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Poetry 3

Posted by: Maria Disley on 04/12/2013 - 11:27 AM

As poetry 2 has been closed please find this spot open for poetry. I will not be running it, we all will. Please lets enjoy the poetry that needs to be read and shared critiqued and continued.


Oldest Reply

Posted by: Ed Meredith on 04/12/2013 - 11:28 AM

oh sir
must you drown your virtue
in spirits most perilous
and pour humanity down
a hapless sea

Ed Meredith


Posted by: Jason Christopher on 04/12/2013 - 11:35 AM

Plight of days

Morning of desires
i lost my need
find my misery

Night of lost sleep
lose my mask
find me a dream

Morning of night
light up my heart
find me a star

Day so bright
shine in my face
ignite my mind

©Jason Christopher
12th April 2013


Posted by: Poe Ed on 04/12/2013 - 11:47 AM

Senryu Poetry

he pulls no rabbit
from a hat of hollow words
the hopeless poet

Poe Ed


Posted by: Jason Christopher on 04/12/2013 - 11:48 AM

... .. . .. ... .. . pixels are powerful


Posted by: Karen Newell on 04/12/2013 - 12:18 PM


The Merry
Go Round
Into a
Tilt a Whirl

Poets in for a
Dreamy ride
Now cling
Dazed and Dizzy

Those Carousel Horses
Were Wild Beasts
After all

Karen Newell


Posted by: Ed Meredith on 04/12/2013 - 12:21 PM

Seeking Satisfaction

desperately seeking
for someone
to fill the void
and remove the dissatisfaction

to validate
and prove that it's OK
to be truly content
in this fixed and transitory world

Ed Meredith
12 April, 2013


Posted by: Jason Christopher on 04/12/2013 - 12:26 PM

Its hug a poet day!!! So go slap a few ....


Posted by: Poe Ed on 04/12/2013 - 12:43 PM

Stress Release

choked with loves and hates
much sober stuff in real life
why not burst a laugh?

Poe Ed


Posted by: Ed Meredith on 04/12/2013 - 12:46 PM

Gimme a Hug

poet found visions
full of laughing desires
delicious love song

Ed Meredith
12 April,2013


Posted by: SAIGON De Manila on 04/12/2013 - 12:49 PM

The boat
(chained senryu for threadtanic )

boat in the dark night
one way of living just right
amidst lurking sight

boat in the limelight
or ship of too crowded site
why the petty fight?

boat of pure delight
matters on our chartered flight
you're free to alight.

©April 2013


Posted by: Jason Christopher on 04/12/2013 - 12:56 PM

I say its hug a poet! *hugs* all round. may the slapping stop.... hugs across the land!! across the seas!! acoss the whole universe!! lets join in, and *hug*!!

self destructing in 30mins

(the msg, not the univserse...... i think ... but my watch is always slow.... so there are no money back guarantess, u bought it, u got it)


Posted by: Mark Wickham on 04/12/2013 - 1:12 PM

Art Prints

I have a Voice!

It Laughs!..................It Cries!
It Sings!....................It Sighs!
It shouts Itself unto the Skies!

It is the Gideon's trumpet blaring!

It Sobs!......................It Giggles!
It Rhymes!..................It Riddles!
It lends itself to Demonic Fiddles!

It is the Devil's oeuvre daring!

Sometimes LOUD!.....Sometimes quiet.
Sometimes BRASH!...Sometimes compliant.
It is nonetheless a small GIANT!

It is the Flutist's song so fairing!

This Voice;............... MINE Voice..
Has now.................. awoke.
This Voice;............... FINE Voice..
It has now.................SPOKE!

~ mark wickham


Posted by: Karen Newell on 04/12/2013 - 1:16 PM

A playground of petulance
Scabby knees, scraped palms
Where is Florence Nightingale


Posted by: Mark Wickham on 04/12/2013 - 2:04 PM

The Whip-poor-will Soliloquy.

'Tis the will-o'-the-wisp
sings the poor whip-poor-will;
'Tis a sad song sung
for the ne'er-do-well.

So fare-thee-well
and for thee not abet;
For 'tis a sadder song yet
for those we forget.

'O sole mio;
O' solo me..
que sera, sera;
c'est la vie.

Etude et solitude,
Solipsus Soliloquy.

~mark wickham


Posted by: Dawn Eareckson on 04/12/2013 - 6:06 PM

Concerning Cuttlefish and Ugolino

You are not surprised when I tell you
a spotted hyena at the zoo is killing itself,
gnawed from paw to knee, and no one

can figure out why it wants
to destroy itself. You tell me you found
a coyote’s leg in a spring trap once.

You knew that an animal, in its wildness,
would chew through its tendons, snap
its own bones. There are parts of ourselves

we can learn to live without. You tell me
about a woman you saw today,
a despair you recognized through her veil,

and you’d wondered why, in grief,
it’s necessary to hide your face, if
death leaves its teeth marks on our cheeks.

I wonder if hunger is stronger than grief
and tell you that if a cuttlefish is starving,
it will eat one of its three hearts.

And I wonder if, after they offered
their bodies to their father, Ugolino’s sons
cried as they crawled around him in the dark,

if, before he took his hand away from his mouth
and strangled them, he studied them, deciding
if his teeth were strong enough to eat

through the red fever of the body.
When I look at you, I know you’re right.
What matters is what’s left of us.

~ Traci Brimhall ~


Posted by: Karen Newell on 04/12/2013 - 6:21 PM

Love will Prevail

What is left of us
When sorrow
Claws the Heart?
The pools of the
Too much.
Of this World
Puckers the
And pretty words
Dry up.
How do You patch up
A mortal wound
To walk again
With sky bright smile
Among the Living?

Love will prevail

Karen Newell


Posted by: Karen Newell on 04/12/2013 - 7:23 PM

This was on a post today with no credit to the Author. I found it beautiful:)

May our minds work together
To find mutual understanding
May I see you true
And be seen in kind
May our words reveal
More than they obscure
Most of all may our minds,
Eyes and tongues
Be guided by our hearts
And the language far older
Than words



Posted by: Maria Disley on 04/12/2013 - 7:50 PM

An Adventure at Sea

Ah! Long broken sleep
silly nightmare
boats sinking everywhere
no fatalities
just fog horns
torch lights
happy litter after a storm
I'm counting....
everyone's aboard
in our boat
and I see others ahead are full
bobbing along
and breaking into song
now that the morning has arrived
the rain's stopped
a strong gust blowing
the sails full and billowing
The natural flow of the sea
Every fisherman I've met tells me
will deliver you hungry, thirsty, half dead,
to land, from out of the sea
where fish seem free
and land is just another boat
to meet.

Maria Disley 13/4/13


Posted by: Dawn Eareckson on 04/12/2013 - 9:26 PM

i travel a different way

maybe any path with reverence will do.
i'm just how you've held me,
thank you
i feel myself now

i can only wonder at
what i've been
what punctuation
what tome
to you and you and

i saw you pavlov over me
once and the rorschach hardly
rhymed only you could make
that peg fit

still, while you were here
i never opened you i knew
you waited
on the threshold at least
by the one before
for the one after

~ Dawn Eareckson


Posted by: Maria Disley on 04/12/2013 - 9:55 PM

Do not go quiet into that still field

I know no sheep
in this pasture
this flock
is wayward
like split golf balls
rolling down a hill
Hell for leather
in all weather
The thrill!

Maria Disley 13/4/113


Posted by: Karen Newell on 04/12/2013 - 10:21 PM

The Look

I felt your eyes
On my lips today
One thousand questions
In that gaze
Pinned me to the wall

Karen Newell


Posted by: Jack Kemp on 04/13/2013 - 12:10 AM


Morning comes with sorrow
Struggle to begin
Waking without delusions
While the blood thins
Running on high octane
With money in the bank
A man lugs his stuff down a path
Mornings in the spring
There are even Greenwich Village tragedies
Happening as we speak
You can't wear a Kentucky Derby
Or drive a chimpanzee
Don't worry; it's just me and you kid
I won't have to tell you when to laugh
Tears have too many commitments
Joy is just a cry for help
You’re born with wisdom teeth
For heads can take an impact
Thumbs oppose us all
Even dogs have dreams where they cannot run
Even pilots taxi some
Water marks the beginning
Dirt will be the end


Posted by: Karen Newell on 04/13/2013 - 7:16 AM

A Life

Born of
Blood and
Upon this
Beautiful yet
Far from
Birthed from
Sky and
These Bodies
Together yet
What do
We Create
Out of
Guts and
A Legend
A Fable
A Bedtime Story?
An Epic
A Fairy Tale
Crafted then
Finely honed?
A Soliloquy
A Tome
A Poem?
Before We
Revert to
Sky and
We Return
To Our
Heavenly Home

Karen Newell


Posted by: Maria Disley on 04/13/2013 - 8:49 AM


When we got her in the water
under false pretences;
she hadn't felt whole bodied water before,
she drew back
but paddled
I admired
her bewildering courage
I smiled wickedly knowing the hardship before the joy
Knowing the fear of learning
unsteady buoyancy
I took her far out and let go..
she turned like a compass finger
and splashed her way back
I was amazed she didn't drown,
but I was there to save her.
Afterwards, whenever we were near water,
she looked at me with wariness
I felt cruel...I'd lost her trust
I had to earn it again.
After a while
she would spring to the edge,
this world was new to her....all of it..she was brimmed full of bravery and unknown fear
we would join almost nose to nose, at the gauzy seam of land and water
with no lure from askings
I had to float out and let her make her own decisions
But now I know if she ever falls in
she will swim!

Maria Disley13/4/13


Posted by: Mark Wickham on 04/13/2013 - 8:57 AM

Poet Opiate

I wake in the morning
with a need to get high
So I cook up a spoonful
And let out a sigh.

I find a good vein
Tie it off, give a thump
til it rises to the occasion
Now I'm ready to pump.

I syringe up that liquor
Hit the vein, and then shoot
Once, and once again
Now the issues become moot.

Now I can lay back
And feel the sweet kiss
Of time slipping away
Ahhhh, such sweet bliss!

Bye and bye.

~ mark wickham

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Posted by: Xoanxo Cespon on 07/13/2013 - 4:59 AM

Hmmm sorry double post... I'll use this unintended space to share something I wrote recently with a small adaptation to fit the theme....

Many eyes hidden from the sun ...
Many neck ties ...
Many silver spoons in their mouths...
Many leather Shoes ...
Leather soles ...
Striped suits ...
Many mobile phones ...
Ipods, Ipads and Laptops ...
Like silent beats ...
Like sleepless nights ...
Many sunrises to eyes wide shut...
Many ... Many ...

Like infinite dark homes ...
Like infinite rainy days...
Infinite songs ...
Clouds ...
Wind Whispers ...
Dreams ...
Like infinite ... Infinite ...
We are all kisses ...
We are all embraces...
All cries and tears ...
We are all smiles...
Moments, instants...
All love, wants and fears ...
We are all everything ...
We are all nothing ...
We are all...
Like infinite ...
Like infinite ...


Posted by: Philip Sweeck on 07/13/2013 - 10:30 PM

The dragon's in the lost
no more treason, no more deadly cost
I know the way she moves
like a thought that's put on hold, something concealed
I can sense that too,
and a speckle, a fraction, maybe a star that's worn,
Like a serious smile, or, something:
some things are always on the run


Posted by: Philip Sweeck on 07/13/2013 - 10:40 PM

Love all the spoon inspired poems!


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/14/2013 - 12:18 AM

The snooker finals should be good tonight with Robertson and Marc fu. Back home now as work tomorrow but it was really tense last night watching Selby and Robertson. Not sure my camera or I was up to taking good photos with all the lights etc and no flashes could be used but will download some of them also surrounding area of Bendigo, a lovely town and friendly people. 'm sure it will all be expressed in poetry very soon. So Australia v Hong Kong.


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/14/2013 - 12:32 AM

Just Spoon me In.

I watched the big dragon ladel the earth
its huge teeth
and wide jaws
spoon into the earth
like it was blancmange
The bird saw it all
hanging on to the dragon's metal arms
I wanted to be that bird
to see the slices of age
in the amber colours of soil walls
wanted to uncover the finds
but maybe there was nothing
or maybe overlooked by builders
coal turning to diamond
gold unmined
I wanted to climb
right in
lay there entombed
feel the comfort of history's blanket
hear clashes of shields
wails of dreamings disturbed
because there would be the answers to
our infinite existings.
Hide me in your big crane spoon
metal dragon
and lower me into the earth
to observe
the sounds of history
a whisper from glaciers buried
of fossiled foreigners
evolving fuels
ripening jewels
awaiting revivals
or sleeping luxuriously
in layers
My eyes would light intensely
I'd find it hard to breath
something equally mystical and real.

Maria Disley 14/7/13

Photography Prints


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/14/2013 - 12:59 AM

@Fran riley, I love your Long Time Ago images. will browse them again when I have time, prob next weekend. I would love to write a poem using your roller skates image please confirm its ok..if it is..thanks maria


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/14/2013 - 8:05 AM

have read the dragon poem many times, it is like a whodunnit LOL! Not that I am suposed to find some one answer...but i am a searcher...


I swam between the lines
through the black curvy tails
lifting the smallest rock letters
smiling at the bubbles from something rising to the surface
there was nothing visible in the pool of intrigue
that I could salvage
except a feeling
which I escaped with,
to surface
and exhale,
and expose whatever it was
to the air.

Maria Disley 14/7/13


Posted by: Robert James Hacunda on 07/14/2013 - 2:01 PM

I am not tough enough for this time and place
Not aggressive enough for the world I disgust
I awake in my own tears for my bitterest failure
Why am I so weak I weep
What drives me on this road of sorrow
I have no pride
No integrity
No faith or trust
It's all my own
I did it to myself
Perhaps you've had these moments of argument
Between beauty and pain


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/14/2013 - 4:22 PM

Rj you forgot to finish the poem..shouldn't the last line be...But, I know I'm not alone....

I think anyone who hasn't/doesn't feel these emotions at times,especially as you ge tolder and are full of reflections must be very there anyone who hasn't felt these emotions..pls we'd like to hear your poetry..
RJ we love your brutally honest poetry.....even if its all a sham and you are clever enough to write about this without ever experiencing it.....maybe you know people who do...real people...


Posted by: Robert James Hacunda on 07/14/2013 - 7:44 PM

Maria, I'm afraid I'm not clever enough to escape the conditions that I write about.


Posted by: Philip Sweeck on 07/14/2013 - 8:50 PM

Time is the fire
in which we burn.
The sorrow is the school
in which we learn.

We're learning in vain
and the coming of the nighttime.
Revived my soul again
Revived my soul again

The advantage of the darkness
is no shadows underneath it all.
That's why I feel much better
when the stars begin to fall.
When the stars begin to fall.

So bring it on,
bring it on,
old angel midnight.

Bring it on,
bring it on,
old angel midnight.

And everytime I spend in your bed,
when you facing the wall.
It's been 40days and 40nights now
since the last time that we called.

Still I can feel your spirit
when the stars begin to fall.
When the stars begin to fall.

So bring it on,
bring it on,
old angel midnight.

Bring it on,
bring it on,
old angel midnight.

Bring it on,
bring it on,
old angel midnight.

Bring it on, bring it on.


Posted by: Robert James Hacunda on 07/15/2013 - 12:10 AM

I see wizards in the timbers
Ghosts of monks gone mad
Hiding from the baking sun
They hide like all good hypnogogic's do
Like a poet who uses too many words
He couldn't tell you the time of day
Speaking in his phony ancient accent
Posturing for the ladies
Contradiction lurking in all we seek
Falsehoods possession of the soul
Many have walked and left behind a trail
Pagan bread crumbs in their hair
Fraternal role models swing over the crowd
Young brothers left on their own
To revisit this nasty garden and vacant sea
Where Compost is Shipped High In Transit


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/15/2013 - 12:30 AM

RJ I'm so glad that that was your reply. :) 'I'm not clever enough.....'

What is a hypnogogic?

I am wondering if this is this thread? To revisit this nasty garden and vacant sea
Where Compost is Shipped High In Transit


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/15/2013 - 3:53 AM

Oh! I remember now...the self induced sleep..which brings about the ability to see, hear etc....things that you write about.
I suppose everyone's falsehoods are different as are their truths.

Maybe I was way out of order supposing you were talking about this thread as a nasty garden and vacant sea...I don't even know why I thought that.....maybe because you were talking about poets who hide behind words.....etc etc.

It doesn't matter anyway....this thread is a place to express yourself, mainly in poetry...doesn't have to be any type or genre.....

I am imagining myself, the wordy writer sitting on a compost heap in a nasty garden near a vacant sea.

All my words are composting
I sit upon them pondering,
with the worms,
No fish or serpents to watch
no lapping waves
no edge of sand and sea
with which to gauge
my life been lived, or yet to be
but still I come
and linger
share my pathetic words with strangers
with conflicting truths and falsehoods
who cannot stand in my shoes
nor I in theirs
Who cares?
we have words.


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/15/2013 - 8:35 AM

Karen Newell

I like to spoon
Belly against back
Synchronizing breath
The world slips away
As we lie together
In our cradle of Love

Love this poem :)))))))
Please put it on the compost heap :))


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/15/2013 - 8:53 AM

The compost heap heats up
could burst into flames at any moment
Internal Combustion!
Could be the spark
that ignites it
the vomit of expression
that loses its acidity as it dries
in the daylight
that loses its honest stench
its voracious voluminous vernacular
of my native soul
piled high
A van Gogh haystack
of brooding golden wrings
Turned with a worn pronged fork
writing is easy
wrenching it pure from the heart
is hard work
is art.


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/15/2013 - 8:57 AM

The placard on the handle of the door
which reads 'Poetry'
At your own risk.


Posted by: Karen Newell on 07/15/2013 - 9:13 AM

I throw my words to the compost heap
With the rinds of so many others.
The poetry that has been
Deciphered til there is no surprise left.
I spade them in to incubate
And fertilize the fields of my heart.
Then I shall glean them
To harvest the poems of my Soul.


Posted by: Karen Newell on 07/15/2013 - 9:25 AM

Phillip, great song! loved those lyrics
Maria, you are always so inspired and inspiring :)
RJ, good to see your words here! Sending you both many blessings as you create your new home in the desert. Uprooted can be uncomfortable at first :)


Posted by: Poe Ed on 07/15/2013 - 12:54 PM

Corroded Routine in Life

after taking their hen for a morning walk
all roosters have been back
for a busy day
of scratching dirt
their corrosive routine
in a world

sizzling summer heat
12 o’ clock
at noon
lunch is ready
but you’re still
in bed
probably in a sweet dream
from last night fine wine
and exotic

already missed
the first cup of coffee
your morning ritual
and a day
at work
but isn’t it great for a breakaway
from the habits of keeping
your boring

2013-07-15 (modified version)


Posted by: Robert James Hacunda on 07/15/2013 - 2:00 PM

Although the nasty garden and vacant sea is a lose reference to this thread and self proclaimed poets in a more precise translation it would for me be the mortified places I arrive at that drive me to write .
Art Prints for you Poe Ed


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/15/2013 - 4:25 PM

"A poet makes himself a visionary through a long, boundless, and systematized disorganization of all the senses. All forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself, he exhausts within himself all poisons, and preserves their quintessences. Unspeakable torment, where he will need the greatest faith, a superhuman strength, where he becomes all men: the great invalid, the great criminal, the great accursed—and the Supreme Scientist! For he attains the unknown! Because he has cultivated his soul, already rich, more than anyone! He attains the unknown, and, if demented, he finally loses the understanding of his visions, he will at least have seen them! So what if he is destroyed in his ecstatic flight through things unheard of, unnameable: other horrible workers will come; they will begin at the horizons where the first one has fallen!"

I'm closing this thread shortly for a break....but will open another one for those wonderful self proclaimed poets....maybe call it the the self proclaimed writers thread...but are we really writers...hmm...any good titles anyone??????? Or the self proclaimed artists/writers/poets/philosophers, etc etc thread..:)) Look fwd to hearing your suggestions...Have a great day.


Posted by: Karen Newell on 07/15/2013 - 5:49 PM

Wow it seems like more than three months ago that you opened this thread! Ha ha on your new titles, all good :) here is my suggestion
Philosophers Pen, or Proclamations :) Thanks to you for being a gracious hostess all this time!


Posted by: Karen Newell on 07/15/2013 - 6:49 PM

Maria :)

She sails about on the sea
Of poetic words
No matter what the weather


Posted by: Xoanxo Cespon on 07/15/2013 - 7:31 PM

How about...Self-proclaimed Poets Society Thread???

Photography Prints

Amancio Prada sings Federico García Lorca...


Posted by: Robert James Hacunda on 07/15/2013 - 8:51 PM

I feel like the self proclaimed Party Pooper


Posted by: Maria Disley on 07/16/2013 - 3:26 AM

@Oxo what an amazing way to close this thread with the video. While watching it I thought how lucky we all are on this thread ( including the other two threads) and for anyone who just drops in
to read and listen to the different expressions and diverse personalities, all meeting together on some level here. we can all be ourselves without feeling we are going to be reproached for our outpourings where I feel we all try to express first and foremost what we are feeling, sometimes just that, sometimes feeling in response to other words, music art and philosophies here.
I agree with Oxo, the title of the new thread should be Self-proclaimed Poets Society Thread, as it will remind me, RJ and everyone else why we are drawn here......and speaking of RJ, I steal this from the above.....we love you because you have cultivated your soul, already rich! You attain the unknown, and, if demented, you finally lose the understanding of your visions, you will at least have seen them!


This discussion is closed.