5454. RyckNelson - April 6, 1999 - 4:37 AM PT
Communal
Had I known that life was ending
glossing by the signs portending
soothsaying life as if composing
5455. Jenerator - April 6, 1999 - 5:54 PM PT
My soulmate loves me like none other
His tender affections I contemplate
I hope to hold him sweetly, fully
Until that time, my soul must wait
5456. Jenerator - April 6, 1999 - 6:34 PM PT
That's the last verse of my poem. I'm done with it.
Here's the poem in its entirety:
My soulmate waits amid the din
Of rushing ages and of nights
Spent sleeplessly waiting to embrace
The arms of innocence and sweet delight
My soulmate yearns to feel the heat
Of distant love's escaping light
A heart that has for ages waited
To hold the heart of his delight
My soulmate cries in lonely anguish
Separated by a timeless gulf
Of tears and trials and endless waiting
Our souls have yet to become one
My soulmate loves me like none other
His tender affections I contemplate
I hope to hold him sweetly, fully
Until that time, my soul must wait
5457. Jenerator - April 6, 1999 - 6:41 PM PT
I should also add, don't expect any more poems from me anytime in the near future!
;-)
5458. uzmakk - April 9, 1999 - 9:16 AM PT
Interesting , Jenerator. Good luck.
5459. RyckNelson - April 9, 1999 - 9:37 AM PT
rondiaherlihy,
Your "Deep Blue" musings didn't go without notice.
Jen,
I hope you need not wait too long. Ya' know, enjoy the passions of youth, leave thy mother and father, etc...
I'm not poking fun, Your poem shows inward yearning. It also relates it to the timelessness of such yearnings.
Mine are very obvious comments, I find commenting upon the obvious can confound some people. I have no intentions of purposely confounding anyone, I wish only to support emotional efforts such as yours.
5460. uzmakk - April 9, 1999 - 11:58 AM PT
I also liked Deep Blue.
5461. Blaise - April 9, 1999 - 8:51 PM PT
www.ForPoetry.com Update:
Dear Friends,
Over the Easter holiday, I had the great pleasure of reading Mark Jarman's new book, QUESTIONS for ECCLESIASTES. This is an exceptionally beautiful book of poems. Take my word for it: You *must* get this book! And I'm pleased to tell you that Mark Jarman sent a wonderful new poem to us: "Cul de Sac Idyll." Check in and read it! You can order Mark's book from the bio page. Simply click Mark's name above the poem and it will take you to the bio page. All orders from ForPoetry help support our magazine.
ON BOMBING YUGOSLAVIA:
If anyone's interested...
Check out "The Glory of War Euphemisms." This article caught the attention of producers at C-SPAN and an AP reporter has included my statement for the Associated Press:
"Serb TV broadcasts are important if America is to uphold its principles of democracy. There is no possible way that the bombing of civilian homes, bridges and now civilians, themselves, would be fairly covered by our U.S. networks and presses...We are at least getting a chance to see things from `their side of the bombing' _ and let me say _ I'm not proud of it..."
FOR POETRY
5462. rondiaherlihy - April 10, 1999 - 1:55 PM PT
God's Will
My soul has been saved by God's love.
God sacrificed his only son for you and me.
The cross will always be our salvation.
Thank you God, for showing me the way.
5463. rondiaherlihy - April 10, 1999 - 2:13 PM PT
Shirley Anne
We sent a beautiful lady to God today.
She was always there for her family.
You will be missed by all who knew you.
A mother, a grandma, an antie and always a friend.
5464. RyckNelson - April 10, 1999 - 2:15 PM PT
bless your heart rondiaherlihy
5465. Fraaank9 - April 11, 1999 - 8:57 PM PT
Pretty World
Why don't we take a little piece of summer sky,hang it on a tree
For that's the way to start to make a pretty world for you and me
And for the summer find a red and bright ballon,you can hold the string
Oh can't you see that little world of ours will be the prettiest thing
We can gather rain enough for a stream to hold our happy faces
When we've got a breeze,I'll blow you a kiss or two
Take me in your arms and our little world will be the place of places
Nothing else to make but breakfast and love
We'll hang a sign that just says,"Paradise:Population 2"
I know together we could make a pretty world for me and for you,for you it's what I'm wanting to do, to do, to make a world with you.
( Am I allowed to come in here and sing ? Hey,it's beautiful poetry to me!) :-)
5466. Fraaank9 - April 11, 1999 - 9:19 PM PT
Like a Lover
Like a lover the morning sun
Slowly rises and kisses you awake
Your smile is soft and drowsy,as
you let it play upon your face
Oh, how I dream I might be like the
morning sun to you
Like a lover,the river wind,slides and ripples
its fingers through you hair
Upon your cheek it lingers without having known
a sweeter place
Oh how I dream I might be like the riverwind to you
How I envy a cup that knows your lips
Let it be me my love
And a table that feels your fingertips
Let it be me,let me be your love
Bring an end to the endless days and nights,without you
Like a lover the velvetmoon
Shares your pillow and watches while you sleep
Its light arrives on tiptoe gently taking you in its embrace
Oh, How I dream I might be like the velvetmoon to you
( Cammy,Motta,A.Bergman,M.Bergman )
5467. NuPlanetOne - April 14, 1999 - 11:09 AM PT
\
/
Re/ Jenerator
/
I am gone for a while and it seems I missed your entire poetic career!
\
/
\
THINGS UNTOLD
You see it on the faces
Of the girls putting their bags
And babies into vans
At the Super Market. Traces
Of regret. Of something
Of maybes. Of plans
They put on hold. Expectations.
Though I suppose
Things untold, to even
Themselves. Just etched
On a brow. Affectations
In a glance, yet somehow
A message. A stance
Resolute. Perhaps indifferent.
And me. Watching from under
My cap. With shades on
Looking hip? Unentangled.
Throwing my nachos and dip
Into the trunk. Wondering
How they do it. Cooking
And cleaning. Keeping house
Knowing how it sunk
My wife. Kept her from going
To that wished for place.
From showing her face
To me. I was going to be
All that mattered.
5468. Jenerator - April 14, 1999 - 12:20 PM PT
Don't worry Nu, I hope to post some more in the future! :-)
5469. uzmakk - April 14, 1999 - 1:58 PM PT
From time to time, throughout the day,
I like to let my mind go play.
I sit right down and tap away
And post a message on the Fray.
5470. RyckNelson - April 15, 1999 - 7:27 PM PT
Uzmakk has it right
Heights soaring flight
Night brings no fright
with Frayster Bytes
5471. RyckNelson - April 15, 1999 - 7:29 PM PT
Frank,
Lyrics are cool.
5472. Fraaank9 - April 16, 1999 - 11:43 PM PT
Ryck,
Thanks fer da support.Both songs are actually from my "Sergio Mendes & Brazil '66 Greatest Hits" CD available from A & M Records.
They are just poetry to these two ears when I listen to those two particular songs...what a beautiful sound they had. I actually saw them perform a couple of years ago.
I'd post some of my own poetry if it didn't sound to much like Heavy D. ;-)
Thanks again!
5473. resonance - April 17, 1999 - 5:13 AM PT
medea's lips in surrender
The best kind of poem
hangs breathless and waiting
in quiet for me to become and to stay,
its loose fingers marbled in air and a touch
in the pulse and a song in my bone,
strewn through the past
which is my way, resounding in stone,
the part of me which I would be one
with the sun and the set of the day
it's the only whole thing of which I am a part ,
the soft which I would that I would not name,
the truth which I make from the ashes of flame
in a place where our nature's the weft of the way
and my movement the warp of the void which binds
to which blind men pray. Nothing else is enough
for I have a hunger I've never felt elsewhere
a need for the raw bitter beauty I make
a taste for the crafting in silence and wonder
the slow growing love in the pleasure I take
in being a part of the best kind of poem
which I can shape only as I am shaped.
The peace of being a part of the play.
The beauty of this world is inside me
and my words cannot capture its blessed face
the shadow I sense in my closing eyes
the need for more than I can make
vanishing into the opening sigh
answered in the echo of chord from discordance
and the fall of dust on an empty floor
where the angels never were born to wait
for my assent, and my ascent, for which to pay.
Instead, oh blessed, in love, I am free.
Unformed.
It's only pain if you try to consume it
and it becomes love if you cease to do
and instead simply be, become held
in the soft arms of waking
where I kneel in the love of this silence
finding the fruit of a newer way
and my voice burns white within my chest
never to be spoken,
the best kind of poem
a creator creates.
The happiness of unmaking
that which unmakes.
The giving of giving away.
It's so beautiful
5474. resonance - April 17, 1999 - 5:16 AM PT
What Zarathustra thought
I would set you all afire
to burn you free of the part of me
deep in your bones. I don't like it being there.
You're all schmucks.
If I tell you to stand on your heads until you find God
hahahahahahaha
oh, yeah.
No, wait, I got it
watch this --
5475. RyckNelson - April 17, 1999 - 7:05 AM PT
Message #5473 is beautiful!
5476. JamesWright - April 20, 1999 - 9:37 AM PT
Boo!
5477. JamesWright - April 20, 1999 - 9:39 AM PT
P.S. That was a Caspar The Friendly Ghost 'boo,' not a "You invited Slobodon Milosevic for supper?!" 'boo.' It's too quiet in here.
5478. Blaise - April 20, 1999 - 3:21 PM PT
Greetings Poets:
Update at WWW.ForPoetry.Com
New poems by Jacqueline Osherow, Mark Jarman.
New Poets: Steve Mueske.
Politics: NATO's Credibility Problem.
ForPoetry.Com
5479. conniemack - April 21, 1999 - 10:00 PM PT
NuPlan:
Enjoyed Things Untold, parts thereof.
"Kept her from going
To that wished for place.
From showing her face
To me."
Has a poignance, a bitter(root/sweet) quality. A known substance. Without meandering or maundering Too much, I must say, One cannot hide what one does not have. And one cannot hope if wishes aren't kept. Alive.
5480. resonance - April 22, 1999 - 11:14 AM PT
and viva sweet love (e.e.had it right)
In rich spreading sunlight
old patterns awaken
as if they had never fallen to sleep
so I'm thinking
clinically, austere,
so I explain and define as we hit the door and
*push into that light*
and he lets out a growl as we enter bright day
'oh, yeah'. And I'm thinking *right*,
*see* there it is--
and he says
'Mm - Hmmm.
Gotta some evolutionary value
to mating in the Spring.
I mean look around.
everything's geared toward getting it
ON,'
he said, as we walked to the black
Miata with its hot leather seats.
'I'm sayin' YEAH, chach, look' at 'em bob
they bob, we look, talkin' 'bout
GETTIN' IT ON
that's what they're sayin', man.
All about it,
TIGHT, man, like a straight line.
Look at them yahoobies.'
And he's right. Their heads turn
bright behind mirrored sunglasses
hair in a halo of brush-sculpted all-right
and smile, clean tan limbs postured against time
and the soft allure curves of some coming night
as we get into the car and smile back,
astew in the rich sea of our genes,
cutting an august line as we pull out
cause we'll be coming back later,
mm - hmm.
And springtime is lovetime...
5481. RyckNelson - April 23, 1999 - 4:16 AM PT
res,
Spring break fever residuals, eh?
5482. rondiaherlihy - April 24, 1999 - 5:28 PM PT
The Beholder
Is all we see, all that will be?
Or all that will be, might be all we see?
To be, is not always for all to see?
For all who will be, do not always see?
5483. incognito - April 24, 1999 - 5:40 PM PT
I wish I knew which ones were original poems and which ones were copied from elsewhere!
5484. resonance - April 24, 1999 - 6:04 PM PT
The only times I've ever seen someone post someone else's poetry in this thread, the quoted poem has always been attributed or else the poster has said 'I don't know who wrote this but I think it's beautiful etc.'. I don't read a *lot* of other work, but I do read some, and I've never run across a stolen poem in here. The worst is a bogarted line (which, of course, in poetry is just fine so long as you acknowledge it, because then you're sort of maintaining the illusion that poetry is all a grand conversation with the old masters and the new). e.e. cummings is great for them, too. ;-)
5485. resonance - April 24, 1999 - 6:11 PM PT
We do have at least one nationally known poet here and some others have gone on record saying that they read from the Slate poetry thread. And there are others who are really well read in the field, too, and I don't think I've ever heard an accusation of 'misappropriation' in this thread. More or less, with the possible exception of the Music thread, this thread is the one which escapes the most of the nastiness in the Fray and even posters who are regularly nasty elsewhere usually keep things civil in here -- but still, you'd expect to see it made plain in a hurry if someone was cribbing someone else's work in here.
5486. resonance - April 25, 1999 - 12:08 AM PT
talkin' bout
'Yeah',
he says strolling out from the bar
in the still hot air of an ending day,
'You see her pushin' em out for me
when we were walkin' to the car?
That Sandi's a hottie
and dude, I'm tellin' you,
she was ALL about me at the party,
wantin' to know all about the Man,
YEAH,'
taking a drag and thumbing the radio.
'Goddam I love the spring.'
flicking ash out the window
he's grinning full of teeth
turning onto Bancroft with the light hanging yellow
and I love the spring
for its closed eyed smiles through my sunglasses
head down as I light mine up
and I'm thinking
how it feels so good to be
and he's just a-tapping his hands on the wheel
--She was not all about you,
she was drunk. Christ Scottie was feedin' her beer
like he was tossin' pork chops to a fuckin' dog,
and you're all proud of yaself
that she was payin' attention, --
'Fuck drunk, man, lemme tell you about drunk,
AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO and that hottie was
ALL OVER ME'
--so where we goin with your bad pimp self? Scottie's or Dan's?--
and the cigarette glows for a smile
in the hot air night chorus of time and blood
slow lazy turns of the wheel back and forth
because it don't matter, just so long
as we're live
alright
'AWOOOOOOOOOOOOooooo, *yeah*, Jakie's
talkin' bout TONIGHT --
5487. RyckNelson - April 25, 1999 - 6:11 AM PT
incognito,
Resonance has it right. Do you like to see mostly original work or are you looking for verbatum? Res has to my knowledge posted original work, I have nearly done the same. Res has mastered much and I will have a hard time offering up anything but praise for his work. NuPlanetOne does the same and JamesWright has posted about one original poem every six months. When doing so he exhibits a mastery I dream of. He has nearly single handedly offered me poetic advice to which I can say gives me hope of good works. As for me humility is key, and I go for emotions and visuals quite a bit.
5488. incognito - April 25, 1999 - 11:07 AM PT
Thank you for the clarifications! I had no intention of implying anything "foul" here I just didn't know what was original and what wasn't that's all!
I will assume originality from this point on unless otherwise noted.
:-)
5489. AzureNW - April 25, 1999 - 5:16 PM PT
That's a lot of fun, res. I'm tempted to speak the unspeakable.
5490. AzureNW - April 26, 1999 - 8:23 PM PT
Is this how I will feel?
To be cut off from you
In spite of my self
In spite of my family
In spite of everything
5491. verdeazul - April 28, 1999 - 2:15 PM PT
Lieber Jedermann,
Ego is a marvelous thing.
How do you suppose we learn to
tie our own shoe/bootlaces in one's
own particular/peculiar way, then
suspend Ourselves, the Law of
Gravity and Disbelief by those
same perilous strings, to sway
above the mire whilst ad-miring
the view?
To the best of our current
knowledge, we are made of spit and
stardust. Everything is negotiable
and skittering about like epileptic
water bugs.
Dein Palamino,
Rashomon Joneszul~
(from, "Puzzles And Pustles - A Life")
5492. RyckNelson - April 28, 1999 - 8:39 PM PT
Credit owed:
"The Wild Iris" By Louise Glück 1992 The Ecco Press, Hopewell, NJ
Other acknowledgements to editors of publications where this might have appeared first: Amer. Poet. Rev.,The N.Y.T., T.N.Y., etc.
Matins
You want to know how I spend my time?
I walk the front lawn, pretending
To be weeding. You ought to know
I'm never weeding, on my knees, pulling
clumps of clover from the flower beds: in fact
I'm looking for some evidence
my life will change, though
it takes forever, checking
each clump for the symbolic
leaf, and soon the summer is ending, already
the leaves turning, always the sick trees
going first, the dying turning
brilliant yellow, while a few dark birds perform
their curfew of music. You want to see my hands?
As empty now as at the first note.
Or was the point always
to continue without a sign?
5493. RyckNelson - April 28, 1999 - 8:43 PM PT
Tonight I read this "Matin" for the first time. It's last two lines struck me.
"Or
Was the point always
To continue
Without
A sign?"
The words beg, at what point is there a sign? Is there a sign of which to make a point?
5494. RyckNelson - April 28, 1999 - 8:44 PM PT
Hey, 'Zul.
5495. uzmakk - April 29, 1999 - 6:45 AM PT
I heard the lines of a poet
the other day
His words were original
not yet spoken
5496. Jenerator - April 29, 1999 - 11:47 AM PT
My computer problems appear solved for the moment!
No I'm not going to post a poem, but I thought this was the place to express my joy! :-)
5497. NuPlanetOne - April 30, 1999 - 2:36 AM PT
\
/
\
Thank you conniemack for your comments on ‘Things Untold.'
/
Res, I have been reading your latest offerings. ‘talkin' bout' is an excellent slice of reality.
/
\
Flowers And Frogs
It is strange with the Spring
How it can so deflate my spirit
I revel in its beauty
And pleasant sound
But so often I am pained
To hear it. How I go round
And round in my mind
Wishing I too, were new
And growing, re-born
Given a fresh start, a flowing
To awaken. A flowered
And warm beginning.
Automatic. To forsaken
The cold and dismal prospects
That so crowd my thoughts
And part the warm breezes
Making me an island
Eluding my feel and grasp
Wishing, again, I could steal
Away. My brain emptied
After a cleansing sleep. Stay
Forever, a sprouting crocus
Awakened by peepers
Not pouting, but shouting out
My joy. My hope
That my life moves forward
Only shadowed by the past
That to look there behind me
Is to move it too fast
No, It is not just one thing
But I so wish the Spring,
Were eternal.
5498. uzmakk - April 30, 1999 - 3:17 AM PT
NuPlanet:
Re: your above poem
Do not the peepers peep at night?
5499. uzmakk - April 30, 1999 - 3:34 AM PT
Do they ever waken one?
5500. RyckNelson - April 30, 1999 - 5:00 AM PT
I've been reading "ARIEL": Sylvia Plath and "The Wild Iris": Louise Glück. I agree with the forward of "ARIEL"; the rush of words within, melodrama of life, grasping last thoughts, pushing out bursts of emotion toward a canvas of print. "The Wild Iris" I find thought provoking, pushy yet empathetic, evolving beauty yet announcing "in your face" .
NuPlanetOne,
Your latest is both of the above without the "in your face". You speak of age, and reincarnation within the context of a crocus blooming again. Reawaken without spiritual context of resurrection. The end looking in the face of reality, with a wish.
Don't look back, but, remember the past. Wuz up, yo! spring comin' on phat!
I don't know why, I just do it.
5501. NuPlanetOne - April 30, 1999 - 6:11 PM PT
\
/
\
Re/ uzmaak
/
\
It is at night here in New England that the peepers are wont to orchestrate their chirping. But it is not unusual to hear them as the sun shines brightly. The awakening that I try to portray is how, like the crocus, the peepers are very often one of the first nuances that herald in the Spring. At least for me they always give me pause to stop and I find myself becoming fully aware that perhaps Winter is finally done. In this sense, at least, it is a kind of awakening of the spirit. And I must tell you from first hand experience that if you live in a wood hereabouts and an early warmth gives you cause to open your windows, and all is quiet and still, the peepers are quite a loud, though tranquil, annoyance. Toss in a full April moon and soon you take to staring intently at the moon shadowed darkness and perhaps are inspired, as I, to contemplate the possibilities to come. Be gone damned Winter!
/
/
Re/ Ryck
/
I began, then put down the Ariel poems. They were a bit too tortured in spots for me. Especially since I find some of her other stuff to be so good and more easy to relate to. But don't even get me started on her again. My obsession of last summer has passed and I need my brain for other things. Anyway, it is nice to be alluded to in the same paragraph as she. Excellent company.
/
**Speaking of Ariel…Come back Sprite, please come back!**
5502. uzmakk - May 1, 1999 - 5:41 AM PT
Read it again, NuPlanet. I get it. Very nice.
I have a pond about 30 feet from the workshop door. The peepers are a big part of Spring for this boy. The pond is spring fed. From the house or yard one gets the impression that the peepers are localized in the pond, but when one goes up to the pond it becomes clear that they are also in the woods all the way up to the springhouse. They put on quite a performance.
5503. JamesWright - May 1, 1999 - 12:26 PM PT
There are frog peepers and there are bird peepers, I think.
5504. pellenilsson - May 1, 1999 - 12:43 PM PT
What is a peeper in the first place? Latin name anyone?
5505. uzmakk - May 1, 1999 - 3:54 PM PT
SPRING PEEPER
(Hyla crucifer)
Voice: A high-pitched ascending whistle, sometimes with a short trill. Chrous sounds like the jingle of bells. Males call from shrubs and trees standing in or overhanging water.
Habitat: Wooded areas in or near permanent or temporarily flooded ponds and swamps.
Nocturnal. The Spring Peeper is one of the most familair frogs in the East. Its chorus is among the first signs of spring. Peepers hibernate under logs and loose bark.
5506. pellenilsson - May 2, 1999 - 10:06 AM PT
uzmakk
So it's a frog!? That puts a whole new poetic dimension to
"Stay Forever, a sprouting crocus Awakened by peepers"
5507. uzmakk - May 3, 1999 - 7:32 AM PT
The clanging of bells on a frosty evening bespeaks the Goddess and the birth of the new year. The music of the peepers sounds like the jingle of bells and awakes the crocus and the other elements of spring to come. Poetic dimension, indeed.
5508. uzmakk - May 3, 1999 - 10:35 AM PT
How about the frog though? I don't know the symbolic significance of the frog.
5509. NuPlanetOne - May 3, 1999 - 5:12 PM PT
\
/
\
Re/ uzmaak
/
\
Perhaps the frog is but a prince suffering a cast metamorphosis joined to a purgatory of equally condemned souls all awaiting an enchanted kiss to free them from the trees. That they may then, having done their penance, be set free into a quintessential and everlasting Spring.
5510. uzmakk - May 4, 1999 - 4:11 AM PT
Yes, yes, Nuplanet, I like it. But does the "frog", per se, have any other symbolic significance? I have found a dictionary of symbolism which I intend to order from a book catalog. I also saw listed a novel by a Czech writer entitled, The Year of the Frog. How about that Latin name hyla crucifer? The frog is quite a morpher isn't he, from egg to tadpole to froggy wog. What fun.
5511. JamesWright - May 5, 1999 - 10:07 AM PT
uzmakk:
Hey, what's the name of the dictionary of symbolism. (Okay, so it's probably called Dictionary Of Symbolism). But I'd love to know if it's any good. I've almost bought a rhyming dictionary many times, but never quite did it. Anyways . . . .
5512. uzmakk - May 7, 1999 - 4:10 AM PT
J Wright:
The Lost Language of Symbolism, Harold Bayley-- There has existed since the 13th centurey in Europe a coherent and unbroken chain of emblems that were used as trademarks and decorative devices. These emblems, according to early 20th century scholar Harold Bayley, are actually thought-fossils or thought-crystals in which lie enshrined the aspirations and traditions of the numerous mystic and puritanic sects by which Europe was overrun in the Middle Ages. These heresies, though nominally stamped out by the Vatican, existed secretly for several centuries after their disappearance from recorded history. As this volume reveals, the emblems were not only trade signs, but were also hieroglyphics, under which were revealed the mystical tenetsa of a forbidden sect or, going even further back, the secret meaning behind some of our basic myths and legends.
Order #90224 Deadalus Books
5513. uzmakk - May 7, 1999 - 4:14 AM PT
Have not yet ordered this book and may not. Am paring down a list and........just checked the price, $5, I will get it. Could be pure crap but even I can afford a five dollar mistake. Its the $35, $40, and $50 mistakes that I can't afford.
5514. JamesWright - May 7, 1999 - 11:25 AM PT
Thanks, Uzmakk,
If I can't afford $5, then I'm as broke as I think I am. And that would really surprise me. So here goes . . .
5515. RyckNelson - May 8, 1999 - 7:33 AM PT
You mind me now, just hold that thought:
Pose in the daisy field and I'll take your picture,
with the river in the background it'll make a nice scene.
hold that thought
Do you remember pumping water from the well?
It was near a wall of the back porch.
Do you remember the wood pile looming roof high?
It sat near the wood shed out back.
hold that thought
Squeeky steps rise with the stove pipe.
Silkweed stalks grew near the river.
Roots ran deep in the gardens tilled soil.
hold that thought
When the piano and slide bar guitar captured attention,
we sang among the violet blooms potted on the sill.
hold that thought
Oh, the bread would smell good fresh from the oven.
hold that thought
Holding to memories soft pleasure.
A requiem of land now held fallow.
The stone markers convey little.
No icon can memorialize that life.
What would the epitaph read?
Mothers gift, tomorrow. Anything to fix?
5516. RyckNelson - May 9, 1999 - 8:06 AM PT
I guess not.
Happy Mothers Day, mothers.
Joy, sure why not?
Carrying that child
Sad, sure why not?
Carrying that child
Pain, damn right!
Carrying that child
We want them for our own
Oh, too soon they go
Going leaves us yearning
Oh, too soon they go
We see them as blooming flowers
Smarter than we could ever have been
They're our progeny shaped as clay
Our masterpiece/s for all to see
With tears of saddness and joy
All of it is priceless
We need no confirmation
Motherhood is alpha.
5517. Blaise - May 9, 1999 - 1:54 PM PT
UPDATE at ForPoetry.Com,
Our friend, Joseph Duemer, poet and editor of The Wallace Stevens Journal, is currently teaching English in Vietnam. I asked him if he'd be interested in writing a Diary for For Poetry -- and, happily, Joe came through for us!
Joe's poetic sensibilities come into full play in this foreign land where he gives us photographic sights, odors and sounds of cafes, outdoor markets, busy streets, exotic foods and much more! Duemer's Diary of Vietnam is regularly updated. So keep in touch!
Also: Read the wonderful poem about Jakarta, Indonesia, "Returning from an Indonesian Market at the Pier" by Oliver Francisco de la Paz. This poem and Joe's diary complement each other.
New Poems: W.S. Merwin, Isabella Chambers, Yannis Ritsos, Kevin Hull and much much more...
FORPOETRY.COM
Best,
Editor/ForPoetry.com
5518. uzmakk - May 10, 1999 - 11:13 AM PT
Nelson:
Really liked that "hold that thought" business. Like photos. Jag, jag, jag. Surely you stole it from someone? I think I shall steal it from you.
5519. AzureNW - May 11, 1999 - 6:56 AM PT
cut off with sharp edges, forever
5520. uzmakk - May 11, 1999 - 11:17 AM PT
It is on my plot I stand
Next to a pile of reposed sand.
The distance between here and there
Is wild and hides the devil's lair.
And as I go from wake to sleep
These promises I hope to keep.
{or with the beating of the drum
another day's about to come.
{rom work to play the other way
{rom death to life, I've seen it twice
{rom death to birth the names ones worth.
All on the path from here to there
which travels through the devil's lair.
5521. pellenilsson - May 12, 1999 - 12:01 AM PT
That's a good one uzmakk. I hope it's yours.
5522. resonance - May 12, 1999 - 3:41 AM PT
phoebus alight
(twenty-two)
No one has ever touched you,
she said,
have they? Nothing gets through
to you, I can tell --
sipping her drink,
leaning slightly across the table
in the textured air of nightclub sound
where every conversation's half a synapse away
and this one's been done before
anyway
spread out in fine lines that wind themselves
around my heart and lead back slack
into misted time,
tautening now into the delicate Other
of her angel's lips and heartbeat sigh
so many times before
And she smiles edged in hurt,
nothing--
the last bit in decrescendo
dove wings folding over her heart
--a flutter before the sigh
and, pulling back on my cigarette
(something to do)
I wish I couldn't remember all the eyes
all the times this has happened before.
It's a tired hate that eats at me
and I can't explain how I'm at once both here
and walking through the dusted halls of my days
inside at the same time,
looking for the answer to her words--
so I say
It's not like that.
No, it is
and she pushes her hands on the table,
flat palms down to her elegant fingers
I can tell. You don't let them in,
*we aren't real to you*,
voice raising in a low spiral
sometimes I think that *you*
aren't real to you,
like you're a ghost in your own machine
-- like you've burned yourself alive to ash
just for the light.
And the bitterness is edged in her voice,
so different from her eyes.
5523. resonance - May 12, 1999 - 3:43 AM PT
And I want to answer so badly --
but how do you say that nothing pierces your skin
because it doesn't have to,
it's already inside and
can't find it's way back out?
That the whole precious world sings within
and you don't know the words,
*except that the song will end -- *
How can you say that?
Inside, I shake my head and gaze down the lonely halls
leaving footprints to slowly fill with dust,
and finish my drink, wondering why
if I'm so damned eloquent I can't say --
and I get ready to tell her the things
that will make her stop badgering
and love me some more,
knowing that tonight I'll lay soft next to her
and tell myself that the only thing that matters
is that she's happy again for another day.
And she'll smile, in her sleep,
and it'll be all right
my baby loves me,
uh huh,
it's fine
5524. uzmakk - May 12, 1999 - 5:36 AM PT
BTW, RykNelson:
The business about stealing is a back-handed compliment. This is not obvious I can see..
Pelle:
All mine. That one popped up very quickly. Strange how. Am thinkiing of laying some brick walkways and am considering having a volume of sand delivered by dumptruck. The rest is history. I have not checked a dictionary but I believe that when granular materials are dumped in a pile the pile has an angular slope which is dependent upon the material. This slope is called the repose.
And that bracket is the closest thing to an f made from an integral sign with a little cross piece, like they used to do in the old days. But, ofcourse, you know that I am fond of brackets also.
5525. NuPlanetOne - May 12, 1999 - 8:59 AM PT
\
/
\
What's The Indifference?
It's all piped in
Everything we need
Then it's all piped out
At nearly the same speed
I don't marvel at it
Ingenuity is nothing new
I do not fear it
It is what we humans do
Purpose is not a choice
For those who investigate within
There are answers aplenty
And walls that surround one in sin
Yet within all the parts
Are answers that explain the whole
Not in the thinking
But in the glue that forms the soul
So I watch from somewhere inside
While maintaining the pipes and wires
I avoid asking just what it all means
Though I am glad for those it inspires.
5526. uzmakk - May 12, 1999 - 9:39 AM PT
I can dig it, NuPlanet.
5527. RyckNelson - May 12, 1999 - 5:46 PM PT
Believe me Uzmakk, I took it the right way.
5528. uzmakk - May 13, 1999 - 7:18 AM PT
The Dot . The Dot .
thepaintedline
Gives forth an Image
oh, so fine.
5529. uzmakk - May 13, 1999 - 8:38 AM PT
Forecepts, nurse!
This patient's got the curse!
5530. RyckNelson - May 13, 1999 - 7:19 PM PT
Uzmakk!!!
5531. uzmakk - May 14, 1999 - 3:13 AM PT
so, there were these three black girls in front of my house
skipping rope and canting,
Nation, Nation
In-Formation
Take me to the railway station.
5532. uzmakk - May 14, 1999 - 7:11 AM PT
3 veritable black goddesses
tell you i
5533. uzmakk - May 14, 1999 - 10:16 AM PT
RIP Poetry?????!!!!!!! Its like RIPing News of the Day. What gives?
5534. Jenerator - May 14, 1999 - 10:18 AM PT
Holy cannoli! Poetry is being RIP'd?
5535. uzmakk - May 14, 1999 - 10:24 AM PT
Register your puzzlement with Irv, Jenerator.
5536. Jenerator - May 14, 1999 - 10:42 AM PT
Where do I sign?
5537. incognito - May 14, 1999 - 11:12 AM PT
Why would they be RIPing this thread?!
5538. Jenerator - May 14, 1999 - 11:13 AM PT
There once was a lass name Jen
Who liked to email friends
But once the yahoo quit
She could all but spit
And wait til it worked again!
5539. incognito - May 14, 1999 - 11:21 AM PT
cute
5540. Jenerator - May 14, 1999 - 11:23 AM PT
Incog,
Help me create a poem. I have an appointment at 2pm and will be gone for the rest of the day from Slate, unfortunately. Let's make it good!;-)
5541. incognito - May 14, 1999 - 11:27 AM PT
how's this one?
THE VOID
by incognito
I live without God,
I scoff at his name;
My pain is so great,
I continue in vain.
My will becomes hard,
Like ice in the north;
I want hope and not death,
I wrestle back and forth.
Atoms and accidents,
Chaos on display?
Or design and providence,
Hope for a new day?
Empty and cold,
Is the heart that trusts fate.
Free and bold,
Is the heart that contemplates…
Being and nothingness,
No more than this?
Being and being forever,
Brings hope and great bliss.
I grab hold of the grace,
That freely was given;
The life that is life,
Because he is risen.
I exit THE VOID,
Confident and sure,
My hope is in Him,
My future secured.
5542. Jenerator - May 14, 1999 - 11:28 AM PT
That came off the top of your head?? Wow!!
5543. incognito - May 14, 1999 - 11:30 AM PT
I'm no dummy!
5544. Jenerator - May 14, 1999 - 11:32 AM PT
I'm impressed Incognito! Next thing you know, you'll like old books, too!
5545. incognito - May 14, 1999 - 11:33 AM PT
old books and old women
5546. Jenerator - May 14, 1999 - 11:33 AM PT
How old?
5547. incognito - May 14, 1999 - 11:37 AM PT
old old old
5548. incognito - May 14, 1999 - 11:37 AM PT
the older they get the better they become
5549. Jenerator - May 14, 1999 - 11:38 AM PT
So, is Kathleen Hepburn lookin' good these days?
5550. incognito - May 14, 1999 - 11:43 AM PT
estel geddy too!
By the way where's YOUR poem?!
5551. Jenerator - May 14, 1999 - 11:45 AM PT
It takes me too long. I'm not much of an impromptu poet.
5552. incognito - May 14, 1999 - 11:47 AM PT
don't get me wrong, there's something to be said for fine young things and their tight, smooth skin
but i actually like some lines, some character, gentle form and shape in the face with eyes that show experience and charm
graceful and gentle
mature
5553. vonKreedon - May 14, 1999 - 12:07 PM PT
The Void - by vonKreedon
I live with myself,
In awe of life's toys,
My pain is my own,
As are all of my joys.
My will is my own,
Moving glacial to the sea.
I love life, but fear not death,
Another passage I hope to see.
Hydrogen atoms create!
Chaos forms order,
For a moment only,
Or are we forever?
Empty is the mind
That takes in only what is told;
Dangerous to others
When dogma it holds.
Being and nothingness,
No more than this!
We are here, rejoice,
And work for your bliss!
Take hold of your grace,
Take it where you wish.
Salvation is not a race,
Map your own journey to bliss.
I enter the void,
Curious of what's next.
My hope is there's something,
And I hope there'll be sex.