The Pot Of Self Proclaimed Poets, Writers, Artists, Photographers And Philosophers Thread:)

Hello I could not resist does this include Artist, Photographer, Singer, Chef, now actor accepted....lol


Top of the morn'n to ya, I can not sleep, I was selected to appear in the movie mini series American Horror Story,

ha ha Michael...of course you're welcome..just don't be surprised when the proclaimed poets write about you. I should have put that in the small print...do not jump in if you do not wish to end up on the compost heap of poetry. :)) How come you were selected..tell us the story...:) Also, do you have a good meringue recipe...not a chalky one but one with a bit of chewiness and flavour.?

just call it "the pot" Marie, people do all sort s of things in pots, vomit, cook, piss, eat, drink, where them on ya head, m*%%$bate in em, chuck em, bake em, break em, gift em, s##t in em, paint them, love them and hate them. The pot... cracked pots... a washed pot gleaming stands before the crowd... and then... the pot... spoke...

good day pots.

ooh and of course,,, the witches pot of potion spells.... woahhaaa hahahaha (cant spell that sound) lol

Jason I will never look at pots in the same way again!

Mainly for cooking
but I've made candles in them
washed a dog with water from them
made paper in them
melted beeswax for multimedia artwork
in them
mended them
thrown them out
let the babies drum on them
caught a leak in them
but from the ceiling
not genitalia,
made papier mache
in them
i couldn't do without them
I'm not potty about them
but we are almost companions
lived together forever
boiled and simmered together
grown cold and old together
stewed with each other
felt scrambled
and fried
braised and bruised
I'm amused
at wot
a pot
is capable of

Michael just read your blurb about your acting career launch...wow! I never saw you as an actor...need to know more..:))

I promise, I am still on a cloud, I happen to work in a few hours, have to get some rest. I promise will fill you in tomorrow.

Just watched your video..youre amazing!!! :))

This is what this "self-proclaimed moment in time" would like to share for the birth of this new thread...



There are pots and bowls...

Love feeling Good! Nice upbeat sound to get this thread off to a good start...haha never heard this Bessie Smith one before....any Proclaimers want to take this further?
Michael there is nothing self proclaimed about you..you ARE a chef and are about to become an actor and you will BE a piano player in the movie...I think that may make you unself proclaimed?.

Hey, Actors and musicans videos would be great to see too!

heard on the news a few days ago...

that scientists have found...





A New Blue Planet...

Where liquid glass drops as rain
Where sunlight rays beam
through vivid molten flowing glass
Dew drops crystal, flow from fired skies
Where blue love trickles
In this empty boiling world
Of serene rivers and orange soils…

Fragments of my soul
We're seen to lay
Upon this furnaced boiling land
Where orange and blue are just made
of molten gold
Where passions wait to bring their lights
And quiet eyes look upon the weeping skies

May eyes one day see a new born soul...
Unblinded, the planets wait
To see the Truth
As time flows through crying skies
Blue red rivers flow from bleeding hearts
And hummingbirds wings are seen to fly
As ripples stir the crystal lakes
Fish are seen to glow and swim in joy
And trees of orange are seen to touch
the highest sky
Skies of glass crystal bubbled clouds
That float adrift as island lands

A new Adam now stood up
And melted Eve froze out the heat
And life was born
Again once more
A mother blue Earth, of less saddened smiles
Of crystal gleaming Men
Who walked upon the flowing glassy seas
As hummingbirds whispered
Their grace of light upon this magic land
God’s great beauty, a dreaming gleaming place
A Heaven made from melted sand

So Earth and Heaven was seen
together once more
Where souls of light
Encased in crystal bodied love
We're seen to shine in all the lands
Whose smiles were seen across the skies
Looking, finding, seeing us!
To wish us well in our coming time of need
As lights upon the Earth descend
To see into the souls of heartless Men
An angel stood to sing a song
That melted truth upon the rocks of time
As angels sing out their songs

A world so broken, torn within

Broke apart with fractured minds
and tortured broken souls

To slowly, slowly
heal within...


©Jason Christopher 2013

Closed

Where do all of the poems go
When the thread is done
And the door says closed?

They languish on the last pages.
Seldom read,
Then fallen.

Those that dripped from my pen
Mostly saved,
In a fragile electronic journal.

Those wrought by others,
The magnificent masterpieces
That meant so much at the time.
They are left in limbo
Like footprints in the sand.

Karen Newell
7/16/13

Self proclaimed-Artist,Poet/writer,Craftsman,Jeweler,Cook,Actress, I have many self proclaimed talents, only a couple have to do with a pot though lol

This is what pots and pans are. They are for beating.

Self-proclaimed photographer, naturalist and musician

Journey Under the Milky Way

They drift across the dunes
Shadows on the sand
Where the Star Spirits dance
Opening the Eye
Of the Universe

Self Proclaimed



Counting Naked Men

the soul's whispering thoughts
of passionate indulging
rendezvous in delicious secrets
found within life's burning shadows

Ed Meredith

On self-proclamation...

A new piece...the poem who wanted to be...to become...

Why won’t you write me…
Lay me down on paper…
Like your time on a string…?
Don’t speak of me…
Just, lay me down…
Not for the glory, or the money…
But just to help me be…

Let me be your song…
Your poem…
Let me be your love…
Your work of art…
Write me down…
Let every word be your sword…
Every verse your dagger…
Stab that paper with your tears…
With the silence of your fears…
No one will hear…
Your paper, my clay…
Your every thought, my flesh
Your heart, my soul…
Your every sense, my voice…
Your joy, my light of day…
Your sorrow, my darkest night…
Write me down…
Not for glory, or money…
But just so I can become…
The poem I should have always been…

Well count me in! I proclaim who I am in a poem:

I am

A man
A boy
A warrior
A husband
A father
A son
A hunter of animals
A lover of animals
An artist
A photographer
I build with my hands
I construct with my mind
I touch softly
I hit with words
I am a sensitive lover
I can be cruel
I collect weapons of war
I collect beautiful art
I am mostly on the surface
(but not easily understood)
I am a friend
I am a terrible enemy
A writer, teller of stories
I am lazy
(which causes me to work hard)
A son of the soil
A dweller of the cities
I love children of all ages
I love women of all ages
I love

Can a man proclaim he is a possession
All he thinks he is
Is a man a project of what wants to be
Does a man believe himself when he wants
What does it take to brake this trance
Loss
Rejection
Violence
What form does a man take
When he does't face he failed
Fallen prey to sin
Sin of his own and mankind
What develops with out that juice
That compost heap of life

An echo to RJ's question

Evil Deeds

if i were to see the results of all my evil deeds
i would turn away from them
in disgust
but selfhood blinds me
and i cling to it's desires
that craves pleasure
for itself

i go astray
thinking
delusion
is better than truth
so i follow error
pleasant
in the beginning
but in the end
it is anxiety
tribulation
and misery

Ed Meredith
16 July 2013

An echo to my own echo of "Evil Deeds"... Hello!

The Source my Dream

be no longer lost
in vain speculations
of profitless subtleties
surrender self
and all selfishness
for happiness depends not
upon external things

ascend to the enlightenment
of mind and heart
the summit of existence
where the immeasurable light
of comprehension is gained
the source of all
that is right
in this dream

Ed Meredith
16 July 2013

Ed LOL, An echo to your echo :-) I liked that :-)...

I'll echo the wannabe poem...

Let me be your song…
Your poem…
Let me be your love…
Your work of art…
Write me down…
Let every word be your sword…
Every verse your dagger…
Stab that paper with your tears…
With the silence of your fears…
No one will hear…
Your paper, my clay…
Your every thought, my flesh
Your heart, my soul…
Your every sense, my voice…
Your joy, my light of day…
Your sorrow, my darkest night…
Write me down…
Not for glory, or money…
But only because in your dream...
I can become the man I should have always been…

Oxo, if you write enough poems about your wannabe poem you may end up with it's biography… LOL

...... ? .....

i was once a poem
wrote without rhyme or reason
Senryu or Haiku


16 July 2013

Poetry 3 has not been lost it has grown in some way laying cool under the sand dunes, poemdunes!

Yes Ed, there is always that risk :-)) ...But I think I'll let it grow out of it into a Poetry video and just let it be :-))

Will what will? Just when I was considering giving up on my video making activities...this thread came along to inspire the wannabe poem and this latest poem-video...I have enjoyed it though!!!

Bravo!!

Oxo, thanks for making your latest video poem, i really enjoyed the whole of it... =>))

Echo to Xo

Not of well body or mind
I too can not write the poem that longs to be written
Fatigue and pain burn from every wound
The world seems awful murky
Not even sleep will bless me
So don't expect me too sing you a song
When this blackness is with me
Even if I were to challenge fate
I could not hear the voice of love
It would only be wasted on someone numb
Overwhelmed with ache
Suffering from the ancient fever
The families tainted blood

Self proclaimed artist, photographer, musician....

Xo, sorry I can't watch your latest video, I only have my iPhone these days and the signal is to weak.

The poem was written
Before your life
The ink was wet
As it ran into history
And you search to find the words
In the landscape
In the poem
In the abstract

You curse the pen
The pain, the paint, the poet within
your memory is smudged like the ink
Remember berry picking last year?
Turn around there are more behind you...

I enjoyed your video Xoanxo. Well done!
Good writing, everyone!

Your perception taints your view
For those around you think otherwise
you are worthy, you are wanted

Close your eyes and listen with your heart
Give yourself over to the natural course of life
Relax into it, feel it, flow with it
Breathe, for it is life

Pictured Memories
_______________

Time ticks on

as the ages go by

but in this moment

are refreshed memories

like a picture show

in my mind.

From then til now

I see all you've seen

through your eyes

reflected back to mine.

Shared visions

etched in memory

and worn like a

translucent shield.


~ Phyllis Wolf

Written Aug. 6, 2011

.

Wow! I'm feeling so much energy from the diversity added to the composting proclamations...:))) Thanks penny, Fran and Phyllis.Shana, kevin, jason, Michael...havn't seen any of you for a while...Penny loved how you suggested in the poem,to turn and remember good memories..
newcomers Bradford and Renee..hello!
Philip, the video was dark but the sound of rain was transfixing! I love the blue desert image...feels like an echo in the making
great poem and video Oxo, I loved how you used the music from a musical box, its making me think of echoing that too....
Ed, Thanks from JUmping in with your echoes...I think echoes originated with Vietpoe and really have caught on..its a good way of laying down the responsive link, like the camels in Philips image....like the trail of crumbs in RJ's poem...what a melting pot...and yet we can still retain our personal inputprint.
karen, i know you will flow once you find your rhythm...:))))

Thanks a lot Ed, Last night when I saw your comment with only the word BRAVO, I wasn't sure if it was referring to my video...I am glad it did but mainly that you enjoyed it too!!! Thank you also Maria, Phylis and RJ for your echo, it doesn't sound like you are having a great time at the mo RJ, is that so?...

An echo to poems waiting to be written


Another poem that yearns

It feels like undoing
on and on it goes
through my hands
no end
like the cursor
chasing black curves and loops and tails
I make
I escape
I chase
my hands empty again
slipped through
and left me nothing
from my all i gave
but all seems not enough
there's more
so much more
I feel it in the pit of my gut
is it love
or death
at the end of the length
that i make
that runs through my hands
that i chase
with my hands
that escapes....
me..
yet fulfills me...
on its small completion...momentarily
then i'm on the run again
chasing its tail...my tail..
across the sky of my mind.

Your blue seafarer jumper
with its sailor knot lumps of cable stitch
inhale the salt air
through its purlings
hands in khaki pockets
fists tight with memories
face braving the whips of sea spray
squinted as though looking further
than the horizon, through sea and sky
and past......
Your moccasins are sea mottled
cliff scratched coast scarred
you wear down the stone beneath your feet
expectant...like a worried father...
the light from the beacon
scythes clean your shadow
you stand alone
a man without a darker self
facing the weather
facing the world
the universe
swallowing its stars....

What's cookin'? JAMBALAYA! (def: a mixture of diverse elements). umm..umm.. TASTY!!
Good to see old friends and meet new friends.
re: Closed by Karen Newell - Answer to "Where do all of the poems go?" - Not in limbo.. instead in GUMBO. Why, leftovers get rehashed in a
new pot - waste not, want not. Tastes better the second time around.

Recipe for Gumbo (roux redux)

Get out your black iron skillet,
Add some White Lilly flour and brown,
Stir it all up, 'til just a'fore smokin',
To make you a darkie roux.

Next, add you a little water,
Top it off with a dash o' Cajun,
Add to it a little splash o' Injun,
And now ya got ya'self a stew.

Now take you a handful o' mixed greens
Now take'em, throw 'em in the pot
Add you some catfish filet;
Add the other white meat;
Now taste; see what ya' got.

Needs somethin'; ..Les' see..

Needs some black pepper;
Needs some red pepper;
Needs some white pepper too!
YEAH, Now it's seasoned to taste;
YAH!, We like's it HOT!

And when it's all mixed,
Flavors blended jus' right..
Then whatcha GOT?
Tha's GUMBO!
Jus' RIGHT!

Now, getcha self down
To the bad side o' town;
Across the railroad track,
And don't turn around
Until you done found
That lil' ol' juke joint shack.

Now, turn the heat up
Til it's simmerin' hot
Add boogie, bootie and booze
Say, whatcha got'ta lose?

Now, serve pippin' HOT!
Slap yo' mama.. bes' not!
'r yo' be in a stew..
Tha's GUMBO! tha's who!

It's good that its morning
No time for more yawning
Coffee in cup
Computer winds up
Scratching my head and butt
What?

How I feel right now

The pot shall be seasoned
With those wily words
Of the poets old and new

When my wife (Karen) turned 50 she earned her Masters degree. I bought her an original Dr Seuss Yertle the Turtle print. Along with her art I composed her a poem:

A Masters in Thinkology…
Queen of Momology
(A poem for Karen)

To school you went to learn to think
And you do, oh my, how you do think
You think in the morning, you think
While at work. Think. Think. Think
Even with your hands in the kitchen sink!

With all of this thinking who knows
What you’ll do?
For you they’ll need to invent a new Who’s Who.

Hang this in your office for you
To think on…
You are the most important turtle
In our pond.

First monkey love and now THIS??

Sonar Love (or Surf & Turf Sex )
- by Peter (a porpoise-full poet)



English translation from Porpuguese (by Mark Wickham):

People may ponder
a porpoise's purpose
in making porpoise
whoopee.

I purposely propose
it's porpoise perversity;
It's simply fin fun -
with
whom-ever,
where-ever,
water-ever.

My proclivity, natch,
is sweet dolphin snatch
but baring that catch
all's fair catch in a pinch.

No words can define
What I have in mind.

Is it bestiality?
NO!
It is more special...

Is it bi-specie-ality?
YES!
To be more specific...

Because consensual coitus
between cognizant creatures
cohering as a two-backed beast
experimenting.. exploring..
is not something deploring.

My people tell tales
of way long ago
of Greek explorers
who so loved us so.

So to this love-lorn lore
I add two tales of my own;
Of Margaret and Carl, who
were both lovers I've known.

Margaret Howe - a true lover,
she had such a gentle touch;
Genially,
Genuinely,
XXX-genus..
To her, I give gratitude much.

We caressed like lovers,
We explored the depths,
Of our own watery world.

Carl Sagan, however,
sex with him was all wet;
Conclusion,
Exclusion,
Ex-genius..
To him, I latitude let.

Scientists aren't good lovers,
They can't quite figure out,
Love's principle's fun-dament.

So now you know
The reason I smile
Perpetually,
Petulantly,,
It's because I love SEX!

Wet kisses to all you humans! (except Carl).

...fin...

((I did NOT make this stuff up!))

Mark u make me look sane lol ! Ok not . Porpuguessing that the riddle was solved by Carnal desires, dolphins may succumb to your poetic readings out at sea by the island of singing mermaids, awash with pots of hot hot stuff!! Er ok I lost my thread, til found I do say dolphins r def v cute. Um. Go for it.... If u must! Er decency laws may now be evoked so I plead readers madness. Haha

Madness makes for a clean white pot
somehow tinny
rattly
like an old metal bed frame
lots and lots of floor
and white flowing billowing curtains
quiet threads,
But there's a noise too
an absurd noise
that has me hoping for an exit
yet wanting to reach
for something
to calm the noise
to comfort
to say
i know
but the noise won't be helped
because there's nothing like the noise
it feels it knows too much..too much...

*cough*
or was that a tickle, a little thorny prick.. or a confused smile.. for the dolphin always smiles! :-)

Jokularity is fun in poetry…

a noise too much
who nose
that sniff of potions
out at sea
mermaids wait
in lost horizons
as a tinny big pot simmered...

bubbles bubbles toils and … lost passions

The dolphin
the water prince
beautiful echoer, crooner,
twisting and turning, soaring through stars of light
sinking into the deep
seeming to smile
and wink its eye
on the open sea toward the sky
voyager
fluid stowaway
schools out
matchbox boats
strange beautiful grey smooth blubber
heavy-floats
mother sea
what gifts has she.

Nice one Marie!!

Passions....

this is one of the saddest poems i have ever written... it makes me nearly cry... so if you want a fun day... u know what to read (or not)...


IN YOUR LEGACY
(A TIME OF LOSS)

In your legacy, my sweet
In the legacy of you
How can I rise, from my slumber to write?
My fingers are so rigid still
Metallic pokers of this cold heart
Metallic pokers of pen and parchment
My frozen hand does not flinch
Nor my steely straight lips
Unyielding to the moment
For in your legacy my breath has ceased
I see no thoughts once so evoked
With your charm, your wit
Your terms of deep endearment
Raw melting emotion
Myself so lost into your soul
My melted fingers flow from my broken heart
My blood flows in to your grave
For in your legacy, I can no longer be
The one we both were, less than half remains

I am a lost as a bird thrown to a gale
Tossed and thrown without tether
I feel the tempest in my hair
My skin crawls bitten with cold from your misdeed
I fear this moment
For I am lost
For you deserted me in my need
My sweet this broken life of misery
This ship of good fortune
Once so anchored in the gales
Now this ship is so at sea, in storms so fierce
I am torn, pulled to one side and adrift to another
Torn are the sails and broken are the masts
As they crash to broken decks upon which they lay
This ship has been damaged
And the water now seeps through splintering wood


In your legacy
I shall remain
Completely silent
As my ship slowly lowers and takes her fill
Of the oceans cold and deadly wash
As she now sinks, sinks further still
Into utmost disarray
Into the deepest blue void

I sink

In the legacy


Of you



To be




With you...



©Jason Christopher 2013

A masterpiece!
Did you just compose this or I have i seen this before?

How do people feel about voting every 20th post to vote for the best poem, image, video etc etc.... just an idea...doesn't have to happen...So we would have to make sure that there was at least two of each group in the 20 posts...maybe make it 30...sounds a lot but we have already managed 53 in such a short time.

to be honest Im unsure about this... think possibly devisive... cause hesitance in posting... and writing from the hearts emotions may be deflected... but im not fully opposed.

Jason,
You said the same about your zoo poem...remember you were going to bin it and changed your mind....that was a masterpiece too. Don't hesitate sending good stuff like this...i just know everyone will love it. And, it makes us strive to write better, to be in tune with our emotions, your writing style is similiar to RJ's IMO.
Oh sorry, was your last reply..a reply to voting? yes, i can see how that might happen. That's ok.

Marie just saw u edited your above post made at 8:36am -
******************************************************************

in reply, I wrote this last winter - to be in print soon on lulu and then Amazon. just proofing a copy today.

I have lots of stuff not up on the web so i hope u havent seen it elsewhere else people really are stealing work from other people's laptops !! haha - or is it?( We know governments access everyones work these days, if its anti terrorist or anti crime then thats fine, but how do we trust all intentions where evrypiece of work is now basically open to being taken?? the media here IN THE uk were punished for accessing voice mails illegally - COULD they accessing emails /hard drives now? what of other individuals with nasty intentions?? just a momenst thoughts...)

I have been busy editing and assembling the 100s of poems i have, its taken me ages and sent me half nuts, i have 2 more volumes to sort out by dec i hope. hence i have been busy. i hope that answers your query (THO BOTH YOUR OPTIONS FOR MY REPLY WERE NOTICEABLY INCORRECT) unless u reaally have seen it elsewhere? id like to know where??

I SHALL BE OFF NOW, VERY BUSY!!

ps the "final" zoo poem was never to be binned, 1st draft was rubbish but i sat down for a few days and rewrote it all a few xs...

Heres one i posted lasted year

THE MAD POET’S –
BEAUTY AND UGLINESS OF THE ROSE

(A HUMOROUS AND DARK POEM OF SPLIT EMOTIONS – A SPLIT
PERSONALITY OF AN ARTIST)

Here lies the crimson rose
Its vile stench pollutes our parks
Its beauty to behold
Like the flesh of murdered animals
Its lifts our moods in highest joy
To make me feel like stinking vomit
The beauty of the rose
That most ugly flower
I call thee angel of Summer
You revolting stem of darkness
I take you to my precious vase
I cut you down to burn you
Glow in my abode
Just rot in my bin
For I love thee, most precious rose
I hate thy disgusting monster of plants
Live and flourish for one more week
Die in my stinking refuse
Good morning sweetest rose
Good night, dead rose.

Oh petals of a rose
how sweet is the nectar
and sweeter the scent of subtle fragrances....
as i sit dreaming,,,
with a rose firmly... between my teeth...
grrrr….

a humourous and dark take...
on the poet...
and the rose...



(c) Jason Christopher
17th September 2012

Maria Disley - Beautiful poem, The dolphin.
Jason Christopher - So glad your work will reach a broader audience. May the dolphins sing your praises throughout the vast seas.

We all love dolphins Mark!
and those who swim with them...
(~a beautiful poem Marie)
may the hunters of dolphins ... STOP! dead.... the blood of dolphins stains the seas...



an echo to my echo of a year gone by, an echo to the mad Poets - Beauty and Ugliness of the Rose

there are deep pure passions of a reddest rose...

( i wrote this today so it may need editing and probabaly will be.... )



For You - Beautiful, Most Precious Rose


Spirits of Passions, so spoke to me
Whispered lights of thoughts of you
At rest, half woken, half adrift…
The moment of seeing, hearing you

The songs and sighs, the glowing smiles
The magic that you sing
Entice my heart and captures me...
I feel your touch within my mind, my heart

You drew me in with your purest heart
I feel our souls have met before
One time in past smiles
In the void of journeys made...

My soul is blazon
My mind on fire
Ignited
Ablaze!

The warmth I feel from you, for you
Melted masks just peel away
For sights I see light up my sight
Of you, within my glowing soul

Connections, thoughts, so embraced
Magic place of ocean’s time and heaven’s seas
Eye of seas, oceans blue sees of sights of you
The salty cries of passioned hearts

My tongue licks your gentle skin
As hardest love befalls my soul
That trembles within this blood of mine
A red, red rose so blooms again...

The reddest rose of deepest love
I clutch the stem of piercing thorns
The prick of pain that comes from you
That bleeds my hand with drips of red

I reach to clutch
your precious, beating, heart
You, sweet beauty
Have taken mine

It is
for you...
sweetest rose

Most duly,

Yours!


©Jason Christopher 2013
18th July 2013

Since it is Summer this one seems appropriate. Gregory Scott this could go with one of your fine rare photos.

The Visitor

I had a visitor while watering the plants today
An emerald dart in the form of a hummingbird
No bigger than a moment and
Quicker than a brief thought

The avian jewel appeared seemingly from thin air
Hovering inches from my startled countenance
In what was either a greeting or abject curiosity
A long moment - then gone (into space and time?)

As I resumed my Aquarian task my gem rematerialized
Returning to the courtyard again and again
I gazed rapt as he pierced the delicate blooms
Drinking sweet nectar from each, one by one

What a gift for us both
Mother Nature’s elixir for him
A moment of magic for me

Kevin Callahan - re: The Visitor - Pure poetic nectar.

Jason Christopher -I hereby nominate you as the Lunatic Poet Laureate. (yeah, yo' mo' mad than me.. ie: THE MAD POET’S – BEAUTY AND UGLINESS OF THE ROSE & For You - Beautiful, Most Precious Rose). I just finished reading a review of the American Psychiatric Association's updated Desk Manual - Diagnostic and Statistical Manual 5, and there is no diagnostic category for Roseate Schizophrenia. Not only are you nominated for a new category of Poet Laureate, but also a new category of mental disorder. CONGRATULATIONS!
(JUST KIDDING, OF COURSE!! JUST GOOD, CLEAN FUN ON PORPOISE!)

Don't entice me further mad man, sing your songs to dolphin ears, medusas charm shall not take my mortal flowering heart.
I often write of dolphin sex. Not. Lol , laters

Hmmmm.... Strange book to have at hand.... I say.... Er?

Please forgive the rush reading as this is trying to get to work reading. Will give more attention at weekend, but all looks great. we are so lucky to be able to read this stuff. Wonderful stuff! the mad poets society is a good sub title..if I can get to edit title I will. :))

I had this one pending from Poetry 3 I think, just completed. Not one of my finest I would say, but then again, all of your poetry always humbles me, and makes me wonder...Anyhow with this I might just take a break for a while...Keep the poetry flowing and Enjoy!!!!

We are all looking forward to your next videos Xo!! Aways a treat!! er......so..... See if u can embrace dolphins as mark sees them nx lol ;-))

I watched her in her sloppy boots
wading through the wet carpark
glass rain-beads hunting under the lamplight
it was winter, it was warm i watched evening
flaunt her dark charm.
neither light nor dark
i watched her
swivel her steel trolley
from side to side in front of cars
weighted with shopping
heavier than her awareness
her brief encounter with suddeness
measured in moments
there-gone!
air-stone!
I watched her open the boot with one hand
load in the bags and boxes
and waddle in the bucaneer boots
to the empty trolly park
I watched her through the mirror
hair dripping
really staring
searching

Thanks for that great link Philip…

Here's one that i have been reading that may not be as complete as the one you posted, but i do like the way they have linked van Gogh's letters to subjects that were included in his letters:

Art: equipment, influences,material, materials, supplies,support, technique, theory,

Attitude: clergy, death, family,Father, Mother, parents, people,reclusive, sisters, women,

Business: co-op, sales, selling,

Fear: paranoia, shyness….

Etc.

http://www.webexhibits.org/vangogh


*************************************

if i am mad then so be it
An Ode to Vincent


looking out the window into the quiet night
my madness tells me i would have it no other way
than haloed lights and starry skies that burn my thoughts
of turbulence lasting eternal in brush strokes
thick and textured as life itself

howling in the darkness trembling on the edge of lunacy
like the moon patiently awaiting sunlight to touch
i stare at the blankness of potential and
creative abundance hoped to be found
on the canvas of my soul

alone in dreams so real i dare not wake
to the empty realities of others
seeking safety in their comforts known
stillness is not my reward
in peaceful darkness no answers are found
in the viewing of this starry night
lighting my way home

Ed Meredith
October 23, 2011

Serenading Vincent.

Seeking Vincent.

Perfect Squares

Kazimir, Piet, Diego,
Juan, Pablo, Georges

Squares all

Perfect cubes for an ism

As scene at the MoMA

Vincent, where are you hiding?

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=4008734903435&set=a.1928012966687.2095136.1433091858&type=3&theater

Dear friends, poets of FAA, I have decided to take a break from FAA. Although I will keep my account open for a while, I expect to reduce my activity considerably...Of course I could do this silently but I would not like to do that without saying thank you to you all!!!

I admire all of your incredible writing talents, but above all your kindness and generosity!!! It has been a privilege and honour reading your wonderful poetry for over a year and sharing with you my humble endeavours!!!

As departing video, I would like to share the first one I ever shared in the poetry threads (Viets), and this time, as the first time, translations services are not offered :-) except for this two verses...

"Todo lo que digo...
está en mi voz...en mis ojos..."

"All that I say...
Is in my voice...in my eyes..."



Thank you very much to all you!!!

Xo, Oxo...

OMG! I didn't expect to be so moved by all of these posts this Saturday morning!
@Philip, I was studying with a artist student who had acquired the book of Van Gogh letters and suggested everyone to get a copy, it went onto my book list but I never did manage to get a copy.
Once again in the generous way that you share what inspires you, you have inspired me with the passage that you posted, van Gogh such a wonderful example of a human being and expressesing truth in his forms of art, I almost want to say, he was art....but maybe that's just me feeling emotional at this moment.
Mark Wickham Love your artwork!
If I am Mad..by ed meredith...Wow! made me feel like it could have been van Gogh writing it...Great stuff Ed..one of your best...one to pin tot he wall! Also Song of myself...just thinking if reading letters to van Gogh is producing so much truthfulness wanting to be expressed whether through one's own work or anothers, then we should be reading these letters, well, i should be, but its almost fearful, after reading them all, what would have happened to me, I will surely go through some great change in the way I think, am I exaggerating?
Oxo, I have left a message on Saigons thread, as I went there firstly this morning. I want to shake you to make you translate the poem, but I musn't...of course..its so beautiful just how it is..thank YOU. :)))

Vincent,
I could lie warm in the thick trenches of your yellows
fly in the swirling blues that fuse
with turquoise, and bleed into green
What lips cannot whisper subconciously your name
when they stare and sigh at stars
same distance
artist
your world
from ours
alas!

Maria Disley 20/7/113

I want to show you
how the rain is today
slanting across the trees
dripping from leaves

I want to describe
how I might photograph
without ease
these
scenes

I want to read to you
this poem I found
to watch your eyes flicker
at the integral phrase
I discovered
or,
your own
so different to mine
and have you explain
so I can learn
where you emerge from

I want to listen to your
thoughts
how they
upset my aura
and buzz
in their own arena

beautiful how individual
we all are
have things to lure
each other
difference
is significant
the thing that lies
at the bottom of the river.

I want to gather the wet trees
I'd need huge arms
like those women in playgrounds
who gather the children
together
as though they were weightless
these limby things would scratch
and bruise
even tear at skin
tangle hair
and cause a fall
natural things
why are you dead to me
I thumb your palms
define your textures
caress your wood
shake the rain from your branches
and you say nothing
show no response
its all in your display
silent, silent, silently
except when winter weather strikes and you bend and creek
Its winter here
and I like how you respond to me
How I pretend you are to me.

This is what I've been dealing with today..Hit us head on...Flash flooding and lightning over the top

Do you think it is an easy life to go mad
To feel mental discomfort so intense
To inflict injury upon your person
Do you think a soul would choose such a life
To loose touch only to find a way out through a brush
To find color and light erotic and juicy
Vincent was in pain and he let you know it
He let you experience the extremes
Between beauty and pain
Let you have a peek
He had to
he had run out of options

You could be describing your own art and writing and the effect, though expressed through pain, that it has on others :))

Xo, I will miss your words and your beautiful videos. I wish you the best in your endeavors away from here :))

For Xoanxo

Lay me on the page.
Where your romantic thoughts
Soothe my soul.

Lay me on the page.
Let the words
From the bowl of your heart
Curve around my mind
In that voice
So slow and sensual.

Lay me on the page.
Where I will wander
In your imagination.
Where reality will drop away
Meaningless....

Karen Newell
7/20/13

Maria

Now I must seek
A new avatar.
A new face among the many.
A face I should recognize
After so many months.
Yet instant recognition
Does not come
To those only known
Electronically.

Vincent

Where are you Vincent?
At peace in your starry sky?
At play in the sunflower field?

Where are you Vincent?
In my mind
I see only your eternal beauty.

Does that begin to help?

Thank you very much Karen!!! Copy saved...:-) I hope one day I can produce a work to be a worthy companion...!!!

Best wishes!!!

I love poetry..its the demon inside me so to speak.

And here's a video I like to share from IMAGINE DRAGONS that currently hitting the airwaves..



When the days are cold
And the cards all fold
And the saints we see
Are all made of gold

When your dreams all fail
And the ones we hail
Are the worst of all
And the blood’s run stale

I want to hide the truth
I want to shelter you
But with the beast inside
There’s nowhere we can hide

No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed
This is my kingdom come
This is my kingdom come

When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

When the curtain’s call
Is the last of all
When the lights fade out
All the sinners crawl

So they dug your grave
And the masquerade
Will come calling out
At the mess you made

Don’t want to let you down
But I am hell bound
Though this is all for you
Don’t want to hide the truth

No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed
This is my kingdom come
This is my kingdom come

When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

They say it's what you make
I say it's up to fate
It's woven in my soul
I need to let you go

Your eyes, they shine so bright
I want to save their light
I can't escape this now
Unless you show me how

-Song & Lyrics
Imagine Dragons
Title :DEMONS

Great song James..sound and lyrics :)) Thanks for sharing.

Cheers for this thread and your ever changing profile pic Maria!..though its a little bit long title..if it can be abbreviated or edited I suggest to

THE MELTING POT ; OSPPWAPAP (Of Self Proclaimed Poets, Writers, Artists, Photographers And Philosophers)

Its more of a cooking pot, heaven's kitchen or that of hell's?? What broths brew in bludgeoned toil ?

.....Oxo is a stock cube for many good broths!! Haha!!

Don't deprive us of this ingredient...

Au revoir and hello Xo.... The magic pot of potions succumbs....

For all of the cross country travelers among us:

Across America

The same men sit at
every truck stop in America.
They chew slowly and smoke
with a purpose.
Alone, they sit pensively,
as if still on the road.
Together, they lean into each other
in animated conversation.
There are only two waitresses
in all of the country:
Honey and Doll.
They work very hard.

And

Truck Stop Seasoning

In truck stops across America
food is seasoned with
salt-of-the earth women
Who serve you and
pepper conversations
with the same phrases:

Coffee hon?
Where ‘ya all from?
Where ‘ya headed?
That’s a fer piece.
Ready to order?
Can I get you anything else?
Thanks Hon,
You travel safe now.

The script has been long written
And each delivers their lines
without pause or flaw.

Nice one Kevin, I never trucked much, have stopped at a truck stop ....

The lash... Here's one from..... That cold silver tongue... Of reptilian origin? LOL



That lash

That lash
A whips ash
From her eye lids mascarad lashes
They beat me down
Made me crumble 
Made me  small
She beat me up
Lashed me!
And I begged for more
Those eyes so killed me
Cold frozen blue
She froze a rigid smile
That freezed  me up
And then she snapped me
Cut me up
Broke me in 2
Lashed me
Sliced me
Right through me
That hot bird
She's a killer
I married her? Hell yes! 
 But now she's killing others
Hot bird
I begged her
But now she's gone cold
I married the corpse! 
Shes my hot life
Now  my cold grave 
Carved in cold hardest  stone
Lashed me
I fell!
Rigid I fall...
Stiff.
Hard.
Almost Alone.



*cough* ;-)

(c) Jason Christopher 2013

Oooh Jason, reeled me right in. No, I am not a trucker but in my hunting trips over the years I have burned up the interstates between the east coast and Iowa and the west coast and Iowa. Lots of time alone in truck stops to observe and ponder. Since you reminded me of hunting trips this was for my buddies and my in laws.

The Collector

An aficionado
I collect them,
these modern-day
Ivanhoes
Natty Bumpos
and Chuck Heston
look-a-likes

They are all
[each]
tall, broad of shoulder
and
sharp of eye
you would want them
to be your friend

But,
they are
not
yours
they are
mine

They all
[each]
gather to
me
as moths to a flame

They come
to be with
their
diminutive
General of the Plains

Arriving
on wings of burnished metal
and chariots that speed cross the land
They gather like ancient Greek warriors
on the Plains of Troy

They carry only the finest of arms,
drink strong spirits
and
eat rich foods served
in the temple by the Gods
Apollo and Daphne

Am working on a truck stop poem....!:)

Mmmmmm..... Mmmmm..... what mind come nx then... !;)

Truckers

They cross the country
With 500 horses under the hood.
Those turnpike cowboys
Trailing trailers like a train.
They slouch behind the wheel
With a million miles under the belt.
They curse the casual driver,
Drifting, darting daredevils,
Who know not what they do.
They stop to fuel up
At those truck stops along the way.
The super stops with Mickey D's
And showers.
Lot lizards in the park.
Or the Mom and Pop's,
With biscuits and gravy buffet
And a honey wagon out back.
They run the roads
Night and day.
Watching the constant concrete trail.
Knowing all commerce could quit
If they did.

Karen Newell
7/23/13

Karen Newell: Bravo! Clapping...

Thanks Kevin, trucking is an inspiring subject :))

Truck Stop Intercourse

I remember that night…
Some intercourse we had
A long protracted conversation
Sweaty, rude and almost enjoyable
U sang your body
I remember that smile u had
Up on the table
Dancing
Erotic
Chaser
Chased by many
Moaner
Groaner
Like a crazed labouring zoo animal
How uncaged u were
U still are
Animal harlet!
Lustful elocutions
Devoured words, eaten alive
I felt
Cheated…
Phat lady
Slim down!
Morsel by morsel
Say it
With ya body
Do it with ya soul!
And shut that mouth!

And then…
She slapped me!
And then I left
Soon after I came…

Back to my truck...


©Jason Christopher
24th July 2013

(no offence to truckers out there! this is meant in complete fun!)

I know I said my goodbyes and all that :-))...But...As I expected, I will be moving to London in August and although I had decided to stop making videos for a while, at a friend's request for a promotional page of our home town Fiestas (Festas da Xunqueira) I made this little song that I wanted to share with you all. It is written in Galician but a translation follows...



(August Nights)
There are nights ...
There are nights ...
Nights of partying ...
Of spree ...
There are nights of dancing ...
Nights of drinks...
Of San Roque ...
And nights of A Xunqueira ...

There are nights ...
There are nights ...

Nights of dawns....
Of full days ...
There are nights of fireworks, foliadas...
Of bands and bagpipes ...

There are nights of full moons, rain ...
of friends, wine, tapas, and spirits...

There are nights of children and muińeiras ...
Nights of partying....
Nights of San Roque...
And of A Xunqueira ...
There are nights ...
There are nights ...
Nights of partying ...
Of spree ...
There are nights of dancing ...
Nights of drinks...
Of San Roque ...
And nights of A Xunqueira ...

I never expected you to disappear altogether :) Wonderful video..you can't stop making them! I felt like I was at your going away party! Have a safe journey and I know at some point you will have to share the poetry that goes around in your head from now til then....there's no escaping it....you jumped in and there's no going back..:))) But we will be patient...as patient as we must...as long as you and family are happy and enjoying your adventures...til then !

This poem is a favorite of a friend of mine.

Reflections While at Work

I went into the yard
to rake the mown grass
and dead summer leaves

Is there anything sadder than
those fallen before their time
amid the green of their brethren?

After a few vigorous strokes
my shoulder began to ache
my body betrayed by its age

I began to stroke the grass slowly, softly
like brushing the hair of your lover

Soon I was done, my task complete

Summer Gardener

Is the task ever done?
Though you may stroke the plants
As a lover would,
Tomorrow that jealous garden
Will need you again.
Weeding, preening, watering
Through the summer drought.
It requires so much attention,
Like a girlish zealot
Who needs your full attention.
More time than you want to devote.

Xo, always glad you could not fully break away :))

Jason, I missed your words! I am glad to see them :))

What I saw at the truck stop


The car tiptoed,
half way from here and half way there
into the truck stop,
Two lone trucks parked up,
mysterious under the darkening sky,
headlamps blinking by moonlight
stretches of darkness,
off the main road,
Our lights sniffed the tarmac
grittily searching
quiet gravel crunching,
hesitantly parking
embarking on rest.
Not a soul!
No mean rogue
no passion in the wagon
nobody!
we let the back seats down
rolled the blankets, set the pillows
watched the trucks from
our peripheral vision
at last lay down
with heads wedged under the sedan's back sloping window
darkness had truly fallen
but with hardly a space
for stars began to cut shapes
in the black
so close
I felt the sky would break
like pastry all used up.
Wow! The stars over Sydney were striking
grease lightening!
I felt like I lay on the arc of the earth
on the edge, skimming the circumference
on the tilted axis, all silvered and sphered.
I heard a grovel of huge whees rumble and disappear into the night
I hardly turned from the cramped space
the wonderful starlit place
the truck stop
half way from here and halfway there
Just off the main stretch
who'd have guessed
the edge of the world I would see there.

Maria

Did you get the email?

Oh! yes thanks, I thought I had emailed, sorry. i sent a copy to karen. Anyone else who wants a copy of poetry thread 3 just email me as Abbie retrieved it. :))

Having two books of poetry out, and one song lyric is having the music written for it, hopefully, I do a few things in the artistic field.

She Sits

She sits by the window

Looking for who she does not know

A dream that she longs for

A deep desire of heart



Looking into the open expanse

Wanting to know that someone is there

Waiting for a knight, a chivaree, a love

Desire to be apart of something real



Dreaming of that day

She would be waiting

For that someone to return

From work to share her love



But now she sits by the window

Looking for who she does not know

A dream that she longs for

A deep desire of heart



Pierre Richards © 07/2004

A Haiku

Poetry is a
voice I know intimately
singing my shadow.

Maria Disley 25/7/1

Mean while back at the ranchhouse....

good to read the above... i keep stroking my carpet... it brings back memories... (no garden)
beauty Kevin, brought tingles to my neck and shoulder... guesss i still have emotions firing...


nice to read your stuff too Karen! often entrancing...


yeah i grew to like those Haiku Maria, and Senyru?? still not sure on the formats but they are quite powerful and compact poems... i must give em a go again..

i read a very interesting article on poetry around the world and another on the 55 kinds of rhyiming poetry so far identified... rhyming and metrics are not essential elements of poetry at all... different cultures see poetry differently... rhyming and metrics are simply tools to enhance the verse.. but when missing, something has to bring the text out into full blossom... to make it stand tall as a poem...i must dig these links up. its strange though, when i start writing rhyming poetry my free flow becomes really difficult to write again and they start becoming very compact.. i was writing quite a few large ones but found the constraints of rhyming were constraining free flow of thought... maybe u have to do one or the other or have momnets of long transition between the two.. who nose.


anyways as we are advertising stuff (Phillip), heres one of mine ;-) - cheers!!


e-book Ł4.99
paperback Ł9.80

~80poems


This is one of my favs, its the first poem in the above book



RESURRECTION OF THE POET

In honour of ALL those here now assembled
In honour of all who dance these threads of life
In honour of poets, here and now, and gone before….

Seduced by the poet
The immortal charm
Your seductive verse caress my brow
Forever
Forever young
Forever strong
Forever
Forever, are the words of the new born poet
In his living fight
In her living toil
Forever, are the words of the ancient poet
In his eternal tomb
In her eternal dream
Until death are those words laid bare
On parchment, paper, pages from the mind
And at death, once more those words rise up
A living spirit
An echo of the past, that is today
To be heard once more again
To resurrect the minds of unheard poets
Now deceased
Garrotted, shot in battle, hung by humanity
The crucified, the innocent, those who suffered in their minds
The words of wisdom
Words of wonder
Come forth once more, oh ancient poets of old!
Come forth oh gentle minds of agile strength
Lay bare your words
For all to hear, for just once more, eternally, just once more
Resurrect, oh poets, philosophers great, of bygone days
Sit with these humble poets of today
Sit with these noble minds, who wish to be at one
With all your pain, your words and all your joy
Sit with the ones who now rise up and wait to take their seats
At your worthy noble table….
Resurrect!
Resurrect, oh greatest minds of bygone days
For all to hear
For you
For now
For us! and ever more…


©Jason Christopher
5th September 2012


starting work on vol 2 & 3 soon(ish)

haiku

1st line 5 syllables
2nd line 7syllables
3rd line 5 syllables

Each line does not need to end at the end of the line infact run on lines help with the flow. although there's only 17 syllables it usually carries a clever twist, deep meaning, a moral, etc etc
Love the book's cover Jason and the poem. Well done! How many poems in Vol 1?
Welcome Pierre, nice poem, hope to see more....
Philip... I'll be the toad sucking your toe..:))) I loved this line...I imagined a toad shaped truckie in his cabin....a toad dangerously on the open road....the word toad had me think road not toad, and the man who is a toad....all these images clashed together like garden chimes on a windy day.
Thanks for the video and film link. Great guitar playing and I loved how the filmaker followed the musician's hand, nice artistic touch....
karen..'tomorrow this jealous garden' perfect sentiment for gardeners there's never enough time to look after the garden...always a weed needing to be plucked or a bush pruned..a hedge sheared...a lawn mowed...etc etc etc..:)) Whenever I look at my disregarded garden I know I will say under rmy breath...'Jealous legs' I think there's a poem beginning to grow about the jealous garden..watch this space.
RJ, liked your truck image..I tried to get myself one while driving in the city tonight, well, I was a passenger...will post soon.
Thanks everyone for keeping this thread ALIVE...and diverse..

Jealous legs
green tights
sky blue eyes

(anyone want to continue this?)

uncaged purs
feline licks
storm skies blow

1 verse each for 6. 8 , 9, 10 poets?? ...

...... ? .....

i am a poem
wrote without rhyme or reason
Senryu or Haiku

*********

what is a poem
when it is not a poem
it is not a fish

****************

looking inside out
eat banana un-peeled
no duality

**********

a smell sound touch breath
beauty is aspiration
the greatest rapture

Jason, Congratulations on your book! How fun to have such a big project completed :) Looks great!


Ominous wind whistling
Catcalls through the trees
Blowing a wild summer ride

Thank you Maria, Karen and Philip...That video was great...

Jason, Well done!!! It looks great!!! I will get a printed copy, but I'll wait to be in the Uk...It won't be long now :-)

I don't know if you have heard about a train crash in Santiago, Galicia (Spain)...As you might know I come from Cee, Galicia...I actually studied for a year in Santiago...80 dead and many injured...Luckily amongst the injured and survivors was the son (13) of a life-long friend of mine, with who I spoke today...He was waiting for him at the station...It took him 5 hours to find out that his son was amongst those who had had survived... in our conversation he said to me "Xoanxo, I could only hope that you can imagine what those 5 hours felt like because I could not wish for anyone to have ever that experience..."

Today, I would like to share this poem by Rosalia de Castro (written in Galician), sung by Galician singer Luz Casal and accompanied on the flute by Galicia's most famous bagpiper Carlos Nuńez...

Snowflake

Ponder the essence of a snowflake
cold as the air it was born on
each unique in its own particular design
falling through the sky towards the uncertainty of the ground
and concentrating on its mortality knowing it will soon fade
as it drifts back into an invisible memory
forever dreaming of the moment when it shined

Touching the essence of that snowflake
I ponder the dreams of my own mortality
this delicate creation soon to melt away within my hand
a mere vapour lent from the season of a years passing
causing a tear to fall from my eye
unique in its own design to form a perfect frozen sphere
crashing towards the ground into a million tiny particles
and picked up by the air towards an uncertain sky
where it is reborn with the memories of a particular snowflake

Oxo, havn't listened to video yet but so happy for you and your friend that his son is safe, i could feel the dread in your words as he said he waited for news. Condolences to all those in the town who did lose someone. :(
Welcome John beautiful words....about the essence of nature..the transience of life..or time on earth/among the universe.
Jason, great idea...Haiku's amongst the garden..love that idea...and Ed writes them prolifically...like leaves falling...Ed, can we have some please about the garden, what it means to you, what you see in it :))))
Karen again a wonderful depth of something small...

An echo ( sorry not so good at haiku I havn't captured what i wanted to but I had to lay it down....like the first piece of turf :))

In the corner leapt
little brown leaves, I cupped the
heap up in my arms.

Haiku trainer

First of all, a Haiku is a simple piece, of only three lines, containing a specified
Number of syllables (5/7/5). Second a Haiku is always about nature, and has one
Line referring to one of the four seasons. :)

Green Pastures

Green pastures of life
Bright colors begin to show
Blooms open new

Green pastures of life

(This is the opening line of five syllables. It sets the tone of the Haiku, as to what you are writing about)

Bright colors begin to show

(In this line, you can see the reference to the season. Having a line giving reference to a season does not mean it has to say the season, but give enough knowledge to see it. Here we can see this is about spring.)

Blooms open new

(The ending closes the Haiku by giving more detail to what your subject is about.)

Thanks Dan, that was more explicit and informative than my attempt. so, go guys lets practice Haiku...think I even spelled it wrongly before..:(( hope one of the masters joins in..Vietpoe.

Viet, Dan and other experts, we would love feedback on our Haikus :))

Timeless

Wilting and waiting
Winter blooms through window
Dandelion clocks tick.

Maria Disley 28/7/13

I taught some poetry writing, and have written many of the various styles out there. To be honest, even that trainer, is a European Haiku, as with the Japanese, it is only 17 syllables and can technically be one line. I have even done a one line Haiku before. I don't think I have that anymore, it was just a personal challenge. But the pattern is still the same; 5/7/5 and the description. So a one line Haiku is even harder when you have to put all that in the one line. LOL

A Senru (SP) is much easier, being the same 5/7/5 pattern, but can be about anything. :)

Oxo, video was beautiful....the flute was just awesome...of course I wanted a translation...but at the same time didn't!!! I will just have to learn Spanish!
Dan, thanks for differentiating between the two...relieved i don't have write about nature all of the time. :)

right or wrong Haiku
is for Jiminy Cricket
not for me to judge

this is my Senryu
with three lines of syllables
five seven and five

********

leaf floating upstream
defies the rivers current
winds made visible

comings and goings
seasons each in their own turn
ends and beginnings

Nice Ed! Your avatar keeps distracting me..its very captivating!!I like the softness and uncompromising rhythm of the second verse..like easy answers to difficult questions...or eyes that simply see compared to eyes that can't/don't know how to.

Easy design, grass
paths in warm, cool, hot, cold
intricate when close

@ Maria's request

FYI: English haiku is an unrhymed, syllabic form adapted from the Japanese: three lines of 5, 7 and 5 syllables. Traditional Japanese haiku strictly requires a seasonal reference, or kigo, drawn from a defined list of words pertaining to the natural world. It is very challenging to write. Yet, since Japanese haiku appears on a single line, many English poets writing haiku are flexible about the syllable and line counts, beccause they tend to focus more on the condensed form and “Zen” atmosphere of haiku. (Haiku without (s) is used in English in both singular and plural)

The related short form of senryu is distinguished from haiku as being related to “human nature” or social and personal relationships.

Here is a Haiku of mine in the Japanese traditional form

打ち砕か瞬間

まだ水に
降順の泣く鳥
こだま遠く

uchikudaka shunkan

mada mizu ni (5)
kōjun no naku tori (7)
kodama tōku (5)


Haiku Shattered Moment

on still water
crying bird descending
echoed afar

2013-06-01

Anyhow, let's forget about both rule and rhyme in poetry, Maria


Senryu Rule and Rhyme

five seven then five
rule’s a prison for poems
freedom without rhyme


Senryu or Haiku?

no human factor
who do poetry for you
senyru haiku

2013-07-26

The parched ground wakes
To a soft summer shower
Flowers lift faces

Hi Maria... yes i hope my Avatar speaks for me... i'm to shy... LOL

Karin... nice

i agree Poe, if it works it works.

*******
i never set out to write in a particular form, probably because i haven't a clue and am fairly ignorant to the forms of poetry… but usually something in the early drafting process instructs me to follow what seems to be intrinsic in the words or story and that takes the poem in a direction of it's choice… whether it has poetic form or not i can't say...

However, this conversation about Haiku and Senryu has made me look in to the Sapphic form…
i have been working on a drawing that, with the right title, may lead the viewer to conclude that the image suggests lesbianism, wanting to write a poem for the image i looked up Sapphic poetry and found it's form both difficult and confusing at the moment…

here's what i found:

The sapphic dates back to ancient Greece and is named for the poet Sappho, who left behind many poem fragments written in an unmistakable meter. Sapphics are made up of any number of four-line stanzas, and many Greek and Roman poets, including Catullus, used the form. It was introduced to Roman and European poets by Horace, who frequently used sapphics in his Odes, and later became popular as a verse form for hymns during the Middle Ages. Modern sapphics have been written by Ezra Pound, John Frederick Nims, and Anne Carson. The original sapphic form was determined by quantitative meter, based on the nature of the ancient Greek language in which syllables were either long or short, depending on vowel length and ending sound. However, modern sapphics are rendered in accentual meter determined instead by the stress and intensity of a syllable. The accentual meter of the sapphic approximates the original form by equating long syllables with stressed ones, and short syllables with unstressed ones. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5790#sthash.sUYmMTnr.dpuf


Sapphic stanza in schematic form using "-" for long (in English, stressed) syllables, "u" for short (unstressed) syllables and "x" for an anceps (a syllable that can be either stressed or unstressed):

- u - x - u u - u - x
- u - x - u u - u - x
- u - x - u u - u - x
- u u - x

It's like one of them April fools jokes in it , where u get us to do this

- u - x - u u - u - x
- u - x - u u - u - x
- u - x - u u - u - x
- u u - x
Stuff

....then say its all a friggin piss take, haha! Lol
Whiskey all round!

Soz just dropped in by accident, lots of lightning

Glad you were suspicious of it Jason....I take everything at face value, at first, and was eager to have a go!!!! Now I'm thinking is this a joke...will check it out first....I've fallen for Ed's jokes before :)))

Jason, Maria… no joke this time… trust me, heh heh...

honestly i have no clue and a bit confused by that (X - U) example and don't even know if i'm clever enough or even want to figure it out... %>))


Spell Karen...

"could you use it in a sentence please"

with sweaty palms
and buckled knees
i was always called first
at the classroom Spelling Bee
was it teacher's mercy
to end my misery
quickly
or just her method
to get me out of the painful way

god bless spell check!!

Stressed or unstressed
That is the question...
Does the s count as a syllable
Like the ed does

I think a powerful poem can strip away the myth
Of scholars and thieves
Of no it all nothing means nothing
That scroll on the wall

Yes Ed, I googled it as i had heard of it before but just wasn't sure about the pattern! yes, need to be in the right mindset to be bothered working it out...looks a lot like my camera manual! :))
karen, I always wonder if the s counts as a syllable when counting them...anyone care to tell me...not that its important ....just something else to stuff into this already leaky head!
I totally agree RJ...that there is power in both....the power comes from the feeling..which somehow manages to push past the words...but often the use of words/toolspush the feeling/meanings to the front, so we can see them much more easily, more obvious...IMO :))
Have a nice day all :))
from the novel 1984


It was only an 'opeless fancy
it passed like an Ipril dye
But a look an' a word an' the dreams they stirred!
they 'ave
stolen my 'eart awye!

They sye that time 'eals all things
They sye you can always forget
But the smiles 'an the tears across the years
They twist my
'eart strings yet!

Sometimes I think I could take anyone
Given the right timing
Broken bones or not
Twisted fate and absolutes
Symptoms of our weakness
Take them away and they'll be cut off at the knees

Cool Water

Crystal clear water
On a hot summers day sun
Cool frolic of mirth

Pierre Richards © 05/2004


I have three books published under this name.

Then The Hole Sucked Me In

I was having one of those kinds of dreams.
Where you know you are dreaming.
Even though you want to wake up, you can’t.

I was looking at a swirling hole.
I thought it was all dark at first.
Like a hole you think you can get sucked into.

I got closer, I saw colors morphing into new ones.
There are colors I don’t know names for.
I was looking at it like a dieing campfire.

My heart was so happy watching no name colors.
My body relaxed; the colors rocked me gently.
Then the hole sucked me in.

Angelina Vick

RJ.I'm wondering if its me you would like to cut of at the knees:)))) but, i've had such a good day I couldn't care less. it is mid winter here but the sky is so clear and blue and the sun is shining, I'm just waiting for some blueberry muffins to cook, the dog is bouncing all over the place after being really subdued for several days after being desexed. She dragged ME out for a walk instead of the other way around. And in a creative writing class today it hit me just how integral poetry has been in my life, as in the poem, 'Poetry is a voice...' That is what i was saying without really realising just how much it is my voice, rhyming, not rhyming, half baked haiku or not, poetry is the way I sing or lament...I suppose its the same for most people who like to write their kind of poetry.

Blossoming

Unearthed by chance in
this winter's winking sun, some
shy buds bursting forth


Angelina, imagine colours existing that we never knew did!! And how to name them! Great poem I was sucked in :)

Maria, not sure who I'm talking to, not feeling well in New Mexico and very down about it..

Cassandra

She sits alone in the night
With waves lapping about her perch
Surrounded by dark water of the moonlit sky
As she searches the vast ocean

With child-like demure she sits
Wondering what will come her way
Or if she should jump in and play
For this moonlit night casts such devious light

Then she thinks of her lover within the deep
If her father had known what they did
She would be in hiding this week
But his loving touch was more than she could stand

She had known him for many a year
But last night she found she was no longer a child
With him they explored the depth of their hearts
Soft and exciting his touch she found

She now felt changed, in a beautiful way
She had crossed to her womanly grandeur
With his aid she had grown last night
She bloomed last night to a mature flower

Now her mind swims with thoughts of him
Dreamy thoughts of the bliss they shared
Wonders she had discovered in heated arousal
Experiencing what she had grown into

Then from under the waves
A hand genteelly strokes her tail
And she knows the touch as she blushes bright
Then reaches and takes the loving hand

Together they slowly ease under the sea
To vanish and explore the depth of heart
With tender emotions shared again this night
Together forever she wants his touch
Pierre Richards 09/2003

This is from "Visions of the Rogue Sage", one of the two poetry books I have out.

RJ, what can we do to help....? can we write about something try something with our writing to help distract you from the pain?Must be difficult for penny too seeing you like this...are you seeing a physio..or is that a ridiculous question regarding where you are situated at the moment?

Maria just wrote a long response and lost it... consulting with NY doctors .. don't know much yet.. we're in Abiquiu this week..2 miles from Geogia O'Keefe's house and 14 from the ghost ranch... frustrating to not fell well and uninspired.... if you want to write a poem around that feel free...rj

oops double &())#%$!



anyway..


just read ANGELINA's "The The Hole suck me in"..very nice.

I remember a friend whose hole is sucking his life into a miserable thing, worst he was not dreaming! =))

@Philip: I love any Wiliam Carlos WIlliams works!

thank you for sharing that.

@Dan : that is one cool Haiku!

Love the red wheelbarrow image :))

Love the input, always interesting to read..

of course i am simply a puddle, reflecting the skies as i lay in the mud... i enjoy this feeling of wetness and soft cool mud and open skies and burning sun...and of being at one with what is... a puddle in mud on a hot Summer's day, as cows chew grass, i hear the farmer's feet.... eek!

needed to share this:

I have been hungry , wondering when
will I eat again and where will the
next meal come from .

My soul is so tired , but my mind
tells me to go on ...wanna give up
sometimes....but my journey is
not done .
Losing weight , for help I don't
ask because pride wouldn't let
me ..to ashamed ...

I just smile and I grin and bare it
I push through the hurt , the hunger
and the pain .

Listening to other people about nonsense
they complain , about how they wish for a
better car, got a running working car, outside
standing in lines for name brand shoes or
a new game....

I have seen hunger , I have felt hunger pains
deep inside. I have had to feel so low
so lowly when I looked into my hungry baby's
eyes.

And so I give for the memory of the things
that were, the things that use to be...
I give to give hope for I remember the days
when I was HUNGRY , IN NEED and no one
gave to me .

Never get to comfortable in places , claiming
you have security . We do not know what the future
brings where I once was is where ....you.... could
one day be.

by Diiamond Black

From Georgia to RJ

No footprints in the sand
long blown away
don't desert me in the desert
my fingerprints are everywhere
in my home and Ghost Ranch
come feed from my images
Tap into me...
my desert inspiration
let it breeze through your bones
like warm ether
take away the ache
and awaken you
to your creativity
and deep artist's soul
lets share
while you are here.

RJ I know nothing about new mexico maybe you could give us a poetic description?

One can not be an American by going about saying that one is an American. It is necessary to feel America, like America, love America and then work.
Georgia O'Keeffe (1887-1986), U.S. artist. repr. In Laurie Lisle, Portrait of an Artist (1986). Quoted in Chicago Evening Post (March 2, 1926).

Maria that one gave me goose bumps
Here is a photographic journey to start
You must have one of these to drive around in here and we put it through the paces

I did make it out paining today and it's funny how Georgia kept jumping in there..

Love the image of the canyon have commented on your page. Glad you have the ram to get around in and to get out of any tricky/muddy situations. good idea telling the story in pictures hope you'll add a poem too along the way. So, have you moved to new mexico for good/the present, or just passing through? Also i think your sunflowers are better than georgia O'keeffes flowers, i actually read that she didn't like flowers she painted, infact hated them, it was just that they were cheaper than getting a model and kept still!!! Admittedly her poppy's and pansies are great but how do you paint something you hate???
I don't find the emotion in O'keeffe's work as i do in this one,



Which is different again from mike savad's gorgeous sunflowers



I think I would choose the painting because of its emotional/human content, even though the photograph is bursting with energy.

I find her more interesting than her work, but it grows on you after a while

Yes, i read up a bit about her and read some of her letters to Steiglitz. I really liked her vulnerability, she didn't pretend to be anything than who she was, it was obvious that there was an instant connection between the two artists. Steiglitz's photographs are amazing of Georgia, and her family history was a good read too. There's something in her face and hands that are very appealing. I really thought she had some Indigenous Indian blood in her but turns out to be Hungarian. I like how the extremes of weather and plain living are in her face and her look .

She began to look like the landscape.. lived to 98 only moving from her home here in Abiquiu when she was 96 to an apartment in Santa Fe for her final years..she also had a home on Lake George not far from our place in the Adirondack mountains of New York.. We planned t stay here until the end of the year at least but I was saying this morning if I don't get better in 3 weeks I may want to pull out..,

Well, anything can happen in three weeks, in three hours even, things can happen to change your mind. Go with the flow and don't get mad with yourself if you have to pull out, as Oxo, says in a poem of his, as an artist, you jumped in, that's what counts. If you go back and get treatment and rest until your next adventure, sometimes when you are out of an environment you see it clearer and may be able to paint the real effect it had on you...just a thought...anyway look fwd to your visual journey continuing on the thread.
I am preparing to continue with the arts degree and i was reading up a bit and came across an artist...can't remember name sorry...who experimented with creativity by getting a bell jar and placing it over everday items on a desk, that you wouldn't normally see as interesting, and observe the contents under the bell jar...i havn't tried it yet, but i was thinking you could do that in the desert, such a vast place where the landscape, to me, would be difficult to observe much detail, like some of the stretches of beach here in aus. But instead of trying to capture a vast scene maybe try the bell jar idea. maybe place it over a bit of cactus, rock and lizard..or whatever you stumble over there. even that mud slide after the flash flood would have made a wonderful abstract...have a great new day..with new thoughts and ideas...say hello to Penny..:)

Wow! The Abiquiu vid was amazing! And the music. I loved how the camera moved around the rocks to be, i imagined how the water and wind sculpted the huge sand castles. One of the sculptures looked like a deserted village/kingdom. Must be a sight to see in the flesh.:))

Daybreak

Sunrise orange orb
Poets wait, with open craws
For inspiration

Karen Newell
8/1/13

Behind the mask he sat
Spouting words of nonsense
Like a child playing make believe
feeling superior
Behind the mask he sat
The sad clown with the idiot smile
But one child in the tent that night
Looked into his soul and saw
Behind the mask he sat
Counting down the days of his immortality
Feeling the devil on his tail
Knowing he could never hide in reality
For months he felt safe
Feeling the mask was enough
But the child saw, and the devil smiled

Oooh powerful stuff Isabella... shudders and mudders... i hear poems from the darkness.... and possibly the deep south.... emerging again laters... I shudders again... *shudder*

im flat as a pancake at the minute, cold as a corpse... let me extracts something from....

the hardback is avail now too!! lol buy all 3.. wooo hoooo!! lol i should have gone in to marketing... haha!
(on lulu, to be on Amazon and ibookstore in the near future....)



Fire in Darkness - poetry by Jason Christopher

e-book
paperback
hardback

page 120-
The Paralytic Stare of the Serpent

The hissing slithering coil
Slowly grew tight
As the rising head
Towered high
A hissing serpent
Hissing its delightful smile
As its flickering tongue tasted the air
I flinched
But could not move
Hypnotised by the intense gaze…
The Paralytic stare of the serpent.


© Jason Christopher 2013

Aunt Lanta.

Aunt Lanta -

She's like my big sister;
I look up to her,
I admire her,
I pester her.

She's a
sky-high
jet-setter.

She's always
on the go, so;
she's ne'er enough
time for me, though.

Sal Vannah -

Now she's like my Nana;
Always has time to spend;

She squeezes me close to her bosom,
She is there when I seek a friend,
I seek her words of wisdom,
I seek her ways that mend,

I wanna stay -
with Sal Vannah.

© Mark Wickham 2013

While stirring from sleep this morning I remembered this poem that I spoke at the end of a dream.

The Silent Pen

The thick wet brush slapped against the waiting wall
The blue cruised on juicily oozing between the bristles til
The wall was covered.
What a wonderful blue said some,
What a perfect purple announced another
Kinda bluey green decided one.
But all were pleased with what they saw
The smooth coat of painted colour over the creamy blur.
The teacher’s chair back leaned against the new daub
A black rectangle, with a yellow insert, which took on a Mondrian appeal
The round clock in the top corner, dead against the former colour, creamy blah,
Now a dark moon against a daylit sky, of blue, purple or kinda bluey-green,
How is it that I,
Should compose, while still asleep, such a poem, on the tail of a dream?

@Philip. Like the almost balancing act of light and heavy in this poem. Heavy as an onomatopoeic word really adds weight to the second half of the line. I really felt the light and the heaviness.

I've known a few snakes, Jason. They do stare well!

I quite like that poem Maria, grown on me. Funny its because when im sitting in bed relaxing or about to drop off (asleep not dead and rarely when waking up as then i am like a corpse) i often get this explosion of odeas (i guess thats an odd idea... or just a mispelling) and thoughts, and out comes the ipad, iphone and out it all comes, sometimes from nowhere, i think poems assemble slowly in ya subconcious and then once enough fragments are there.. out it pops... with a bit of heavy mental effort (the poem i meant, nothing else )... all those colours of thought and utter hell and love and distress and sadness and hate and juice... even humour.... hmmmm. lets see what happens later.... could be a heavy load of stuff..... poem is a bit like sex i guess lol.... ok scuse the puns...... im knackered.... need to get a motor for that cycle, pedal just when i need to...

if only we could cycle on never ending plains (planes??) of red tulip landscapes..
hmmmmmmmmmmm aahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh ........ ... .

... . sssssssssssssseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx....

i mean poetry!! ;-)

Don't drop out mark, ur one odd ball this party could do with. Erm. Did I rele say that? Man it's hugs to all human kind here! Lol ( joking, in for a penny, in for a pound as they say! Lol). Dam , it's late, g' night, sleep tight, don't let them poems bite ya..... Ouch!! Bless sal vannah , but I could be saying something I regret laters so good stuff!!


Now. Where r those fcuking pills..... Hah, u got em aye?Aye?.. My eyes are so heavy, I feel em closing ... To silver plains of cuttlefish fish, blossoming lakes of daffodils and light filled pools of manta rays.... A DREAM....... YEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSS.

GOOD BYE?l! Till the next ENCOUNTER!

Oh I nearl forgot..... Where r those refugees from the other thread? Not shipped in yet?? Hah! hah! HAH HAH!!! Lol peeing myself! K bed. Night.

Closing discussion..opening new one...just because of length which makes it difficult to get at early posts. :))
new Thread to be called THE MELTING POT