Make the cobwebs crisp and white And herald in the winter I'll tiptoe over lawns and trees The water pipe I soon shall freeze Ill bring transport to its knees And turn all things to winter In leafy Hollows, see me hide I herald in the Christmas tide Where man keeps snug by fires inside While outside, I am winter. Cheers Lucy |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Hawker Date: 06 Jan 07 - 08:26 PM Wow what a thread! I have not found thid before now, MORE talent out there! Humble offering from sunny!!!! Cornwall If there was no music If there was no music What a sad world this would be There would be no running water No humming bumble bee Who would wake the morning If not the song of birds There would be no singing Just hollow tuneless words Silent would be the raindrops Tapping on the pane The wavelets gentle murmur No more a sad refrain The howling wind a silence The crowing cock would hush No more joyous chiming From the linnet or the thrush No church bells brightly ringing No cheery kettle call No violin, no harp, no song There'd be no sound at all. Cheers Lucy |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: slowerairs Date: 06 Jan 07 - 04:51 PM TRIANGLE With smile that spoke of years of love He kissed her cherished brow Then very gently, stroked her cheek As he remembered how She once could dance away the night And put them all to shame But that was then and this was now With only time to blame. Now looking in those faded eyes He knew not, why he wept For he was hers and she was his Yet still the secret kept So frail was she, he could not speak Of how he loved another Instead, he kissed her once again And whispered, Goodnight mother. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Joe_F Date: 05 Jan 07 - 08:58 PM DEGREES OF DIFFICULTY Stop, and you still the ripples. With a finger the tangles are raveled. The knots rot with the rope. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: katlaughing Date: 05 Jan 07 - 02:58 PM Jaysus, LeeJ! Takes my breath away! Superb as ever, darlin'. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Lonesome EJ Date: 05 Jan 07 - 02:22 PM Ragnarok And it was like Cassady to go in search of Death in the same way he came at Life with a manic grin and a heart full of curiosity leaving no room for fear tripping across weathered black railroad ties oozing tar in the Mexican sun kicking sparks from loose gravel flipping a sledge hammer in the air to count three and catch it by the handle his powerful frame drained by the drugs and the sleepless nights fooling himself that his indomitable will his Life Spirit could face up to Death and dog her down Calling, daring Death to come at him and wrestle in the desert in the magnificent Ratlands where the contrasts were clear good/evil life/death light/shadow energy/inertia and only Cassady and Death were party to that last episode and he was found like Thor fallen with his hammer beside him his big fists doubled-up and bloodied and a grin clenched in his face with his clouded eyes staring straight up into a sky as blue as the edge of eternity |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 29 Oct 06 - 04:34 PM Unexplained Wheels The violence of tires, partly a mystery, Is quite normal. Most scientists refrain From rash conclusion – but, it seems clear, tires are driven By a complex system, they explain. Endless attacks on roads, curbs and sometimes children Is a natural phenomenon because The complex system follows natural laws. Heat and pressure seem to come to bear and the true Impact of direct current flowing in careful time, too, Is poorly understood – these sparks and magnetics whirl And in some way define the tire's higher world Or the governing awareness of the wheel, Perhaps the seat of all that it can think, or feel. In any case, in their natural sphere, Force and erosion, and therefore, fear Are natural concomitants of living In ways that seldom see forgiving. It is thought that when these details are better understood The question of tire-violence will be solved; then, we should Be able to cure them of their tendency to beat Mindless and brutal, upon the sleeping street. Finding the source of their brutal black embrace Will make the road-world a kinder, stiller place, Free of the screaming cries of blackened hard assault, As soon as we learn just what it is we ought to call The governing power, or the subtle link That drives it – or so the experts think. A |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amergin Date: 09 Oct 06 - 01:33 AM Another Restless Night Another restless night Of broken dreams And shattered sleep As I listen to your tranquil snores Studying your blanket sheltered form As it slightly shifts with each hoarse breath Frustrated I fling back the shadow darkened covers From my fatigued unadorned flesh To stalk in two furious steps To the concealed starlight framed windows And thrust aside an insignificant fragment Of the moon silhouetted curtains I gape through the murky windowpane To the silent flat across the car park Slowly raising my eyes skyward At these cold bleak southern stars Watching them throb with fragile distant warmth Straining to pierce this veil of winter I shiver as the bumps prickle across my body With the frosty air seeping through the glass I push the drapes back in position And crawl towards your sleepy bed Kneeling over you to tenderly sweep The plum coloured locks from your face And kiss good night your slightly opened lips nt |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Lonesome EJ Date: 09 Oct 06 - 01:18 AM The Joy of Breaking When the telephone rang, she forgot the ceramic bowl that held the strained carrots in an instant, small fingers grasped the rim held it high momentarily then flung it Pop! like a pistol shot instant of scattered shards and spattered orange paste with shock-pried stare, mouth agape he waits her reaction Shit! The word is spat against the phone Then his sudden gleeful laughter Fingers that grasp for something else to break That a child should take such joy in breaking would seem to bode ill for the man that child will be Except that Hands are sculpted by Time Brain is tempered and tuned and Fingers are given to making The clay at last turned deliberately, fired an Act of Slow Deliberation An act of Change which more slowly opens the Heart and at last reveals the Love of Making (should one transcend the Joy of Breaking) |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Cordwangler Date: 08 Oct 06 - 08:27 AM Trees Trees are such wonderful things; they grow up to the sky, They always seem quite friendly, And wave when I go by. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 07 Oct 06 - 01:25 PM
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 23 Aug 06 - 12:01 AM Joe: That is a very well made poem indeed; I love it. A |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 22 Aug 06 - 06:13 PM The Rattled Eye The rattled eye does not agree With things that normal vision sees But breaks the frame. The rattled eye, and fever-brain, Dismiss the normal form of things To ask why every flower sings, And every color smells of home, And every stone presents some broken poem. The rattled eye informs you That no one object can be true Unless heard through the sea Painted in heart-linked greens-- Yours, another's, it does not care Knowing just that links are there. And cataract and spalpeen, or what you will, Are useless, as the rattled eye sees further still. Woebegone soul, ruined by loss and pain Is nothing to the fever-brain that cries Back to the ruthless rattled eye That does not care, except for asking why. San Diego 22 August 2006 |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: GUEST,Joe_F Date: 21 Aug 06 - 08:45 PM INSECTS No, not with you or any of my kind, But with a pair of coupling dragonflies, Spindles gun-blue with wings of filmy black, Will I embalm the last shreds of my mind. Let chrevroned grasshoppers in full green dress Parade in chaos where my body lies To show me off, and I'll salute them back While overflights of butterflies impress The spies among the reeds. Oh, let me take My leave of water striders as they row To keep their station, court in ripples, make Quick, bright-ringed shadows on the rock below, And fireflies, dancing on the edge of night, Flashing their itch against the fading light. --- Joe Fineman joe_f@verizon.net ||: I wish I had never been born -- but who has such luck? Not one in ten thousand. :|| |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Lonesome EJ Date: 21 Aug 06 - 08:30 PM Well penned, Troubador |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 20 Aug 06 - 11:01 PM From William Faulkner‚s Nobel acceptance: I decline to accept the end of man. It is easy enough to say that man is immortal because he will endure: that when the last ding-dong of doom has clanged and faded from the last worthless rock hanging tideless in the last red and dying evening, that even then there will still be one more sound: that of his puny inexhaustible voice, still talking. I refuse to accept this. I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet's, the writer's, duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet's voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail. Regards, A |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 07 Aug 06 - 05:30 PM KeysMine weigh, now, almost a pound; In time, I guess, the first to go Will be the connecting rings, That link the house, the cars, the offices and doors Of places I was known; then The intimate teeth will lose their edge, Forgetting what it was they were to unlock. Finally the handles and the numbers , too, will yield to slow shocks, And only a place in time will haunt the rust Where once so many places came together. But let it be, as if there were a choice—dust Does not much care for wills and codes; To resist the passing of keys makes little sense. No more than the dying of locks. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: GUEST Date: 01 Aug 06 - 03:13 PM Subject: RE: BS: Which member could you live without ! From: Amos Date: 31 Jul 06 - 05:52 PM Oh, it was a vile and contentious post, And a thread it started had no merit From a wicked Guest with no guts or conscience, May the wrath of Max his soul inherit. Sure the thread grew long, then grew longer still, But 'twas nothing made it well worth reading Just a bunch of tripe, foolish and air-headed May the wrath of Max their souls inherit. Ach, these nameless trolls, may they rot in hell, With no courage their own names to be sharing, They are snipers all, with no wit or balls, May the wrath of Max their souls inherit. Kirk Glengood, Junior Souls of the Shameless and Forgotten Merriwether and Trollop, London, 1923 |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 30 Jul 06 - 02:26 PM Civilization: The Angles Along the road they spill – crystals and squares, Arrogant in blocky rows. Their brazen angles state, "This space is owned by the Others, who are not you; Take your Being elsewhere, and other-how." Attention deflects, ricochets like wind, denied understanding Of all they contain , defend, and hide. Trees are otherwise, and some other wisdom theirs;. With the wind, they have come to know Only learning to dance is great, And for this step, any being will do. "Dances go step by step", the trees allow; Down a longer road, in a different time, demanding Less thought to who is in, and who outside. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Firecat Date: 28 Jul 06 - 06:09 PM This just came to mind as I was gallowing in Mudchat, and thinking about all the war reports. If anyone can think of a title, please tell me! Let me take you on a journey To a world that never was Where all the nations lived in peace And nothing was ever lost No warplanes roared through the air No people screamed and died No destruction was there to be seen And no tears were cried No hatred sentenced men to death No terror could be found And the only thing that could be seen Were flowers on the ground Now you may wonder where this is I'm afraid I do not know But believe me, if I did I'd be the first to go. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Lil' Kiwi Date: 18 Jul 06 - 10:33 PM I'm reading all these poems (while I'm meant to be working) and it's fantastic! Thanks everyone for your sharing :-) I used to write lots when I was in high-school - in lieu of schoolwork of course. And recently I've rediscovered my poems and writing nature. So without further ranting here's one I wrote a few years back. It's one of my favorites. -=Two lovers Lie=- The gazing eyes dance across the faces like a game of cat and mouse Both at last imprint the other into the heart The shapes that are him she will never forget The curves that are her he will forever adore Two bare bodies pale in the moonlight pure in the passion perfect in the union as they lie close and calm They lie melting, him into her and she into him The messy hair from a thousand caresses The flushed faces from a thousand pleasures they lie tied to each other Beating hearts thumping in the silent night a night of such sweet surrender Surrender of love surrender of trust two souls presented into final completeness never to end as these two lovers lie. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: GUEST,Joe_F Date: 18 Jul 06 - 09:00 PM CRESCENT EARTH I kept an eye open Where night and day are places, But could not see myself, Because I was asleep Down in the dark of the cradle. --- Joe Fineman joe_f@verizon.net ||: A bank will lend you money if you can prove you don't need it. :|| |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amergin Date: 18 Jul 06 - 03:31 AM One Concert Moment Tiocfaidh ar la! She screams Clenched fist raised towards the wooden panels of the overhead Tiocfaidh ar la! She howls again Angry voice straining to be heard Over the heavy beating of raging drums The metallic squeals of the dancing steel stringed guitar The steady droning of electric pipes And the lyrical growling of the pissed off bard Tiocfaidh ar la! She shrieks a third time Black Guinness in her hand Tan foam slopping from her drunken glass Onto a once incandescent hardwood floor I observe as the dim ballroom lights Trace the ebony boundaries Of the intricate Celtic cross Permanently sketched into the back Of her pale freckled shoulder Her long red hair a stormy blood soaked sea While it rippled in the air As she bounced her head in badly kept time Again she cries Tiocfaidh ar la! "Our day will come" The tongue of a green speckled section of dirt That has not borne the weight of her ancestors In almost two hundred years Again the darkened fingers of the skyward lights Caress the twists and curves of her tattoo She jumps in a curve right arm towards the crowd And the illumination reveals the hypocrisy Painted on her left shoulder By a needle bearing skin graffiti artist And the light bends around the crimson dyed skin Forming an encircled five pointed star. Unexpectedly, she catapults her half empty Plastic cup of slate coloured stout Towards the electrified stage And surges forward into the crowd Elbows flying in a bloody ritualistic dance And disappears from my alcohol hazed vision nt |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 15 Jul 06 - 12:18 PM Thank you, good Sir! Poems are writ by fools like I; but only Gawd can make a sky, A |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Peace Date: 15 Jul 06 - 01:20 AM Beautiful, Amos. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 15 Jul 06 - 01:15 AM Leave me the joys of the wheel to have, Holding the colored lights and watered winds In mind, the touch of some caring Friend, and the dappling air. A bowl of well-done rice and meat; Hearing another girl speak sweetly, Or a fellow sing with gusto to the boys, And other of the wheels' perplexing joys; A sort of evening peace, From the turning sky; just these, Knowing they are something I may have earned; And we may leave the wheel alone To turn, and turn. Given, it is a dangerous frame of mind, Making the ordinary into ordinary rhymes; I have seen it tried, and done, before By innocents ignorant of a coming war, Who never dreamed how hot the world could burn And in a sleepy richness, slowly turned Until they were caught by bottomless surprise To see the wheel betray them in such wise. But such a sleep, and such a burning, Is in the moment and inertia of the turning. Early or late, a burn's a burn Easier to let the wheel alone, To turn, and turn.
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: CapriUni Date: 09 Jul 06 - 10:35 PM That is lovely, frogprince. Thank you for sharing it. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: frogprince Date: 09 Jul 06 - 08:16 PM To Kathryn Ann I had seen one Junked out before; The name already discarded, The trim and upholstery ripped away, The essential mechanisms dissassembled on the bench - For practice - The parts too worn to be reused; Herein is wisdom: To know for Truth, No longer fact alone, That each of us is mortal, Drawing to an end. A year passed by, And I was given this gift: To be present In a beginning, With God, And Kathryn Ann; When hope became frail thread, Stretched taut in human hands, And then cried out with being Someone Who would have need of a name, And of being taught it's meaning. This too is wisdom: There is cause for joy. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 09 Jul 06 - 03:06 PM Well crafted, Capriu! A |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: CapriUni Date: 09 Jul 06 - 12:57 PM Too long, too long, this thread so fallow lay, So I shall share a verse I wrote today: In Praise of Verse, and Iambs, Grouped by Five Quite oft, I've heard the Philistines complain: "Iambic verse is diffecult to learn-- Its fancy language taxes my poor brain! Prosaic speach is best, when it's your turn." Their puzzlement is hard to understand. Iambic rhythm pulses through the heart, And if they'd count the fingers on one hand, They'd feel the language clicking, part by part. It's prose that is a random, clutterd, mess. How many words to choose from? What's the count? (Reminds me of this office, I confess)-- A shifting heap that's harder to surmount. I'll versify my speeches all the time (Though if for business, I will skip the rhyme). |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amergin Date: 23 Sep 05 - 11:10 PM On The Birth of Poet He stares down at the empty white spaces Bordered with light blue lines Armed with the weapon of his choice Black gel pen held in his writing hand, Ready to strike. He contemplates the laws of his kind. The laws of rhyme, metre, and verse, But he is a wild sort, Ready to blatantly disregard such edicts, The mandates set down by his forebears Centuries before. His hand darts forward, striking the blank page Packing the barren arena With tightly curved letters and words Each meticulously placed in its designated abode Sometimes exploring outside the boundaries Into the unexplored vastness of Of the writer's vacant white egotism, And then his hunger is sated For a few sweet jerks of the clock's hands As he stares at the result of his labour The phrases melt into cadence and he smiles He smiles at the adulations he will receive His transformation into utter arrogance is complete. He is now a translator of emotion and truth A writer for all the people to hold high Revered by the teachers, detested by students He is now a poet. nt |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jeri Date: 07 Sep 05 - 09:32 AM LEJ, I seem to remember something about you writing a book. When it's puublished, I hope you tell us. I'd like to read it very much. Between Breaths The world breathes in and grows full. Ripe with life and love and inspiration, it dances and shimmers and sings. It dreams of great things, And it holds its breath because it doesn't want to go back to the way it was But it does because it must -- Nothing can remain that full forever The world breathes out The stretched out skin of a once greater thing goes slack It now knows emptiness and regret Death rides the exhaled breath It ravages those left behind It takes and will never give back The answer to the question "what's next" doesn't matter to those who remain "What's next" for them is another day in a world without love or inspiration A world with an empty, used up skin and memories of fullness And memories of breathing in and trying to hold onto that rich air, and losing it. Those left behind want that one breath back, And so the world, for them, does not breathe, But waits... Not to take another breath, but to want to. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Lonesome EJ Date: 06 Sep 05 - 11:54 PM Sorry I had to re-appear with that dark little rhyme, but it's been lurking in my brain since the Hurricane did its work. Thanks for giving me a place to take it, A. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 06 Sep 05 - 11:49 PM LEJ, Welcome back, man. We have surely missed you. A |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Lonesome EJ Date: 06 Sep 05 - 11:37 PM The Kingfish The Kingfish is the only thing Lives in water black as this where the Dead lie still and the vapors kill like a spectre bridegroom's kiss Between the houses, laid like graves with their broken window eyes reflected Moon bends into lines as the Kingfish fin slides by Prowling bands of thieves give way to the feral dogs and cats where even serpents twist and die to feed the feasting rats Roaring flame erupting into a blistered sky drops hissing cinders in the inland sea beneath the Full Moon's bloodshot eye When the voices of the Slaughtered trump the voices of the Saved and the fingers point the Guilty out in the Home of the Free and the Slave When babies mouth on breasts of stone and die in their Mother's sweat and old ones turn their eyes within as politicians voice regret Beware the shape beneath the flood where the Kingfish sucks a breath Poison is his lifeblood as he feeds on Fear and Death And the Breaking of the Levy is the Tolling of the Bell that draws the Kingfish back to Earth from his Kingdom down in Hell |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Firecat Date: 06 Sep 05 - 03:44 PM I wrote this after hearing about yet more bombing in Iraq. Sorry if it's a bit depressing. The Silent One I am no one At night I walk through your world unseen Observing the fear and sadness you live in I am alone I am no one I hear the cries, the screams of the dying I look and pass on, I cannot assist I am helpless I am no one I see the death and destruction you face The blown apart walls and blood splattered floors I am afraid I am no one I have left your world unseen The news reports tell of my departure I am dead. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Pistachio Date: 06 Sep 05 - 02:50 PM I've been amazed by the beautiful words enclosed on this thread and offer two little verses that 'came into my head' when I heard the sad news,and I've just realised Michael would have been 13 today :( For Michael - September 6th 1993 - November 20th 1994 There's one more star in the sky tonight Way up high shining so bright Shining down on his old home Telling his Mum he's not alone Telling his Dad, his brothers too 'Don't ever forget the life we knew Sharing laughter, joy and tears Don't forget me over the years' x x x x March 1996 It could have been the children in my son's class today Thankfully, tomorrow - they will all go out to play Sadly your tomorrows will never be the same Our hearts are breaking with yours We pray for you Dunblane. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 05 Sep 05 - 05:20 PM Prayer for the Hummingbird |
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