Poetry

Think we need to make a new thread, this is getting too long to scroll down :). New thread will just be Poetry 2.

@Saigon, like your comparisons poem. The fate of everything!!! Had to look up the Sequoia tree, turned out to be a commonly named giant redwood, living up to 1,800 years, wonder if Ed will still look as good when he reaches such an age :). Who knows!?


And the ashes,
Carried on the sultry summer breeze
Billowed like a feather; just fallen from the breast of some busy bird,
Above the canopy of trees,
And down it floated,
And rested at the gnarled roots
Of some giant redwood's boots
And there was tread into the ground
To only rise again
In fresh budding shoots
Resurrected
In a Sequoia
Reaching for the sky forever
But never.


Hello Saba.
Wonderful lyrics. Are you a songwriter? Interesting artwork too. Hope you have more to add to the thread.
@ Philip, good to see your poem just as I was posting. And not so different in tone to my poem either. Lot of reflection. I am still in process of reading, re reading to feel the full impact, as in Saigon's too.
While writing this morning, I found, as you can probably detect, my mind wandering, connecting to other ideas that we're presenting themselves with each new couple of lines, but I did try to keep to the intent that I began with and hope it was successful.
Afterwards, I wasn't happy that it presented nature as a double dealing agent, when nature is just nature, whether sometimes disastrous to humans or not.
My only complaint about your poetry is that there is not enough :)))
Hi Melissa, very quiet, sad, moving poem, almost a lullaby in itself. Thanks for sharing :))

Mothers last lullaby

Darkness falls be silent now,
Cold dark core warmed with life's last breath,
Life's aged tendrils fall into rest,
I have given you my all, my very best.

Melissa Herrin 6/6/14

No sign, at the moment of blinds opening
Just dew, strewn across the morning grass
Just black branches holding with a mother's grip
Onto the few last golden leaves,
Twirling restlessly, in an autumnal tantrum to be free,
be carried off aimlessly, on the back of this fresh steel breeze.
No signal, this early winter morning, just dew balancing upon
Each green blade and perched feather, soon to be shaken by its owner.
Perfect circles of water, tiny mirrors, poised waiting for the sun's warmth to melt those Iced edges of last night's dreams,
about to disperse, as the real day unfurls.
The winter morning's cold sheets of dew present a day anew.
The air seems wanting, seems warning of downy dreams, blowing off the realms
Of unreal and spreading the bed of earth with real cold dew, cooling mirrors
To reflect on, to wake the dreamy eye.
Nature deals it's deck, by day, it's sleight of hand in every change of light, to use such simple tricks, is all it takes to halt a dream, an imagining, of signs, of signals,of night's stirrings.
The dew begins to melt and meld and too, the hopes withheld, disperse, but not so altogether, for though longer is the light of day the night will always follow.
And winter nights and winter days make seek us warmth, and chill our bones
And all our senses so intense as to compare our being, and all it holds, to a drop of dew that rolls along a blade of grass, and wakes us up at last!

Maria Disley 7/6/14

people are changed

People are change when you're a change
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down

When you're change
Faces come out of the rain
When you're change
No one remembers your name
When you're change
When you're change
When you're change

People are strange when you're a change
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down

When you're change
Faces come out of the rain
When you're change
No one remembers your name
When you're change
When you're change
When you're change

When you're change
Faces come out of the rain
When you're change
No one remembers your name

-- Saba Mzhavanadze

Belatedly

No small feat to be late
but neither ants or the bees
came short of their fate
as strong as any sequoia trees
that I know of Meredith, Ed
when he painted the town red

Ed, we need to see a baby photo :))))))

For Ed and myself, The Geminis'

There was a moment
A sudden cry
Into the world
A smacked arse
A life begun
A circus
A tragedy
A comedy
A romance
All rolled into one
What fun
What tears
What laughs and fears
I understand it all now
As my birthday nears
I lay down gently the telescope of my mind
Like a found, lost glove,
Drawn to the music
Of existence
Leaving the past moment
Behind
To kick new arse!

Maria Disley 5/6/14

Yes I'd like to ditto that Viv, and a belated happy 176th years of revolution to u Ed. Ur looking very well indeed.

Thank you all, for enriching my life through your words/visions.........you put everything in perspective.

late/loving Happy Birthday, dear Ed............Cheers,V.

Thanks Dan...

this is a repost but it fits my celebration of my 76th revolution around the sun...

Birthday... Narcissism to the End:

my reflection on this day
was brutally honest
in showing the passage of time
something i was to occupied to notice
until it had past

the end of my hour
which seemed to arrived
before it ever started
is upon me now
and gave good reason
to think darkly of my mortality

of being no more
nada
zip
gone…... dancing i thought
with a wink of my eye
after all i am a handsome rascal
i can see that in the mirror
far more youthful than my years
i've plenty of time to do what i wish
and so many things i'd rather not miss
so i'm out of here
i'm gone
nada
zip
i'm off to have some fun

and getting older
well
i'm finished with that
for the moment
it'll have to wait it's turn
to be dealt with when it comes 'round
again

Ed Meredith

Through the Looking Glass of Time

Karen, Clubhouse on the beach, that was a fun read!
Happy Belated Birthday Ed.

_____________________________________________________

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

" Was your Yara, the Melbourne Yarra?"

Yes it was. I have spent a few night walking the river walk, and looking at the river. Night time was always my favorite time to walk it, the colors, smells and the fire show at the Casino were always just surreal. One would have to walk it to know what I am talking about, and I think because you asked, you likely have?

Jason

"Dan - we just sail in to tomorrows... endlesssly... sailing.... as mermaids swim by "

I have one in one of my books on something like this, I think it was called, "Corsairs"?
I actually wrote in while on a ferry, while working as a photographer on a music video.

Karen, Maria thank you for the birthday wishes... it was a perfect day ending with a night of fine dinning and dancing with the person who completes me...
one couldn't ask for more.

Karen, i will be returning to my beach shack in February, i'm looking forward to see what the sea has offered this year... . =>))

Happy Birthday Ed have a great week :))))

Very busy week great to see all contributions...always make time to read :)))))

Happy Birthday Ed Meredith! I hope you have a great one :))
Here is a piece inspired by a photo you posted a year or so ago

Clubhouse on the Beach

Scavengers seek
the bounty of flotsam
with which they build
their Temples on the sand.

Shrines to worship the Sea.
Sanctuaries for lolling.
Lazy gazing Prayer Palaces.

The Sea
is a fickle Goddess.
Laughing,
she slaps it down
knowing the Lover
will always come back
for more.

Karen Newell
2013

Thanks Kelly :)) It was the coolest dream! I love when that happens!
Jason, clever use of the breaks. It worked perfectly! Very Poe-etic
Dan, your use of language created a timeless piece:))
Maria, Have our nibs suck up ink and scribble, spidery, those ideas onto paper to endure. :) !!

Just wonderful Karen!

Astral Dream

I dreamt a Shamanic Spiral.
Those who Know were there.

The Mesa was filled with intricate Healing.

I dreamt my Misarumi,
an object I Knew yet had never seen.

I placed it upon the amazing Altar,
accepting Ascension.

I awakened to my mortal world
with Magic in my eyes....

Karen Newell
6/2/14

Silent stares and reflection.. all me lol... im always unsure of everything i write Marias so im glad u liked it :-) Yep i thought the gaps were too long too, but silence often speaks... silent stares, silent flash backs... silent is the moment of uncertainty... of everwhelming emotion.... of fear.. are we caught up in cycles of fear.. uncertainty, a loop of moments replaying endlessly... i recall a chat i had once, where we dicussed how patterns dictate our lives, patterns of behaviour... repeating themsleves... until we finally undertsand them and the meaning from where they came.... then we can break free from them... into a new patten? a new cycle of repeating moments?.... ... ..... ... . . as i comb my hair someone watches me.... ;-P



Dan - we just sail in to tomorrows... endlesssly... sailing.... as mermaids swim by

Jason, I hope you will include 'moments' in your next book. I loved the structure, how those long gaps echoed moments, and the echoes of the moment captured itself. There was also a lot of dramatic climax. Half way through I thought " oh! I'm mistaken Jason has copied and pasted an unknown poet's poem onto the thread, how lovely when I got to the end to discover it was yours after all! And no, I did not think it couldn't be yours, it was the structure that made me think twice. It was a risk well worth taking. I was just thinking if the gaps would be more effective a little shorter but then in reflection I remembered how scrolling down to the next line was like falling into a well of the past, summoning up darkness, and helplessness in remembering that particular moment for you.
Strangely enough, it made me remember the brush and comb sets we used to get at Christmas time. Ten a penny now and people hardly bother with those kind of things anymore.

Dan, once again catching the moment and challenging me to stay with this theme, I will have to get thinking! You are very good at setting a scene. Was your Yara, the Melbourne Yarra?

For Tomorrow I will Sail

Twas when we sat that eve in Market walk
Along the Yara we sat and talked
The shadows danced on the water below
Yet, upon your face a heavenly glow
The chatter of many a soul doth clamor
My eyes see naught but the amber splendor

As words flutter as an angel’s song doth love talk
About the times we would come to lock
Your dreams did speak of want to bestow
With tender word of passion doth grow
Doth your words make mine heart clamor
For tis tomorrow I will sail out to a distant shore

02/05/2005 © Pierre Richards

Have a great holiday Karen! it does sound epic
i couldnt find ur thread for a moment Maria... glad its here


Moments.....


She combs her hair
again and again...


each moment
repeats it self
we are stuck in this cycle of moments

endlessly...
the moment passes 
was that you?

was that you?



was that you?








was that you?
























was that you?


but her comb remained
on the floor

as i stood by the open door

it was night

something quivered in faintest sight


as i looked again

and again








was that you?



but i could not see her
in the lightless night
i grasped the air
but no lady did i touch
upon my hand 
just the lace of one hair

yet i see her
combing her hair
again and again


each moment repeats itself....



She combs her hair
again and again...


each moment
repeats it self
we are stuck in this cycle of moments

endlessly...
the moment passes 
was that you?

was that you?



was that you?








was that you?
























was that you?


but her comb remained
on the floor

as i shivered by the open door

it was night

something quivered in faintest sight


as i looked again

and again








was that you?



but i could not see her
in the lightless night
i grasped the air
but no lady did i touch
upon my hand 
just the lace of two hairs

yet i see her
combing her hair
again and again


each moment repeats itself....


She combs her hair
again and again...


each moment
repeats it self
we are stuck in this cycle of moments

endlessly...
the moment passes 
was that you?

was that you?



was that you?








was that you?
























was that you?


but her comb remained
on the floor

as i shuddered by the open door

it was night

something quivered in faintest sight


as i looked again

and again








was that you?



but i could not see her
in the lightless night
i grasped the air
but no lady did i touch
upon my hand 
just the lace of three hairs

yet i see her
combing her hair
again and again


each moment repeats itself....


Moments...



(c) Jason Christopher 
31st May 2014

I'm liking how in each poem there's a moment :))

:-))

Yes it's all just a parlor trick XO

Thanks RJ!!! Good to see you back and all Great Poets of FAA...!!! You mean "The Magic" as "The Illusion"???

XO my favorite video of yours.....there is no ifs if time stands still but then we would also lose the magic of timing

Lost In Space.


Is there any such a thing
as synchronicity in everything?
We all were spurned from that first cell
and seem to be always trying to re connect
Indirectly, separately...
From the fuzzy land line
to the text lost in the tunnel.
All aerials...
All antennae...
Are we...
Lost In Space?


Maria Disley 20/10/13

Some mystical energy has returned

They came like spectres
through the screen
from landmarks on the globe
from wandering
for forty days and nights
it seems
and soon they will leave again
and may not return
but leave their beauty on my mind.

Maria Disley 20/10/13

I dare not part my lips
for fear of the wrong words escaping
and rearranging the beautiful chaos
of waves, deserts and night skies
of waiting, of sleeping, of aching
of artists shaping life
from
wonder and despair
evasive love and life
I notice, I feel
the bird soar
against the wind yet with the solar flow
like my soul
on hearing poets words
as I eat my egg on toast
and the light of day
reveals
some things to me.

Maria Disley 20/10/13

It Was Cloudy Anyway

The Lunar eclipse
Came and went
As I lay sleeping
Safely
On my side of the world
The pull of its energy
Still felt
On my Soul

Back On The East Coast In Fall

By body is cold and my bones ache
The darkness out ways the dawn
These narrow roads feel like long halls
The grey sky is holding me down
Reminding me of old wounds that never healed
I miss the big sky with it's high ceiling
The dry air and jagged rocks
The smell of juniper everywhere
Don't forget me dessert sand
I'll be back soon
I can't stay here
I'll spend my winter there

The loose paper flittered through the air
as the poetess looked on in despair
some sailed back and forth
like a feather
and lay to rest
in some strangers nest
others soaked themselves in the lake
the ink left the page and swam with the flow
the poetess
had no hard drive
and from all the pages lost
recalled just one line
'I heard a whisper ride across the moor
and want to chase it evermore...'
She wrote it quickly once again
and another poem was born not much the same
for time had moved on
and she herself was new
her old self gone!

Maria Disley 19/10/13

Maria, here is an echo :))

The Poetess

For hours she sits,
The Poetess,
Alone in her dreamy world.
Weaving a tapestry
Of consciousness.
Ink upon paper,
Curling clusters of words,
Waiting to be deciphered
By a wandering kindred soul.

Karen Newell
10/18/13

Ed, just re-read..well its the weekend and I can take things in my stride moreso.
Autumn

sunlight rippling in the
golden pond of fallen leaves
below the Eagling loft
where i sit with a Cardinal
and Sparrow
watching the sky
while pondering the riddle
of the Sphinx

Ed Meredith

Really beautiful sense of freedom of mind. Love the line, ' below the Eagling loft' it brought movement, stillness, nature and you together but invited the reader in also. Budge over!

An echo to Peony and Thao Chuong's poem Sex, drugs and Street Art.

Be Her Mary Shelley

A cold wife
like a wet fish
on marble slab
needs a bolt of lightening touch
a kiss
to resurrect
the comatose.
Modern knight
Look beyond your visor,
the sex the drugs
and look more deeply
into street art
and grasp
her sleeping, tortured heart.

Maria Disley 18/10/13

A second verse echo to Karen's 1st verse.

The chill autumn breeze blowing
Leaves across the lawn.
Cuppa tea soothing my heart.
Thinking about Spring
And you, Little Poetess,
Far across the world :))


From a high window
forlorn on the sill
sits a maiden in muslin
fine fabric billowing in the gentle breeze
The screwed window latch rattling
A whisper across the moors
An image for the artist
A challenge for the conceptualist
to reveal the breadth
and strip the poetess bare
to uncover
the ordinary
the rare!

Maria Disley 18/10/13

Great to see you back Karen!:)

The Sphinx

Mystic Deity of a distant and exotic land.
Enigma of my ancient memory.
How many fingers have clawed
Your surface?
How many minds have deciphered
Your secrets?

Karen Newell
10/16/13

Spring is everywhere
look at the flowers shooting up around the post.

Haa.. Ed. Since you've asked. Your ban from my tiny den is fully lifted, my friend. Enjoy your Fall


Senryu Confusion

my morning coffee
you still sleep soundly in bed
who says it's daytime?

Thao Chuong
,

Sundry Thought of Reality

man puts his heart and his mind in what he believes
he even risks his live to fight for it
also he’s ready to kill for protection of
his own benefits
and his family
his nation
his god
or
anything else
as long as he believes he’s right

he tends to forget his reality is very perceptive
clearly
depending on
what
he sees,
he hears
he tastes
he smells
he touches

his eyes could be blurred
his ears could be distorted
his tongue could be numb
his nose could be frozen
his skin would be insensitive

also
he could look at things
from a different angle
at the wrong place
and not at the right time

how
and why
the hell is man so sure about his absolute belief?

Poe Ed
2013-10-16

Viet you must forgive my error for i had mushrooms for lunch and...

conventional objects
were transformed
in time and space

representational and
calculative thinking
were undercut

and my visinary state of mind
called into question
the objectivity of all
my mental states…

Peyote Pete
today i think

An echo to Ed' Poem

Senryu Perception

you are deadly wrong
flowers blossom everywhere
it’s clearly springtime

Thao Chuong
2013-10-16

Who Wakes Orpheus a Poem


who wakes Orpheus
from the arms of Morpheus
to play his golden lyre
and salute the dawning of the day
with music and poetry
that charms the Muses
themselves

who wakes Orpheus
so he may sing to the world
of man and wild beasts
and coax the trees into dance
while his poetry
diverts the course of rivers

who wakes Orpheus
to sing his songs so beautiful
they persuads the Underworld
to return a soul

who wakes Orpheus
in his steadfastness
to never love another
and piss off the wild women
of Thrace who tear him
limb from limb…

umm... not me!
i slept in that day

Ed Meredith
16 October 2013

Spring there, Hi Maria... Autumn here, Hi Karen


Autumn

sunlight rippling in the
golden pond of fallen leaves
below the Eagling loft
where i sit with a Cardinal
and Sparrow
watching the sky
while pondering the riddle
of the Sphinx

Ed Meredith

The chill autumn breeze blowing
Leaves across the lawn.
Cuppa tea soothing my heart.
Thinking about Spring
And you, Little Poetess,
Far across the world :))

Waiting.

The Spring wind buffers the wide shaking windows
A newspaper rustles with useless blues
And the night train rumbles hungrily under a tricky sky
Is it you?
That set these sounds to space?
What's the journey?
And why?

Maria Disley 16/10/13