Poetry

Saigon unable to view any of the photos! I like the proverb...I am even going to try it. :)

Conversations.



Entwined, but seperate,

impaled by traits,

barbed by memories and habit,

yet free as the sea

as a bird shadow, across a cloud,

in thoughts, dreams, imaginations,

so reflection suggests!

The stream of conciousness, continually

flows........

beneath the solid, man-made bridge.

She's not a great swimmer

and he, even less so, and couldn't save her if she fell too far....

They each feel the harpoons differently

while striving for unity.

Look at them! Searching silently together, in the chaos!





Maria Disley 10/1/2013

Sorry double take, I'll fill it with an image to go with poem.

Bruises


Crisp, secretive, rustling
was the chase,
long shadows followed, burrowing like hibernators under the afternoon sun,
nuzzling the matted maze of grass and bright wild colour.
Gazelle like eyes, observing, wide watching between tall green blades
and the soft pale globes of dandelion seeds.
The earth held it's breath.
While a laugh like a seed pod about to burst,
Exploded! And, he discovered her!
"Tick! ' He yelled. "You're IT!"
Slapped her arm and crowed his conquest to the vast observant sky.
The wonderful sting,
Buzzed on her flesh,
as she sat in the grass,
with the sweet bruise
of an innocence that cannot last.

maria Disley. 12/1/2013

Beautiful Maria..simply beautiful and the words are healing some bruises of my own!

by the way are you still not seeing the picture I posted here?

Thanks Saigon...no I didn't see the picture! It would not open.

What an amazing image....and combines so much of what have been on discussion threads..as this looks like a painting :)))) And the final lines..again bring allude tot he painting v photography discussion...I love the poem, which like the butterfly....its lines are short lived....in that they have you see one thing...then another...from real...to surreal...to dreams, which can be real...but the photo seems to be finally the only real; tangible evidence....yet is what the photo shows real? love all those twists and turns and your liking the smell of a goodbye to a certain bus...clever!
especially the elusiveness of what the poem means to you....I can only enjoy what it means to me. have you ever done any songwriting..it comes across as lyrics to a song. thanks for posting!

The two poems are quite similiar, IMO, you did a very good job if you were trying to emulate his poem. Haa..interesting isn't it..how I thought instantly that the no 11 was a bus.
I didn't even give it a thought that the steel birds were aeroplanes, even though it should have been obvious...funny where our different minds take us.
I too, can be inspired by a single phrase or line of writing. Which ca conjure up lots of ideas for paintings, especially titles...of images, songs etc. Even Rd names. Like one I heard about not that long ago called Songbird Lane, I had the beginnings of a story almost immediately..and it began to evolve in seconds!
Thanks for posting Philip...interesting reading.

The wonderful sting,
Buzzed on her flesh,
as she sat in the grass,
with the sweet bruise
of first love.

This was the first draft. But it didn't seem to sum it up. It still doesn't really.

yes, I agree, spontaneity is great if you get it written right, but time steals moments of what you think are genius! haha..which may not be genius at all! There often needs to be some polishing done, and then sometimes it ruins the whole poem, idea and meaning....we are only human..albeit some are better at it than others...it doesn't stop me trying though...infact even the best writers are probably still unsatisfied at not getting it just how they have experienced, dreamt, or imagined something.. For me..its good to talk about these things. Thanks.

Love these lines from your poem :

The wonderful sting,
Buzzed on her flesh,
as she sat in the grass,
with the sweet bruise
of an innocence that cannot last.

It's a poem all by itself (P. Sweeck)

I agree!!! Beatiful and yet "sad lines", I would prefer to believe in a scarred innocence, that for ever lasts :-)

Maria I am really loving this verse from Bruises!!! :-)))

Crisp, secretive, rustling
was the chase,
long shadows followed, burrowing like hibernators under the afternoon sun,
nuzzling the matted maze of grass and bright wild colour.
Gazelle like eyes, observing, wide watching between tall green blades
and the soft pale globes of dandelion seeds.
The earth held it's breath.

definitely a stream in full flow....

Inspired by and Echoing Philips very evokative 'In case of sudden dream'

(I hope this isnt too dark, i'm writing in the first person - as often so - imagining the mind of an ex soldier with ptsd... )


Sudden Screams

A sudden scream
Echoed in my sudden dream
The dream of screams
As I heard the night time speak
A night of absent longing
In the city heat of Summer
As sweat drenched and soaked the sheets
The stagnant bed dripped its night of sins
Unseen terrors - the blood of now long dead comrades
The screams that ate the night away
As I stared unseeing, at an empty ceiling
Shivering in the heat
The missing stars I could not see
The darkness of the night
Was now, so very complete.



©Jason Christopher 2013

I've just translated this for another thread and I thought I'd share it here, because I think it describes the "True Poet"!!!

See translation below:




He sits at the table and writes
"With this poem you will not take power" says
"With these verses you will not make the revolution" says
"nor with a thousand verses you will make the revolution" says

and more: these verses will not serve him so
labourers, teachers, loggers, live better
eat better nor himself eat, live better
nor will serve him to win someone's heart

He will not make money with them
he will not get into the movies for free with them
He won't get clothes for them
He won't get tobacco or wine for them.

Nor parrots nor scarves nor boats
nor bulls nor umbrellas will he get for them
if it was up to them, the rain will soak him
he won't reach forgiveness or grace for them

"With this poem you will not take power" says
"With these verses you will not make the revolution" says
"nor with a thousand verses you will make the revolution" says
He sits at the table and writes

(Gotan Project)

been away fro 4 days. will comment later. Thanks :))

WELL! I spent an hour replying and the post vanished into thin air!!
Will attempt to reply again.
Meanwwhile to alleviate my frustration i continued typing up a song I have just written...sorry not a song but the lyrics to a song. The music has yet to be made.
This was a request from Dave. I have had a go before and it worked ok but wasn't great. I do have an image to go with it but I have to resize it.
would be interested in your criticism of it. :)






Silly Amazing! Lyrics by Maria Disley

Music is our drug, swinging in the car, horizon gazing
Sound waves, washing up, upon the shore,
Time travelling, Silly-Amazing!
Bleached grass, swaying high,
In the windscreen’s Long blue sky
Remembering lyrics
Locking eyes,
Don’t forget to remember... time flies
And how to carry a flame inside ya!
And not ask why!
Time travelling’s...Silly-Amazing!

Tapping our hands on the open window’s edging,
To Leo Sayer’s, ‘Moonlighting’. Legend..Yeah?
No-one moonlights anymore,
He said,
Used to be frightening
Is Romance dead? Is it all a bore?
We danced in the seat space..sang some more!
The car musta had rock absorbers
But we still shook it down to
‘Tears of a Clown’
And took digital photos to recall
The buzz of it all.

Don’t forget to remember... time flies
And how to carry a flame inside ya!
And not ask why!
Time travelling’s...Silly-Amazing!
That time travellin’....Silly-Amazing ...havin’ a ball!

The summer scene through the windscreen
Music blaring, shifting sand,
Sound waves moving through the grass
What a gas...reliving the past.
No shell upon the shore’s the same
No washed up tune, can inflame
Like a song once lost and found again.

Now..Don’t forget to remember... time flies
And how to carry a flame inside ya!
And not ask why!
Time travelling’s...Silly-Amazing!
Memories fading...time travellin’s...silly- Amazing!

The soundtracks from the car’s c.d
Were carried far off out to sea
Shuffling through the dusty sand
Like some old Egyptian dance
And our hands drummed on the open window’s edge
To The Temptations and Percy Sledge
We’d Lost and found again,

Now don't you...forget to remember... time flies
And how to carry a flame inside ya!
And not ask why!
Time travelling’s...Silly-Amazing!
Pretty Amazin’ .....Silly-Amazing!...Silly, Silly, Amazing!
Memories blazing....Silly, Silly, Amazing!
Silllyyy Ammaazzing!

This time I made a copy.

Thanks Guys for all the replies, glad you all liked the poem, some parts better than others.
@Oxo. I agree with,

agree!!! Beautiful and yet "sad lines", I would prefer to believe in a scarred innocence, that for ever lasts :-)

I too had difficulty being completely happy with the last line, for the reasons you have given.
Innocence though gone leaves the potent impressions on you.
Your video was great and the poem has so much to say. It reminds me of something I read lately in a novel about people so focussed on the future forgetting to live now.
In your poem, the writer, standing in the rain, writing for no other purpose than to express himself, for his own sake, presents such a richer image than all the material things some writers may hope to achieve from their writing. It really gave me food for thought.
@Jason, thankyou also. I’m glad you liked the first part of the poem, the hardest most journeying part of the poem, where i was discovering my meanings and shedding light on my experiences, feelings of which, though childish, were so strong that I still recall them, vividly. I was hoping that the reader would hold their breath as the earth did. I wanted to explore more the line about the dandelion globes and the connotations but am trying to cut the waffle in my poetry.
I loved in your echo poem, ‘Sudden Screams’, the personification and metaphors, the effect made me think that you must be an ex soldier. As I read and re read, I felt that the ending would flow better if it read, ‘was now.....complete’.
I suppose the first part of my poem could be imagined to be like a soldier in the grass?
@Philip.
The letter confused me to begin with, so i kept going back to it. Full of dark and light, swinging one way and another, a sense of frustration, softness and hardness ( which you have echoed before) but the idea of the letter, receiving the much wnatede news, rose above all the uncertainty, even fear, of the gang and government, which was like a grenade thrown in and hissing dangerously....with the letter always taking preference especially with its visual strength.
You seem like Oxo’s writer, in the rain, the writing is more powerful than anything around it.

Saigon,
Glad to hear words did some healing....that,s cool. By the way your photos appeared when I began practising using this iPad today, they are a nice illustration to the poem, or inspiration, whichever way it worked.

Very visual poem philip, especially last line, I found myself in a parking lot looking around, feeling the emptiness, you can be so concise, so lean with your words, wish I could do that. You would do well writing senyrus like Viet writes. :)

Lol that's funny about the comma, but yes it can make a hell of a difference especially in such a short poem.
Re. the story. There's probably other info I should give just because you are giving your time to it. I have been doing the writing of the book for almost three years, the last year not so much as I needed a break and wanted to do all of the editing in that time, but no sooner had I free time than I was photographing more, as I need to learn to do that, sometimes moreso than writing. The photography takes place of painting and writing, but not usually poetry. For the first two years frank came to my place every Thursday to spill his guts, then I would would write and research before the following thurs. It is not something I get paid for. I do it out of the pure passion of writing and learning about how people see and react to things around them. maybe one day it will get published, or maybe I will just hand it over to Frank to do with what he likes, and I will go into that at a later date as the story reveals other tribulations of Frank's. I didn't want you to think that I was getting paid for something that you may be giving useful input to. Anyway, about the journey to Australia, it is already written, and does contain some of that dark and light.
Hope you enjoy the next chapters.

i've read over the weekend the "bonfire" chapter you send..hope you can give me some info of the book so i can understand better things abot the character...a synopsis of the book would also do good..

best regards

Would love to fwd more chapters to you saigon, will do from chapter 1 when I get home today. Thanks.

A One minute poem....



"Silence as the space where sound arises".

The diccionary tells us that silence is the absence of sound, but some argue that where there is sound there is silence. To them, silence is the space where sound arises, since there could be no sound without the silence where it resides.

colour me,
colour you,
colour all,
colour...
colour me,
colour you,
colour all...

Ok let's get some poetry going on the theme of silence. Let's have some deep thought involved....it could be very powerful methinks....

last poem I wrote,.. very spiritually oriented.. talks about the condition of humanity.. very symbolic.. most won't understand it all,.. those who do already understand life.

The Vacancy of Humanity

Empty soulless eyes filled with strife,
connected to devices that attempt to simulate life
A simulation within a simulation,
meant to stimulate but only placate and frustrate
A generation of lambs led willingly to their demise,
never knowing better, forever none the wise
Their freedom twice removed, severed from it's source, the river diverted to another course

Sleepers walking, forever in a dream,
a dream not quite stitched properly at the seams
Walking food, not aware of it's true destination
to feed those who cannot feel emotion
Doomed never to awake; to shrivel and die
to questions their life's meaning, and never find out why
While others grow them like cows - the crops in a farmer's field his machine systematically plows

Their eyes are sealed shut their muscles atrophy
devoid of all caring, gaining selfishness in place of empathy
The teachings are twisted, manipulated for control
what once was itself is now a small part of the whole
Puppets dance before their eyes - they offer compromise,
in exchange for willingness to overlook their lies
A Lack of cohesion is their goal - an introverted, angry world is a much much easier world to control

Zombies in range, strange and deranged
unwilling to help and incapable of change
Mindless and demanding - their physical demands extrenuating,
they all walk among us judging and hating
Our friends and our foes, a cocktail of woes
their souls in their cockpits, and both in their death throes
Choking on their vacuous lives, each a unique nest where the dark soul of snakes and monsters thrives

The shadow puppeteer pulls his strings and makes them dance
and from behind him one casts a darker glance
In a world turned upside down; emotions are to learn, not to own,
where beings exist on time that we loan
a loan long run out - their salvation always in doubt,
but their fate not something we need longer care about
Forget them we must, our own fates we must trust - let the light of our sun turn the vampires to dust

Let their world be destroyed, their universe torn asunder,
put an end to the plunder and stand back in wonder
They made their choice in the end, no longer our job to mend,
the limbs that they sever or the minds that they bend
They feed like a wraith, on all living matter,
our world is not their platter - extinguished to make them fatter
They cheat and they lie - they holler and cry, for if we wake up they know this will end and they'll die.

sorry just saw the theme is now silence.. wrote this a while back:

Silently Screaming

blind am - i and yet i see
as though with perfect clarity
into the hearts of those around me
and what i see could make me scream

but I cannot - for i am mute
my chords a shattered flute
I close my eyes to end my dreaming
only to end up silently screaming

silently screaming, that I do
from neverending thoughts that you
keep placing in my mind and then
I scream, I scream, all over again

It never will stop, the deafening silence
filled with irrational hatred and violence
from past and from present - the curse of the seer
a future of torments for those who can't hear

evil so strong it emits such a smell
a smell of which one would not find even in hell
but how can I know of this, this stench cannot be
for scent was the last sense they stole out of me..

devoid of all sense but the sixth I'm afraid
and afraid I have stayed, alone and dismayed
deprived of all feeling but evils it seems
of the nightmarish dreams which invoke silent screams

hmm a lot of my poetry is dark.. maybe it's time for a more cosmic spiritual positive one - enjoy - it's very deep.

Cycles of eternity

The energy from mans most collective consciousness
Swirls in my veins like the sands in an hourglass
Timeless, without pause, where the world slows to a hiss
In anticipation of life's chaotic flow , of dream's eternal bliss

Rapture, the muse of creation which stirs the cosmic egg
Explodes into being, without warning like a voilent crag
Coelesce and forms into godlike being - perfection incarnate
The trigger of life - the model of which all else is made perfect

Eternal light, dreams in which skyrocket thoughts, intelligence
Flood my mind with answers, and more questions, such ambivalence!
To state what is to say, to say what is to being
Such complicated blindness which opens new sights of meaning!

Cosmic veins, the universe unfolding for us to know
Bursting forth new meaning, new sights and sounds and smells, and lo!
Behold the sights that gods create, the senses they antithipate
Their meanings do proliferate, new boons for man to contemplate!

The universe it grows - expands matures and then at last it dies
Leaving us with nothing - the result should be no big surprise
For all that nothing is and was will all that nothing is will be
And something will return to be in cycles of eternity

Like cinder blocks
Life is weighing
Headache spraying
No longer rocks
I'm just saying

Sick of it
Need to settle
This ongoing battle
Feeling like shit
My thoughts rattle

Simple life will do
No rocking the boat
Like feeling stoked
And loved too
Hope may be afloat

What matters most
Is mirror me
And like what I see
Not to be a ghost
But alive and free

HEARING IMPAIRED

In the herbaceous border
The pyjama'd wasp and the lacewing
Almost sleepwalked,
I thought,
as no sound could be heard from the pair,
Sexily sucking the dew from the flower
Coating their quiet bodies
With talcumed pollen,
right out of the shower.
Seeming slippered
They silently swooned in the shrubs
Stealthy insects secreting in another world
Beside me,
To the beat of a mute sun,
Seen and not heard,
Heard and not seen
We are truly, all, nature's children
Somnambulant world
Wakes while we sleep
Sleeps when we wake
And something vibrantly insidious
Throbs with life, out of our range of hearing,
thrives, yet makes not a peep?


Maria Disley 9/2/13

:-)

Straight onto the post,
straight onto the white space...
Fill me up, fill me up, it shouted...
Say something for goodness sake...
say something...
anything, anything would do...
Can't you see this silence is killing me?
Oh, I see...
You think I'll die quietly???
I'll take you down with me...mate!!!
You stay quiet, that's fine!!!
I'll do the talking...
I'll talk of roses and thorns...
I'll talk of love and dawns...
I'll talk of you!!!
I'll fill the space...
I'll talk until the end of time!!!
of knights, nights and stars...
of fools, moons and moonlights...
I'll talk of romance, desires and hearts...
I'll talk, I promise...I'll talk!!!
of solitude, loneliness and foes...
Can't you see your silence is a shout???
Colour me with you voice,
with your words...
colour me with your sounds...
colour me,
colour me,
colour all,
colour me with your eyes...
with your verses...your smiles...
colour me with your life...
colour me,
colour you,
colour all,
colour...

Silent souls


Silent
Was the glance
In to your soul
Silent was the smile
Made Into mine
Silent are the memories
The flickering fading fires
The falling stars that pass our heads
In silence we think
And pray
And love
And hate

In silence
We kill
And die

And fall

And fall

Silent 







Silent








I hear the silence.








(c) Jason Christopher 2013

Great poems, and all so different expressing silence. While Shawn's was deep, Oxo's was angry, frustrated and loud with silence, and Jasons was tender making great use of sibilant consonants to almost whisper his message of silence. I've added a photo to my poem tp prove i was actually sitting and listening to the silence of the insects. And how I felt like one of nature's children, so lacking in knowledge of the quiet world all around us noisy people...us noisy children.

While mother nature quietly watches us children
Playing with our motorbikes, trucks and in our make believe houses
Whisking meringues, and singing along to c.ds
Throwing balls in nets
And catching fish
In tinnies
She moves around us in her soft shoes.
We hardly notice her,
The rustle of her green skirts,
Her butterfly clips,
Her rosy cheeks,
But she’s there.
Sometimes,
When everything stops,
I think I hear her
Tending to the garden.
And for a moment, I think,
I should be helping
But I’m distracted by some other plaything.

Maria Disley 10/2/13

Flowers

Flowers - pretty petals as I plucketh them and lay them out across the floor
the wind doth blow and scatter them over the fields - up to your door
my blood hath drained from thy visage when I doth heard the tragic news
that we would never be together - heart betrayed condemned to lose
he loves me so he loves me not, the blood like petals scarlet red
that witch betrothed to marry him instead of me I wish her dead.
and it be so for when the morrow dies I'll walketh up upon his bed
I'll wake him up and watch his face as I present her head.
~*~
Condemned to marry whatever fool thy parents see is fit
I take up needle yarn and thread a noose begins to knit
for if our love will never be - I think my heart should burst
I'll hang myself or I'll hang her - whichever happens first.
life and death - decisions to toy with - blissful scarlet dreams oh yes!
which to curse and which to bless? This of course is yours to guess
message to blame my message is first - my noose for her untimely death
is done at last - I yearn to listen as she gasps her final breath.
~*~
I invite her over for tea time - the crockery immaculately set
She sips her drug and as I watch she slips into sleeps blissful net
I drag her up o'er olympus peak - one nameth so after Zeus
I put my needles in my hair and to thus tree I fix thy noose
I prop her up opon thy branch - solidify thy heart
Push her off o'er thy branch - she doth awaken with a start
she screams so shrill that far below she doth turn up much fans
and one amongst those - rightly so - appears to be our man!
~*~
amidst my shock I bend too far and plummet off o'er the edge
of this named peak I try to grab a hold as I slip off the ledge
I barrel into thy doomed lover my death has proved its best
for as my head is cushioned by his shock my needles pierce his breast..
And so they bury us - us both women placed with him on either side
A love shared yes - by both of us- and jealousy none could ever hide
A love turned sour to extent it doth begins to smell
and scarlet roses do entice our love wars on in hell.

Fly Forever

I wish i didn't care
i wish those people were not there
i wish the world was fair
but most of all i wish that it was your face i could wear

I contemplate my silence
my insides wage unbroken violence
determination hard as diamonds
emotions dwell on separate islands

Catastrophes uncertainties all of it's too much to bear
wishing i was somewhere different - wishing that i wasn't there
smash the looking mirror dash your reflection in the water
for nothing is for certain and your immortal soul will fly forever

Fly --- into the sunrise
make a scene and cause an uprise
come out and take everyone by surprise
nothing to fear internal peace is your prize

You think the heat's too much to bear
but you weren't even there
you feel things you have never done
your insides burning like the falling sun

Catastrophes uncertainties all of it's too much to bear
wishing i was somewhere different - wishing that i wasn't there
smash the looking mirror dash your reflection in the water
for nothing is for certain and your immortal soul will fly forever

Nothing ever lasts forever.

River of Sorrows

Ignorance is bliss - but not that it matters
the more that you know the more that you suffer
you think you're alone but take a look around you
you're just swimming in a sea of sorrows
your life force a speck of light among many
drifting along forever

You think you've found the one - your life force swells
your happiness influences others - infectous it spreads - it wells
then lightning crashes your life falls apart like glass around you
the light goes out - your are less then you were before
the happiness that filled you is gone once more

The river it rises and chokes out the stars
you drown in your own sorrow - the candle flickers and dies
noone hears your cries - you die unheard in the undertow
you drift to the bottom and close your eyes
the silence seems like paradise

The waterfall of misery empties into the ocean of hopelessness
your body joins those of countless others - silent and listless
your spirit is free from the prison the brought so much pain
the feeling's the same

Nothing has changed you think that things would be better
but everything's wrong and suddenly you suffer
you realize that heaven is simply a reflection
of what you're achieved there before your ascension
and now it's too late - you gave it all up
instead of waiting it out 'till the river ran thin
and you could cross over

रूहों का मकां, न तेरा न मेरा
एक पल की रात
एक पल का सवेरा...
This house of spirits,
neither yours, nor mine
temporary days and temporary nights...

©Dec 13, 2012 mukta gupta

I love this thread, its poetry and its poets!!! So inspiring....

Here's my latest video of "Colour..." a poem inspired by this thread and recent events at FAA

Eternity

Eternal, forever blue
immortal lke the water forever crashing on the shores of another world
forever watching, forever waiting
waiting for somebody to come along
somebody like you

Immortality requires the body to stop aging
for time, in essance to stop
we yearn for this, to stay forever young as our loved ones shrivel away amd die
we are selfish creatures, turn the pages of time, and still
you will never realize why

The sky cerulian, the cry of the sea bird as the wind blows the smell of salt your way
standing there forever as you feel this moment can last forever
darkness falls and the stars fill the sky countless and infinite
as many as the infinite mysteries of the universe that you are never meant to know

What is it we want, that we desire?
what will truly make us happy?
evolution requires that we change, yet still we remain the same
nothing ever changes, our ambitions our nothing in the face of creation
what must we do, to make evolution start again..

Like a creature that has grown too big for its cage
we have passed our time and can no longer grow and evolve into something new
fat and lazy - our life a minor convenience
whiny and petty, rich and spoiled, nothing ever changes
destroy us before we destroy ourselves

Existence is infinite - you are merely a speck
the earth a dot in a pool of darkness in itself one of many drops
in an everlasting river of nothingness
forever we are always something small in an ever bigger plan in itself the same thing
to something bigger
stop your struggle your ambitions are nothing at all..

Powwerful Shawn. I was able to read this one straight through, it flowed better, for me, than the others, like Shakespearean ballads! You are a bard, no doubt :))
Hello Mukta, A wonderful wisp of a poem and love the artwork :)
Oxo, that was amazing, your speaking it adds to the poem, although for this theme it works just as well reaading it in silence, but for some reason I missed when reading, that it was the blank paper waiting quietly, loved how you expressed that angst of wanting to write into the silence of that paper, think anyone who writes knows this feeling well. Also its great that you were inspired to create this from this discussion and these poets, it is inspiring in itself. Hope Saigon reads this, he would really appreciate it.

Thank you very much Maria!!! I am not yet convinced about the video, but I did think the poem would gain by a reading...I might make some time to remake the video...Well, you know that if I do, this will be first place to have it shared :-)

thank you - most of mine were written over 10 years ago in a time when I was in a very depressed mood.. so they are rather dark. Eternity is one of the.. lighter mooded ones hehe..

here is another one:

stargate

I look into the stargate - the endless myraid stars engulf me
without thinking i plunge headlong into the unknown
not knowing if i'll live or die, or what will have happened when i resurface here
but i have to do it - i have to try

Nothing can describe what i have seen here
its endless beauty escapes with words too light to touch and feelings impossible to bear
to live or to die - none of it matter after what i have seen there
i wish i was back there - i wish you knew enough about "there" to care

Flooding my senses - i return to the abyss - ecstatic
nothing is as great as this - the abyss - it welcomes me back
stars whisper unheard things by mortal ears inside me
filling me with warmth inside, knowledge untouched till the end of time

I learn things i should never have known, the experience ages me like you'll never know
not on the outside but my soul has grown countless generations
now its so old itll swell up and explode like the red giants of yesteryore

Seeing a star born is indescribable - like a vast energy of light exploding into existence
everything you know will suddenly pale and shrivel away at the comparison - -comparing is even unfair
pulsing with happiness - radiating with joy
what i would give to be that star - take my feelings away and give me light to shine over the universe once more

But now i return - against my own free will
i would have liked to have stayed but my presence is needed there
dying is my only goal - life offers nothing in comparison
ive changed so much - and you haven't changed at all
yet life accepts you as you are and looks down on me strange
i must go - my time has come - my light fades as i soar into the sky
i tremble with anticipation - enjoy life - let it make you happy - as i bid you goodbye.

this one is more song lyrics than a poem but whatever if the shoe fits..

Why Can't You See

You cling to what you once had like a frantic believer
You can't accept you're no longer wanted; no longer wants to see you
You're heart has been shattered - your life loses meaning
You're stubborn - you won't leave - you're silently screaming

No longer there... time to move on he no longer cares

Why can't you see me? Your friend you've ignored?
The one who always loved you but you never noticed before
You're hurt and you're suffering - yet still you block me out
I've loved you for so long - I know what your pain is about
Give me a chance it's time to move on man..

You tell me your problems because u need somebody to listen to them
You don't realize the person you are talking to loves you
And that you're only breaking his heart even more
Just because you're not wanted and I am not either
Destroy the deceiver - destroy the believer

No longer there... time to move on he no longer cares

I bash my head senseless i refuse to believe
That your so caught up in your own problems that you can't even see
You think you're the only one hurting - yet look around; you can't conceive
All the others you make as miserable as you have been known to be

Time to tell you - make you understand
The way that I feel for you - time for the heart to mend
You give my life meaning like no others could ever give
Forget him and move on - I love you - you make life worthy to live

Shawn,
If this was cathartic for you, then I hope that you are over the heartache, which is obvious.
I really liked the line,
'stars whisper unheard things by mortal ears inside me'
I think it covered the silent theme well even if unintentioned. It seemed to me another example of communicating with nature, in that silent capacity.
Here's a challenge if you are up for it.
Rewrite that poem in 6/8 lines.
I often write a hundred words when ten can do the job. Sometimes what's missing, like silence, speaks more loudly, like Oxo's blank paper.
Oxo, don't feel that I have the right to criticise your video! I was concentrating on the words and sound, music was good, maybe it was a little difficult at times trying to read the words as they moved in and out of different colours but, it also seemed to echo the poem,the difficulty in getting the words down...we hear them easily in silent thought, giving them life for another is so much more work! So can't really help there.
Oh! Whats been going on, on FAA? I've missed something!

Thank you very much María, I always appreciate and respect your observations!!!
I did make some time...here's the revised version...

yeah that heartache was a long time ago.. never did tell the person..

and I'll pass on that challenge.. I need to be in the right state of mind to write.. and right now my energy is focused on art hehe :)

Oxo, Love the video, allows the poem to be the focus. Reading it for the third time, It was the repetition of colour me which had my focus, now I am hearing the blank paper speak even moreso, you have actually personified the paper directly, but i didn't hear the strength of its voice, initially. Sometimes its good to repost poems that need reading a few times. There are still a few poems of saigon's that I havn't got around to re reading.
I got a poetry book from the library today and was amazed to find a poem on silence, I will try and post it tomorrow, its very long but I may be able to find it on internet.

Shawn...:))))

Thank you Maria!!!

"you have actually personified the paper directly"

Yes, that was the intention, and a double metaphor? the paper here plays the role of the "ego'. I wouldn't expect you to read it a 4th time :-), but the "ego" and "paper" are here the same character :-)

I would be interesting to read that poem on silence, if you find it...I might write some more too :-)

Yes, I see how the paper is the ego, I felt it as driving the poem, strong and loud, makes sense that you made it the ego, very clever. I no doubt will read it many times! I think its quite unique. i feel that there is so much more to find in this poem. The fusion of ego and paper/silence also, heightens the inner conflict to be able to express feelings into words. The paper and the ego know the impossibility of this. Silence/darkness is like the ringmaster.

The poems I am reading are from a book titled poetry speaks...there are accompanying c.d's. The poem I referred to was one titled, Seele in Raum.( Soul in Space) I am just about to listen to it. It is by poet Randell Jarrell. I've never even heard of him!!!! I'm sure I'm going to find some great stuff in the book.

Found Link...http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seele-im-raum/ like to know what you think. Try and find him reading the poem. I don't think he has a great voice for poetry, but I enjoyed listening.

In 90 North he talks about the, ' silence of the unbroken ice'

What do you think the Eland symbolises in Soul in Space ?

The Dark Birth Bed. Inspired by lines from a Randall Jarrell poem. 90 North.

From out of the darkness flare sparks of something
Not to be ignored or named as pain,
But to be savoured, while we are here,
Our shape of atoms in the atmosphere,
Still, flightless, unable to tear the magnets from our soles, we nevertheless, exist.
The spluttering, glittering sparks lift us from the ground
The silence of our thoughts and imaginings
Have us bound about, trying to take off!
The darkness flings me poems and voices
Thoughts and images, from nothing, from silence
That exciting silence,
That dark birth bed.
Where the first cry
nails us till we're dead.

Maria Disley. 14/2/2013

Breaking the Silence

Breakfast is possible at 10pm
We have electricity afterall.
The streets are lit
We could bustle to work just the same
Though the roads would be difficult
More fatalities,
Until our eyes evolved, like cats in the night.
Could we dream the same, sleeping at sunrise
Would we forget how our sun glides, slowly opening up the morning
From behind the hills?
How the light spills between leaves
And glimmers on the shadowy sidewalk?
Could we get close enough to that great dark space
To break its silence
And embrace?

Maria Disley 14/2/13

hunh dunno how I missed posting this one as it is most relevant to your "silence theme":

Silently Screaming

Blind am I - and yet i see
as though with perfect clarity
into the hearts of those around me
and what i see could make me scream

But I cannot - for i am mute
my chords a shattered flute
I close my eyes to end my dreaming
only to end up silently screaming

Silently screaming, that I do
from neverending thoughts that you
keep placing in my mind and then
I scream, I scream, all over again

It never will stop, the deafening silence
filled with irrational hatred and violence
from past and from present - the curse of the seer
a future of torments for those who can't hear

Evil so strong it emits such a smell
a smell of which one would not find even in hell
but how can I know of this, this stench cannot be
for scent was the last sense they stole out of me..

Devoid of all sense but the sixth I'm afraid
and afraid I have stayed, alone and dismayed
deprived of all feeling but evils it seems
of the nightmarish dreams which invoke silent screams

.

hunh.. I never even considered selling poetry as a piece of art.. feels kinda like cheating to me but oh well! :)

nice words :)

still most of mine are too negative for me to want to sell hehehe..

I have really enjoyed this discussion and the many fine contributions posted here. So here goes my contribution in honor of St. Valentine's Day.

Moth Flambeau a poem by Mark Wickham

Ere, not so long ago -
He was a pupae worm.
Content to feed his self-sustaining need -

Aye, himself, he knows.

But alas, metamorphosis is done -
Primitive urges ignite.
A light, of blinding intensity, suddenly appears.
Stunned, his inner compass awry,
He thrashes wildly, madly, nearing exhaustion.
Seeking heat and finding not.
Seeking warmth and finding cold.

Err, he thinks he knows.

Phoenix not; to rise no more -
The flame burns eternal.
The moth extinguished.
Consumed in passion.
To be no more.

Nay, he knows not.

Dear Shawn,
.

Dear Mark,

Love the line: Aye, himself, he knows.

Wonderful reminder for us all.

@Kelley Lee - "To know thyself is the beginning of wisdom". - Socrates.

@Kelley Lee - And we all know how he ended up.

.

Great to see the poetry flowing again....

Here, part XV and closing lines of Butterfly Dreams...

Feel the Love
Let it flow
Let it gain the space that it owns
Let it flow
Be all, and nothing at all.

.

Hmmm, Thank you Kelley, I often wonder if anyone else, apart from the regulars, reads and views our staff here. Not sure what happened to your post, I did manage to read it but couldn't reply at the time!

Anyhow, since Viet has gone the poetry has not flowed like it used to. But There are a lot a great poets in this thread that continuously inspire me, and I hope that in a way by sharing we all contribute to inspire each other.

Maria's poetry is not only sublime, but she is also a wonderful host. She always acknowledges everyone's efforts and offers constructive observations, all of which makes this a very encouraging thread for anyone wishing to share their writings.

Thank you for sharing yours too!!!

Thank you Xoanxo.

Oxo!!!! :)) I sometimes think, what's the point, but poettry is something, I can't escape from and ned to share, I get a lot of inspiration, and enjoyment from where these poems and discussions take me. So, thankyou too, for staying!

Kelley, why isn't there any text in some of your comment boxes? Did you send poems that I can't see? Your smile is enough though...until the poeetry, or comments arrive!

I have been following this thread for a while:). It's inspiring to see into the strangers soul. So, I will quit being the "peeping-Tom" and post my work!

No Sacred Silence

Ghost monkeys
of my memories
clamber
and rattle
the cage.
Refusing placation
of my mourning
meditation.

I hope Karen Newell is inspired to continue posting her work. It is like a free-verse haiku. Perhaps she has created a new poetic form.

"Autumn" - A poem by Percy Dovetonsils (a.k.a Ernie Kovacs)

What is it that makes the sea glow?
The sky and the living
Oh how it swallowed all that matter
Before her I can not speak
A million scenes of eternity

haha...Mark, that was funny....don't know if I could watch and listen regularly, but it was funny :) Thanks. Maybe every few posts we need a Dovetonsils to make us lighten up a bit. I have never heard of him before.
Maybe when we move on from silence we could look at humour in poetry.
Glad you stepped out Karen. Every line sort of etched an opening for thought. Ghost monkeys...took me instantly into some neanderthal scene, of missing links and dreams of genes! But then continued into something more silently personal. Hope we hear more from you.
Jack, love yourpoem, there is sometimes, I feel, nothing more silent than that feeling of wonder, of nature and love. 'Before her I cannot speak' is a very strong line, overiding the scene of a glowing sea, 'the sky and the living' that I began to question was it a woman, or nature herself, and I can't commit to either, you have made me think that there is a definite undenying combination, interesting. It feels more than symbolic.

I found myself re reading home is so sad before I could move onto the next sentence!!! this happens to me sometimes. I think the hard consonant in sad. Sort of makes you hit a dead end and maybe that is why I kept going back tot he start. I will have to investigate. 'It stays as it was left' had me trying to conjure up my childhood home. What a beautiful first stanza. I have seen many women experience this feeling, don't know about men? I have read many poems by Larkin, I really like, 'This Be The verse' it is so, true of parents but is unavoidable, and in their time parents and their offspring continue to do the same, mostly with good intentions. Its a darker facet of love.
There is a great sense of silence, of birds flown the nest, and is summed up in the single vase, probably without fowers, or maybe filled with flowers, filled with hope. The quietness that steals in
amongst the music in the piano stool, is so empty that I can almost hear the echoing. You certainly feel that we are reading Larkins immediate feelings and thoughts and this keeps the poem so alive and beating almost.
Thanks for sharing that Philip.
Have you ever read Carol Rumen's Carpet Sweeper, one of my favourites. Roberet H would hate it because it personifies the sweeper and forms that attachment to objects, which I often do in a need to express.

The Carpet Sweeper
Carol Rumens
To K. Lumley

Mother, last week I met
that old Ewbank we had
when I was three or four,
standing outside a junk-shop
in Bridge Street. I was sure
it was the one because
it knew me straight away.
At first we were both glad.
We looked each other over.
I think it felt the sharp
impulse of my pity;
it made no comment, however,
and I was too polite
to mention its homeless state.
Mother, the wooden case
was burnished still, and stout.
Its wheels were scooter-sized,
and, just as in the old days,
slyly it urged my feet
aboard to jiggle a ride.
I drew myself up a little
(I’d borrowed your scolding face)
and it apologised.
Ashamed, I turned to other
subjects, praised its lion
trademark, proud though worn;
spoke of the rubber mouldings
that had saved the shins of our chairs
when savagery and housework
boiled in your heart. Mother,
I’m sure it spoke your name.
The sighs of all women
whose days are shaped by rooms
played over it like shadows.
What could I do or say?
I turned, it became small
on the dusty pavement, trying
perhaps to recall the smell
of our floors, the cosy tying
of loose ends, scattered wishes
in its spinning brushes ...

I copied it out of my hard copy, but may need to delete it soon! She also has so many more that I think you might enjoy. Star Whisper is a good collection.

x3

There were words that I left on her pillow
When the weather was so unforgiving
Ice clinging to window pains
Mice nesting in our drawers
How I miss her sweet slumber
With shadows north
I mourn her southern face
Hiding behind that ancient door..........

Wow! Jack, beautiful!Read it several times, very moving. Love to hear more.
Philip, there's a poem of your owning waiting to be borne there...get writing. I had a flash of the photographer in the houses....there's great inspiration there....for your own/not business photography and poetry.

The foundation was once strong
Time erodes till thread bare
A tattered suit
A broken heal
The smell of must is in the air

Jack, I love your style! I think we would all benefit from your contributions. These few are like waves just running in on a newly discovered secluded bay...haha! We the castaways....sitting on the beach waiting and watching....I have a feeling that you are a seasoned poet, and maybe even have a book or two up your sleeve? But, I havn't so what would I know :)) I do know what I feel though.
Philip, Gaston Bachelard is another that we need here, but he's probably dead..right?

I did a bit of research on Gaston and really enjoyed reading this....
Sartre states that many relationships are created by people's attraction not to another person, but rather how that person makes them feel about themselves by how they look at them. This is a state of emotional alienation whereby a person avoids experiencing their subjectivity by identifying themselves with "the look" of the other. The consequence is conflict. In order to maintain the person's own being, the person must control the other, but must also control the freedom of the other "as freedom". These relationships are a profound manifestation of "bad faith" as the for-itself is replaced with the other's freedom. The purpose of either participant is not to exist, but to maintain the other participant's looking at them. This system is often mistakenly called love, but is in fact nothing more than emotional alienation and a denial of freedom through conflict with the other. Sartre believes that it is often created as a means of making the unbearable anguish of a person's relationship to their "Facticity" (all of the concrete details against the background of which human freedom exists and is limited, such as birthplace and time) bearable. At its extreme, the alienation can become so intense that due to the guilt of being so radically enslaved by "the look" and therefore radically missing their own freedoms, the participants can experience masochistic and sadistic attitudes. This happens when the participants cause pain to each other, in attempting to prove their control over the other's look, which they cannot escape because they believe themselves to be so enslaved to the look that experiencing their own subjectivity would be equally unbearable.
[edit]Sex
"The look", Sartre explains, is the basis for sexual desire; Sartre declares that there is not a biological motivation for sex. Instead, "double reciprocal incarnation", is a form of mutual awareness which Sartre takes to be at the heart of the sexual experience. This involves the mutual recognition of subjectivity of some sort, as Sartre describes: "I make myself flesh in order to impel the Other to realize for herself and for me her own flesh. My caress causes my flesh to be born for me insofar as it is for the Other flesh causing her to be born as flesh."
Even in sex (perhaps especially in sex), men and women are haunted by a state in which consciousness and bodily being would be in perfect harmony, with desire satisfied. Such a state, however, can never be. We try to bring the beloved's consciousness to the surface of their body by use of magical acts performed, gestures (kisses, desires, etc.). But at the moment of orgasm the illusion is ended and we return to ourselves, just as it is ended when the skier comes to the foot of the mountain or when the commodity that once we desired loses its glow upon our purchase of it. There will be, for Sartre, no such moment of completion because "man is a useless passion" to be the ens causa sui, the God of the ontological proof.

I'm sure this could get the poets here reaching for their ipads!! :))) And hey! I think there is also a connection here to the poem ' Home is sad'.

unbearable anguish of a person's relationship to their "Facticity" (all of the concrete details against the background of which human freedom exists and is limited, such as birthplace and time) bearable. And the look of the offspring tot he parent...... Can you see that, or is it just me!!???

It's music but sounds like poetry

Adele

Skyfall"

This is the end
Hold your breath and count to ten
Feel the earth move and then
Hear my heart burst again

For this is the end
I've drowned and dreamt this moment
So overdue I owe them
Swept away, I'm stolen

Let the sky fall
When it crumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together

Let the sky fall
When it crumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together
At skyfall
That skyfall

Skyfall is where we start
A thousand miles and poles apart
Where worlds collide and days are dark
You may have my number, you can take my name
But you'll never have my heart

Let the sky fall (let the sky fall)
When it crumbles (when it crumbles)
We will stand tall (we will stand tall)
Face it all together

Let the sky fall (let the sky fall)
When it crumbles (when it crumbles)
We will stand tall (we will stand tall)
Face it all together
At skyfall

[x2:]
(Let the sky fall
When it crumbles
We will stand tall)

Where you go I go
What you see I see
I know I'd never be me
Without the security
Of your loving arms
Keeping me from harm
Put your hand in my hand
And we'll stand

Let the sky fall (let the sky fall)
When it crumbles (when it crumbles)
We will stand tall (we will stand tall)
Face it all together

Let the sky fall (let the sky fall)
When it crumbles (when it crumbles)
We will stand tall (we will stand tall)
Face it all together
At skyfall

Let the sky fall
We will stand tall
At skyfall
Oh

Ricardo, yes, great lyrics and sound from Adele. What about you do you write?

Maria, I need a creative writing course. :)
No talent for that, but I like it.

Death makes heroes of drunken bastards
Parting makes bastards of the broken hearted
All in waiting of final judgement...
We just borrow one another for a while

Ricardo, your creative writing course starts here....I did one once a long time ago and the first task was to describe an event, not necessarily in poetic form, but just to learn to begin writing descriptively. I must have been so scared of failure that I put everything in to it and the teacher on seeing it said, and where did you steal this from...!!! After the shock of feeling the negative tones of her comments I then focused on the positive...she may not have thought me capable of writing it, but I did, and it let me loose. A lot of rubbish followed while I was learning the technicalities of poetry, but there was some good stuff too, and the thing is, if you want/need to write you will, if you need to express yourself, it will come out in some form, writing, painting, sculpting, sewing, woodwork, anything like that is an outlet for me. I can see that art is yours, I liked the boots image, but don't let it stop there, have a go at writing. I and others on these discussions, much more able than me can help you to express yourself in writing. as you connect with music, which some people see as poetry, why not pretend you are writing a song and begin that way. I am more than happy to pass on what little I know. to get you going. Do you read any poetry? I also think the passion fruit flower is magnificent. Why don't you write about it. It is so detailed you could write lots.

To help Ricardo along, I think we should all write a poem about our favourite flower. Its scent, if any, its mortality, colour, texture, memories it invokes, remedial uses it may have, is it classed as a weed ( I love daisies) is it nutured or trampled on, hardy or fragile, perennial, annual, hybrid, ground cover, climber, etc, etc. Hope we get some responses!!!

Jack another good one....I had to return to it a couple of times to sort of stand in it, especially the second line, it was very visual, or I had to make it visual to understand it/feel it. I kind of watched the line break, then as I got to the final line, the poem became much softer, retaining the ethereal feel of the other poems. Thanks for sharing.

Thank You Maria , the writing is all automatic

Hyacinth scent captures
across the grocery aisle
beckoning.
With cloying seduction
tempting
Come closer,
breathe me
be transported
into the magic.

It's one in the same when riding on planes
Landing on tropical islands
The smell of citrus, vanilla, ginger and cloves
Brings as much as the sea
To that lost place in the psyche...
Where for a brief moment...
You think you actually might be

A Passionate Encounter

The sun came out at the new house
And led me into the strange garden
And like a child with a stick making music along the school railings
I brushed the shrubs with my hand
‘Hello new garden” a quiet thought was saying.
I didn’t notice the pretty faced thing,climbing
Along the last bit of fence.
When the sun turned her face to me
I gasped
And knelt
Almost stammering at her,
Pulling lime green tongues at me,
Like tiny throat hammers.
Her purple prongs
And deep red collar
Were stitched along
With a neat black tacked curved line.
My God! I thought,
What beauty have we here,
Such detail, and perfume and colour
And, All together!
I allowed her freedom
Her vines wrapped lovingly around everything
My husband, blindly, called her ‘weed!’
Indeed!




Maria Disley 16/2/13

Yay! What a wonderful thread!

BURN (ETERNALLY)

Take an ice pick to the sky,
punch out patterns of your rage.
starlight bleeds on forest floor,
to reveal forbidden tryst,
burnished brass and tango twists

He held it out…forbidden draught!
cut glass, goblet sharp
I will imbibe the love he gives.
jagged pieces pierce my skin,
ruby stains the dark within

Now I’m forsaken, withered here,
in this dying river bed
only moistened by my tears.
I dream of kisses lost,
while the heavens thunder with his oaths.

Maria, while reading it reminded me of experiencing the world through the eyes of a child.. I liked it... I don't see like that any more...

Yes,I can see that Jack. Your writing is very wise, for want of a better word. Maybe I will never grow up! Did you ever write anything when experiencing the world through the eyes of a child/ And what prevents you now?

Out of Whack


I was pushed into an adult
It was a strange place
Passion vine masks
parading
in front of the church.
I leaned on the cross
It seemed to put a pen in one hand
a brush in the other
and two boys at my skirts.
I grew up out of order
unaware
of the
world's disorder.
I'm playing now,
whenever I want
wherever I go.
My tools?
All I know.

Thought I'd give it another go...

Kelley,
Thanks for posting again. Wise words and elegantly written. I did read through your online book the other day and found it quite soothing...there's a gentle tone in its rhythm and rhyme, I often find myself distracted when there is a lot of alternate rhyming within stanzas, but the sense of experience speaking kept me interested. I'd love to see what you would come up with writing a senyru! :)
I have to add that there is some kind of spiritual essence about you, I don't know if that is mainly due to the misty photograph or not, but that and the tone of your poetry seem to merge. When I look at the photo i see a nun, or spiritual leader of some sort. Might be way off the mark though! :)

Maria, thank you, I can't say more than that right now...

Maria, I will add one more thing...I'm not a poet, I'm a writer (a thinker) my poems are just a small portion of what I've been given to say. Perhaps this is not the right place for me, but thank you for your kindness. I'd like to visit back with you from time to time, if that's alright.

Kelley,
It's great having you here, you add to the diversity. I hope you see it as a place to visit as often as you like, it is a shared place for poets,writers,painters, etc, all in the name of art, I hope you were led here by the thinking that goes on as well as the writing. from what I can see, each time somebody adds something, all of our thinking shifts, its necessary also to say what we are thinking, hopefully without offending, I try to speak honestly, and it doesn't always come across well, but it is never meant to be personal, only for me. I never take anyone else's opinions as personal, but only positive criticism. I hope that clears up any misunderstanding that you may have felt. When i suggest things to people thats all it is, no pressure meant for anyone to be different to who they are. Thanks for adding to the discussion and hope you'll stay. :))

Angela, are you and Cherie the same person? the images on your page and your poetry are so full of energy and fantsy! We are seeing a wide range of styles here..great stuff!

'Life looks for Life" from ' Wanderers. Carl Sagan on human evolution and exploration youtube'.

This is fun. And somewhat addictive. Nice break from painting. A new riff by Mark Wickham just now.

Mistress Origami-st

Oh mistress origami-st,
take my heart and
shape something beautiful.

A bird, a fish,
Just not a snowflake.

And if you make a mistake,
Don't wad it up
and throw it away.

I will retrieve it
and carefully unfold it,

And tuck it away
Safe. Far away.

Maria, no, Cherie is my sister. She is the photographer, I am the writer, and we work together. I am happy I found this thread because many years ago I used to be a member of a wonderful poetry forum online. The people there inspired me to learn to write so much better and helped me with my style so much. Sadly, it no longer exists. It has been a very long time sonce I found a group of poets I wanted to join again... but here you all are! I'm excited!

I love the passion flower poem, I thought at first it was describing a fairy or an elf! I love how you gave it a personality. So fun!

Angela,
Thats cool that you and your sister work together. The poems and the photographs are similiar in some way!! Are you twins?

Nice poem mark. sometimes, for me, writing conjures up images to paint. So there may also be inspiration here for painting. I havn't painted in a while as I'm trying to improve my photography. Rich Franco is helping, he is very generous with his time.

Maria - Don't feel bad. I haven't painted in 30 years. I am using poetry and photography to ease back into painting, which is my true passion. I just hope I haven't lost the touch. I have evolved as far as converting photographs into digital art. I have purchased all the supplies. Still unopened. Next step, the big PLUNGE. Art, like life, is messy though. Not sure I need my life to be messy now. Should I get all messy? Or should I just put my life into neat little categories and compartments?

Maria, Love "Out of Whack" :-)

Get messy, sounds much more fun, and soon you will be holding out your new painting, being very critical of it of course, if you're anything like me. But you will have started, and at the least you can cross it off the list of must do's! :) after 30 years it will be interesting to see what shape it takes.

Thanks Kelle,
I almost changed the first line,
but declined, it was what first came out of my thoughts, so down it went. :)

Waiting for the darkest dark to draw in
To paint into the magic night
With a long exposure and a light
To graffiti on the sleeping sky
And in this dark blind field
One will come alive
From space some speck may gleam
May be seen
And one will be!
Time is passing,
the wait,
For the sun to blaze then shy away
To set for another day,
And welcome
This silence in the night
This long awaited exposure
All loveliness and ugliness, all colour,
Somnambulators
Glide far from the happy void
And night with no eyes
Just a dust of stars
Created for creators.
Smiles at the child within with a sense of place,
A dream gone wild.

Maria Disley 17/2/13

An Ode to Contradictions
Complexities of style
Uselessly grandiosity
Deceptively honest
Envying equanimity
The unstable sage
Knows nothing of his own humanity

Dear Maria, I thought I'd come back to your poem "Out of Whack" and elaborate, but I would like to tell you a story before I do that. I remember a time in school when I was introduced to poetry in English class. I recall finding the concept rather confusing, after all I was just a kid, and wondered why these poets couldn't say directly what was on their minds. It seemed even more bizarre that I was required to describe what I "thought" all these people were saying through their words. Now as I lay down the words to this story I recognize a regrettable ignorance present in my thinking back then, but the truth is I lived in a home where words and feelings were not being used properly, so I was already being imposed upon to "decode" just about everything in my environment. Back then I had no desire to understand what some dead guy was trying to say in the middle of the night a hundred years ago. However, discussing something my father felt would have undeniably captured my undivided attention. As I've made my way through life I've certainly learned, and welcomed the priceless value of emotional expression. The right words strung together can resemble a fine piece of jewelry, and a good poet can effectively transport you directly to a lost chamber in your own heart. Your poem did that for me. The line "I was pushed into an adult" is perfect and well suited. Life does have a push to it, so much so at times I firmly plant my feet, and refuse to budge, but pretty soon I'm left alone only with my resistance, so I begin making my way back toward my lessons. I also really like the line "I grew up out of order unaware of the worlds disorder" Inside my house my mother slowly became a kind of "order in the court" woman. By the time I was twelve she had become strict and stingy with any, and all liberties. I thought it mean't she knew best, but I realized later she was stricken by a good dose of resentment. Later on I myself would learn of the impairments life can impart. So my apologies on the "love" your poem thing, I promise not to be so lame again.

Fly though the sky like a angle / but when you fall though the clouds just remember the wings on your back can be used as a pillow

What Is?

You held
a mottled mirror
of words.
My ego reflected
Cynical Romantic
tangled in sentiment
denied.
Enlightened Poser
hiding
Self upon Self.

Thank You
my friend,
if I may be so bold.

May the
Thousand Petaled Lotus
continue to unfold.

Remember who you and what you are / your name is your greats asset you lose that you will no longer be the same person

Oblivion

Baralling down from the sky - oblivion is nigh
destruction sent down from those from on high
like the angel of death with his infernal sword
pointed down in fell judgement to our mortal world

Streaking down like a comet, ablaze like the sun
the earth still asleep - it's reckoning has come
the sins of mankind have become too much to bear
As God looks down with rage from his Heavenly chair

Behold now the Beast - it's restraints torn asunder
the god of destruction and death from up yonder
has come down to bring forth a new age of pain
an oblivion to all through his dark torturous reign

Descending by nighttime it fills up the sky
and wakes up the world with its deafening cry
through its cavernous maw opens wide to disgorge
balls of fiery death like the coals of hell's forge

a new dark age will start, and an old one will end
and the oceans will boil and the mountains will rend
'twill incinerate all within reach of its hand
and the cities, like trees, will be scorched off the land

like a great tidal wave made of pillars of fire
it will rip off three layers of earth in entire
of a countless fathoms deep these dark flames they shall flog
like the carpenters knife flaying skin off a log

Why

Why do we exist?
Why do we struggle to tolerate others we cannot stand?
Why is it that after all that we do
fate turns around and offers us solutions that are contraband?

~*~

You may have love, but you must suffer to achieve it
You may have friends but you must endure their deceit
You may be happy while terrible things happen around you
You may have hope to offer false comfort in your illusions

~*~

Why do I constantly try?
Why should I? Constantly disappointed by their failures oh why..
The selfishness of others - they segment the world
Islands of darkness and lightness are hurled

Black and white squares divided from each
Laid out on a plane, far out of reach
The world a dark chess board with god as its master
Guiding its pieces - his pawns to disaster

And when the king's dead, his allies obliterated
His horses all captured, his mighty queen confiscated
When everything is lost and nothing is spared
At least we all tried, we failed - but he cared.

~*~

But somewhere is somebody else that might care
Somebody, someplace, I do not know where
A mythical being of compassion and understanding
A soulmate beyond reach, waiting... your perfect being.

This being will listen when noone else cares
Listening to your fears, your hopes and your scares
They will try to make things work as hard as you will
Never giving up, ensuring you "we'll make it over that hill"

Together you'll triumph, alone but together
Your love for each other eternal - forever.
But until that time - you have to be strong and be patient
You're perfect - you're worth it - keep waiting - you'll make it!

more lyrics than poem this one:

The Battle of a Thousand Tears

I walk among the bodies
I stare into the faces that gave their lives so willingly for me
I look at their vacant stares and wonder why - oh why
Why couldn't it have been me

~*~

I pray that their souls will move on
I pray their deaths be swift and they die with ease
I close their eyes which stare forever skywards and know that maybe - just maybe
Their children will understand why they had to die so they could live in peace

~*~

War is endless - but is war senseless?
The vanquishing of evil here
The warring ground where freedom's found
The battle of a thousand tears

~*~

I hammer crosses into the ground - my flowing tears anoint the dirt under which they lay
To have to bury your friends is a terrible burden that noone should ever have to endure
I stand up and look around - searching - always searching
For someone i do not recognize - a vanquished soul that wasn't pure

~*~

I fight in a war with our metal and our blood
Our presence here is but a joke
To press a button - to wipe out a nation it's all allright because, oh because
The people are only casualties; their soldiers merely toys that broke

~*~

War is endless - but is war senseless?
The vanquishing of evil here
The warring ground where freedom's found
The battle of a thousand tears

~*~

Make them think of what your death won't bring.

Shawn, I read your poems, and would like to share my thoughts on "oblivion" but I can't invest the time it deserves just yet. I'll write something for you as soon as I can devote that kind of time. Sincerely,Kelley

thank you - it's a bit of a alternate future apocalypse spin on things.

it also makes more sense if you watch this, as it is highly symbolic of a meteor.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t5oN7KA-08s

er damn non-auto link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t5oN7KA-08s

It is not of mere images sent
Purging bile upon the flower
Those times will pass in a fertile glance
Of what is entirely possible..

What is
entirely possible?
Quantum jumping
to alluvial planes ?
Raising the vibration
of our planet
now?
Divine Love?

STONE MAN

He resides in the corner
by the gladiolas.
Stoic and aged,
timeless features.

Stone hands shield
stone heart
His grim smile crumbled,
his eyes filled with longing

A hope to grasp beauty,
to experience his world
to feel tears trickle
down stone-cold cheeks.

An older one, from my book

LOST BOY

Anguish in her voice the mother calls
child missing for 3 minutes already
heartbeat faster and painful now
she calls again

silence

she can feel nothing
its like he was suddenly stilled
she looks around frantically
scanning her area and beyond

she sees him and races towards
but no
not him
she cries out again

around her
eyes watch and hear her pain
but they have pains of their own

the mother
her heart breaking
screams in grief
her breathing now short and hard
she tries to get away from this feeling
but it will never leave her

she travels past her son
but she does not see him or recognise him
dead already
hidden behind the black veil

she cannot breathe now and thrashes trying to gain her vision
her heart races and pounds
spikes of pain shoot through her and she tries to call again
death reaches in and claims her in its painful grasp

above the whale
the skimmer is trying to control the black death
and failing

©Elizabeth Edwards 2010

Dear Shawn, "Oblivion" caught my attention because it led me back to a particular memory I have as a toddler. I was really young, barely out of diapers when I began having nightmares of disaster. Over and over I would dream of fiery destruction in great detail. I never told anyone about those dreams or even shook awake out of fear, but I do remember standing incredibly close to hot fires while watching as a witness to so much ruin, and chaos. Now I don't have the authority to say whether your writing is a proper poem, but the story you shared created a connection, and took me somewhere personal I can relate to, so for me it's a success. I didn't have the same nostalgic experience with your other pieces, but I did notice the same ability to create a good inner visual. You've definitely got something going on with your writing!

Angela Castillo - I dearly love your poem "Stone Man". I hope that Stone Man is as moved by your words as I.

Ode to Toilet Paper - by Mark Wickham

O, toilet paper:

O, how we take you for granted.

∩, until we run out.

O, how we miss you then.

Planes of disbelief
Of flying dreams
In Silvery streams
Impossible in its comprehension
Where it will go
We'll only know
In our desperation

Silver Threads
in flying dreams
weaving unconscious
thru consciousness.
Silver Cords
that vibrate my ancestors
and incarnations.
Silver Clouds
I ride in starry skies
to dance
with my moon shadow.
Silver Paths
I choose
to illumine this mortal world.
The alchemy
of darkness
to light.

thanks you - to date I have seen at least 5 end of the world scenarios:

one by chaotic breeding with animals overrunning the world
one by people turning to cannibalism
one by flooding
one by nazi-like concentration camps
one by meteors

I also used to be able to picture people aged and withered just by looking at them, or my entire neighbourhood charred, the air and sky a mustard gas type of colour - and the lake beside us dried and cracked. It was kinda freaky.

Frilly Clothes On Mundane Things

One thousand mechanical crickets chirp at a door to my mind like irate villagers with pitchforks and torches.
Rising, canine luggage in hand I leap into the day, my eyes assailed by shards of multicolored glass. I look away only capable of seeing padded feet on a palette of textured gray.
Like an ancient fisherman I return home, bag full with the catch of the day.
Hearing the hiss of the anaconda moving along it's trail I am being called to a time of quiet contemplation. Soon he will leave the den where he slept, I know I must wave a crumpled white flag signaling the departure and then summon a thunderous river taking him to join his brothers and sisters far out at sea.
The steam whistle screams to be stopped breaking the gentile smile of contentment that lies upon my lips. Water now flows on desert dirt bringing it to life, spoon bells sound their muffled ring singing completion is near. The dark circular languid pool trimmed with white filters into my slowly waking mind, oh right morning coffee.

E R Satz

Thanks everyone for keeping the discussion so lively. Nice words Ben, and welcome! Not familiar with E R Satz!

Maria,
I wrote and posted “Frilly Clothes On Mundane Things” to make a point about the magic of words especially in poetry. How things that we would never even consider interesting become magical, horrible made wonderful and vise versa. Sometimes it is joyful to read an eloquently written piece telling you just how it is. My posted piece translates as follows: My annoying alarm woke me up. I took my dog out to do her business. I did my business. Made a cup of instant coffee and woke up.

I step off the train
I'm walkin' down your street again
And pass your door
But you don't live there anymore
It's years since you've been there
And now you've disappeared somewhere
Like outer space
You've found some better place

And I miss you
(Like the deserts miss the rain)
And I miss you
Oh
(Like the deserts miss the rain)

Could you be dead?
You always were two steps ahead
Of ev'ryone
We'd walk behind while you would run
I look up at your house
And I can almost hear you shout, down to me
Where I always used to be

And I miss you
(Like the deserts miss the rain)
And I miss you
(Like the deserts miss the rain)

Back on the train
I ask why did I come again
Can I confess?
I've been hangin' 'round your old address
And the years have proved
To offer nothin' since you moved
You're long gone
But I can't move on

And I miss you
Oh-oh (Like the deserts miss the rain)
And I miss you, yeah
(Like the deserts miss the rain) And I miss you

I step off the train
I'm walkin' down your street again
Pass your door
I guess you don't live there anymore
It's years since you've been there
And now you've disappeared somewhere
Like outer space
You've found some better place

And I miss you
(Like the deserts miss the rain)
And I miss you, yeah
(Like the deserts miss the rain)
And I miss you, and I miss you
(Like the deserts miss the rain)
And I miss you, yeah
(Like the deserts miss the rain)

Deserts miss the rain
(Like the deserts miss the rain) Like the deserts miss the rain
(Like the deserts miss the rain)

Missing - Everything But The Girl

I find poetry in music.

:)

Ricardo, Me too, Every Thing But But The Girl, Well written stories to music. Try some of Dido like Here With Me.

Here is a poem and it's accompanying piece of art from my book "Paintings"

Mark, Your Ode, very funny, ingenious. O O O N O

There was a Gypsy Genius and a Bohemian fool
They come to you in memory; a mentorian tool
Your fast becomes a waste land; kinetically cruel
Creation is the only escape

There will always be many prison ships
Filled with the white slaves of Convention
These are sturdy safe ships
They are said to be unsinkable

Dear Jack, Great post! It created such a snicker, but many apologies if it wasn't meant to be humorous (I'm just a pleb...)

"A comedy is just a tragedy interrupted, I once said. Do you finish with the kiss or when she opens her eyes to tell him she loves him and sees blonde hairs on his collar?"


Alan Ayckbourn

I couldn't have said it better RJ

Dear Ben - funny, yes. meant in jest. but not so funny when it really happens to you. i guess that would make the interpretation sardonic... or somewhat ironic. yes?

Dear Jack -

Damn Convention! Full speed ahead!

ahem: as a matter of convention; shouldn't this verse have a title?
aha!

Dear Saigon,

I read your post "A Toast" and I hope I'm not too late to tell you what a great heart you have, and your words are so sincere. I bet you feel better to have written that piece, and if you don't you should.

Do you hear the wind howl?
Do you feel it push you around?
Can you scratch out a dream?
And run like a dog asleep
Listen, you can hear your bones creak
While you’re awake
Are you aware of child fear?
And the angst of a Dog
The wind says “how?”
Whistling through your room
How to harness the power
Contained in your sleep
How to survive it
How to stop dreaming you Failed
Like the wind
Like your dog and your sleep
The howl is in pain
Hear the wind scream
“How all these men cry?”
Children talk in their sleep
Weeping “why must we all die?”
Do you hear the wind whine?
Does it sting at your Blood?
Do you feel it burn your skin?
Hear It
Hear it make windows Ring
And Nag you again
It won’t give up
It wants and it needs
To erode your luck

Dear Karen Newell,

I keep going back to your poem "What is?" I really like the way it reads, and the images it provides, but I would like to know what you meant by "Enlightened poser hiding self upon self" Is it OK for me to ask you what that means?

Dear Jack, I just read your latest post and it took me back to some potent memories, thank you for that...

Kelly Lee, That piece was written when I became aware of judgements I held toward myself and others. I deemed my thinking superior and was knocked down a peg through introspection (thank you R.H.). Enlightened is what I fancied myself, it seems I am a fool, a poser:). Self upon Self are the layers of ego peeling away. Wheeee!!! I love to play:)

Dear Karen,

Love your answer!! You're amazing. We are all posers with egos the size of Utah! Nice to meet you!!

I sometimes write poetry, I've wrote a couple of songs when I was a teen. Nothing I'd try to sell lol.

Here's my latest picture... I didn't write the poetry, but if you click on the picture you'll see the connections in description.

I sometimes write poetry, I've wrote a couple of songs when I was a teen. Nothing I'd try to sell lol.

Here's my latest picture... I didn't write the poetry, but if you click on the picture you'll see the connections in description.

The sign has this poem: I think that I shall never see
A billboard lovely as a tree.
Indeed, unless the billboards fall,
I'll never see a tree at all.

That poem packed a punch jack! :)
by the way i twice posted long comments in reply to all comments above and lost the lot when page timed out...I also wrote a poem and lost it...my thought?
'What the hell" :) I enjoyed the process but didn't have the mental energy to recall it! I could sit here and write away but I've promised the dog a play in the garden and to spend half an hour each day pruning, brushing, planting etc, so I'm off, I'd rather be writing but still, its warm and fresh out there now and I probably need the Vit D!!

Jack, Your Gypsy Genius reminds me of a fairy tale:)

The sturdy ships
are sinking
as the Seas of Paradigm shift
Always staring
never blinking
watching as they drift

Upon the far horizon
uncharted and unknown
the washed up wise are rising
to make this world
their own

The sturdy ships
are sinking
will you let them go
or will you cling
too tightly
and meet them
down below

Here is my rhyming contribution! Heh heh!

@Maria:

I thought it was you who advise me to do the poetry offline before we regret losing it from oblivion or as you've said now "mental energy to recall it!" lol

Karen,
I love it! it has a beautifu flow.
Fav line, 'the washed up wise are rising....' I felt my self savouring the words and the image it conjured up...also enjoyed the thought of summoning up the connotations of the line.. while contining to read. :)
Saigon, I know! And that is twice that you have had to remind me to do it in word first! I sometimes forget that once I begin writing i forget to stop.
I must write offline first. I must write offline first. I must write offline first. I must write offline first.I must write offline first. I must write offline first. I must write offline first. I must write offline first.I must write offline first. I must write offline first. I must write offline first. I must write offline first.I must write offline first. I must write offline first. I must write offline first. I must write offline first...........

TEA LEAVES

Tea leaves swirl,
old wives attempt to heal
flesh ravaged by
physician’s hands
the same that brought you
into the world

Tea leaves swirl.
Winding spirals like
the new emptiness inside
balanced with
your first breath

Tea leaves swirl
like the chant that repeats
inside my head;
“This is my body,
broken for you,
my love, for you.”

Dear Brian W.

I came across "Decree 1996" and just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed your words. Deep and profound writing with something for each of us to ponder. Well done!

Dear Tara,

"Blind" was very moving, I was transported to that beach!

Dear Maria,

Your poem "Unfinished" is really touching. As a fellow artist I can relate to your words, and feelings.

Dear Angela,

"Tea Leaves" is beautifully profound. It brings me back to the desire to be in balance as a being, and a woman. I'll be reading it again...

@ Maria:
Lol you are forgiven..I also know how artist have always that spur of the moment to capture the urgency to write once we saw something that ticked off the creative mojo =)

@Angela:
Agrees with Kelly, there is some kind of style that seems in the boundary of neo-classics and liberal use of lyrical rhyme something in between that of Elizabeth Browning and John Keats combined- Truly beautiful!

@Angela,
I agree with Saigon...so well put! You have a fine hold on what you are trying to express...unlike me..I get lost in just loving words for themselves alone...although I hope sometimes to eek out some depth and usefulness in what I am feeling or trying to say. Even though sometimes I'm not wholly sure exactly what it is I am trying to say!!!

Bow Poem

How wonderful
to know
just how the bow
will sit
when the gift is tied
if the red ribbon curve, like a funfair smile
will need the twist
fixed,
or
the receiver
will
love and understand it anyhow,

Moreso,
With a twist in the bow.

Maria Disley18/2/13

Dear Maria,

:-)

Maria, your bow poem conveys so much in it's simplcity. Gifts are important to me, simply because they are my love language so I try to put thought and time into every gift I give. It's hard to know how each gift will be recieved, and (probably far too much) anxious thought goes into it. That's the message I got from your poem. I really enjoyed it.

An old one for today!

Birdsong.

I can always hear the birds sing
and sometimes I even listen out for them
Dawn chorus' are the most beautiful
the kookaburra's are the funniest
the dove's, the softest
Cool, when a father says to his son
"If you don't hear the birds singing in the morning it is because you are too caught up in life" (Xoanxo)
It is almost like a song passed on.

Maria 27/9/2010

María...:-)

By the way...Now you are not the only one on this thread with Puppy Love :-) Last Sunday, "Buddhi", a 7 weeks old Tibetan Terrier (hence the name, apparently they were great companions to Buddhist Monks) joined the Cespon's family :-) . Quite a handful :-)!!!!

Need to catch up with all the poetry being shared :-) !!!

Pick a topic
How about something comic?

Horse hair holds plaster
On the dinning room wall
A candelabra
From a dead groom
An ancient chandelier at the end of the hall

Once a monk upon an island
Made a Fire in the leaves
Built a chapel with his gardener
Planted flowers in the spring
Now he is dead from a disease

It must be hard to live in Hartford
With the cold and with the rain
How will they ever be forgiven
For helping the president to succeed ?
You must be stupid to have not seen that one coming

The politician is on welfare
While the priest is unemployed
Mother Marry is on holiday
And I'm not sure I really like it
But I know I have no choice

Where on earth did this guy come from
How the hell did he get so bold
I know one thing
He's not really here to defend us
In his undone wedding dress

Which wise man will choose what man is wise
when we know he only sees through his own eyes


A new day has come time to don their disguise
they spent all night practicing their lies

All of them gather in the town square
they secretly hope they are the only one there.

They pat each other on their back
while quietly planing their next attack

A chain is formed that is closely guarded
they all know they must get started

“I know I am the strongest link
I have the biggest brain with which I think”

Their chins held so high they can only see the sky
their diluted minds believe they can fly

They stomp their feet and rumble the ground
so all the town’s people come running around

The quickening movement kicks up the dirt
a simple plan to make their eyes hurt

Now with faces covered and eyes tightly closed
what is actually happening no one really knows

Mumbled words of nonsense can now be heard
but none can understand a single word

No one heard what the wise men said
the town’s people wish that they were dead

The circle smiles because they are glad
they could make everyone feel so bad

In a moment without a shred of guilt
they turned and all ran to the castles they built

In a dark damp corner he will cower
it doesn’t matter if it is an ivory tower

Cold and dark filled with gloom
he hides himself in a mirror less room

Now not afraid of his grotesque reflection
but still would not contemplate some introspection

Empty tears slowly roll down his face
forming little puddles all over the place

Licking the floor “ it tastes like wine
this could be a magical sign”

Removing white robes body covered in filth
thoughts of grandeur and but none of guilt

Polishing the pedestal on which he will stand
to spread his loud nothing over the land

A new dawn will come time to don his disguise
he stayed up all night practicing his lies

How did we let this get so far
without denial we would know what they are

Who builds the ships filled with fools
we do when we misuse our tools

So which wise man will choose what man is wise
when we know he only sees through his own eyes

Which wise man will choose what man is wise
certainly not the one he wants to despise

Which wise man will choose what man is wise
he will choose himself because he believes his own lies

There are no wise men for us to see
only fools that are trying hard to be

We are the town’s people we are the sage
playing each other’s parts on a stage

The true wise men have all gone away
this place is too crazy for them to stay

Look to yourself oh wise fool
we all are guided that is our tool.


Let us be small and insignificant never to be heard
Let us be the hand of support never felt or seen
Let us only look up to our brothers
Let them look down on us if it makes them feel strong
Let us not be concerned about how things make us feel
Let us reside gently in the chambers of our own heart
Let us quietly pass on

Well! Ben, when i saw the length of your poem, I wasn't sure I was ready to digest it all but, i did, and hate to say it but they seemed like very wise words!!! "Let us not be concerned about how things make us feel' interesting line. I can't imagine how difficult that would be, it is so automatic, we don't even know when we are allowing it to happen. Saying that, if we could only not be concerned for half of the time, we might benefit. In that we could turn our thoughts and actions to someone else instead of ourselves. Liked the poem, even though the ab rhyming scheme allows my mind to wander and I lose concentration, I made an effort to read it. You must be a prolific writer. The thing i find difficult about ab rhyming schemes, in a lengthy poem especially, is that some lines feel that they are there just for rhyming and not intrinsic to the meaning. Did you find yourself doing that at all, I know i do sometimes. Viet Tran was always pulling me up about it.:)) For him the poetry had to flow and I think he felt that looking for the right rhyming word stifled the flow.
@kelley, I know exactly what you are saying. I think there are different wavelengths of life that we each swim through, or across...there are no straight lines!!!!:) i agree.
@Jack, I just love your style of, writing in the moment, its like your walking, but you know not where, and as you go, you are delivering this internal monologue, poetically! Its a special kind of weaving, and we are carried along :)
0xo, pls send picture of your terrier. Heidi was 6 weeks when we got her. The toilet training is the worst! but luckily she hasn't ruined any furniture, make sure @Buddhi ( Clever naming!) has lots of toys. A puppy trainer that i know said that dogs love to work for anything they get, even if its dinner, she must sit first, then give paw. And with a chew treat she must sit. Of course she has to have lots of play time too and walks. I thin k that is why she is not ruining anything. I love it when i come home from work and she is bouncing all over the place ready for dinner and a play. She actually springs through the air. When she sees you she rolls over onto her back so that you can tickle her. Now, she does love biting shoes and toes! But, she is learning that when she bites toes...out she goes! make a hole in a small see through plastic tub or drink bottle, put in some dog treats and let him work at getting the treat out of the hole. I also jammed a ribbon in the screw top and heidi runs along with the bottle, so its a toy that she can retrieve as well as work with.

Like a poem
she stands solid
on the cemented paving
while the wind
blows across her new view of the world
and her nose delights
in millions of smells,
she seems to sort them
like buttons in a jar,
patiently.
But best of all
I love how her soft hair blows away from her
revealing her black eyes
and short squat legs
She could well be me
on the edge of a cliff
on a sea stormy day
the fresh biting at my flesh
sending my skirts in a whirl.
When I see her, feeling the brush of air against her
we are one, animal and woman,
feeling nature,
sharing some strange sense of soul!

Maria Disley 22/2/13

Charlatans Charade

Upon the power perch
swinging
singing false promises
and glib declarations.
Public outcries
placated
by Honey Boo Boo
and bug out plans.
One Nation
crumbles
as we are
fast asleep.

Something I wrote back in 2007...

In search of our Love, we depart,
Me, Myself and I.
Like a train that follows its rail,
below the sky cutting line.
We will follow, beyond the deceiving illusion of time.
We carry our Hope and Faith alone,
It´s all we´ll need, for a safe way Home.
Facing our fears to leave them aside,
We´ll travel light, without looking back.
As we Cut through layers of memories past,
We´ll drop all regrets we find in our path.
Me, Myself and I,
In search of our Love we depart.
Me, Myself and I,
Along the way, we will merge as One.

Destination: Point of Origin

Heres the video I made for the previous text...early video...2007 that I just shared in another thread...

Edit; forgot to mention, also early attempt at digital music :-)

"and her nose delights
in millions of smells,
she seems to sort them
like buttons in a jar,"

Love that analogy, Maria!

With that great recording voice this poem was more !! Or was it? I feel like a traitor saying that it is better than just print..how strange? but i definitely like this version a lot. Thanks for sharing :)) I suppose the intonation is your personal expression, whereas when we read we are reflecting on our own need for expression?

Moonwriting!

The lens,
aimed at the moon,
from a frequency
well beyond zoom,
caught its lunar light
and began to write
with the help of a mere human hand,

Love.

The first universal word that come to the artist’s mind
It looked kinda cool
In black and white,

Love, in black and white.

Maria Disley 26/2/13

What was lost?
At such a copious cost
The papers no longer print
The radio is gone to it
The TV is full of shit
We think that we have words
But their rights we are not aloud to afford
We've lost it all
To the lame
To the shame
To the well begotten gain
We no longer read
Said Vidal with a tear
We've lost it all
At so very high a cost
It makes me sad
It makes me leery
it makes me see some other things more clearly
We've lost it all
To a disgustingly fantastic anti hero

jack...that was amazing. Strong and straight from the heart of what feels right..and wrong. It reminded me of a piece of writing on facebook by Bill Cosby...have you read it if not I will post it to you.

Thank You Maria, no I haven't seen the Cosby poem, please do post it

JACK CAN U SEND ME AN EMAIL ADDRESS.
? tHANKS

Thank you Maria!!!

Here's one I have just loaded to accompany the painting that it inspired it...(written in Galician)



The Seeker...

And he searched...
by land, sea and air...
he searched...
but wouldn't find...

One day...already surrendered...
he closed his eyes...

That same night...
knocked on his door...

about to go blind...

hesitated...

It was you?
It was always you?

A cat has many kittens
A car will only go so far
Passions are for sinners
Creativity can be seen at the mall
Sentiment is ill-intentioned
Romantics are not nice at all
Surgeons are high paid pitchmen
Police have poor father figures
Judges deep down think they are wrong

And here's the video version just completed (read in its original language)



Btw Jack...

...and Love is all around :-)

[:o{ ) how well can a pirate see with one eye?

:-) It depends what needs to be seen...if it is to closely inspect a diamond...one would suffice and two would be one too many :-)

Good cause I'm a one eyed jack

Boys Club

Behind the anonymity of the Avatar
bad boys bicker
bantering lofty judgements.
They strap on silver spurs
and never sleep,
crowing
and clawing,
at this cockfight
of egos.
Masks wear thin
as hints are dropped,
Who is Who
and Who said
What?
Where is the Sage
who speaks few words
but shares
Infinite Wisdom
with the huddled masses

The sage is unattended
Accused of narcissism
His words fell down like branches
From the horrid that came
He's just a bullshit artist
Like all that played the game
The poker is in the fire
Stirring up the pot
His access is restricted
His account is overdrawn
He slipped upon discernment
Falling deep in concrete folly
Now you know it all..

I have only scratched the surface

Lie
Upon my couch.
Let me pick your brain
Causing all that trouble
Revealing all that pain.
Golden fruit still dangles
On branches gnarled.
We shall polish it together
Then bite
Into the universe.......

I like Jack kemp's post on 02/24/2013 - 8:05 PM

"A cat has many kittens
A car will only go so far "

Can't open images at moment on iPad so will view videos later oxo and pollyanna. Love the back and forth flow of discussions, Karen....what can I say....very observant. Saigon, nice to see you have made time to comment, you had me re-read jack's lines, nature v industrial I was thinking :)I have only scratched the surface

Lie
Upon my couch.
Let me pick your brain
Causing all that trouble
Revealing all that pain.
Golden fruit still dangles
On branches gnarled.
We shall polish it together
Then bite
Into the universe.......

Love it:)

No translation offered for this poetry in motion....Suffice to say...2 musical genres and cultures coming together, flamenco and tango....Hope you enjoy it as much as I do....

Rumination.

A Reflection on Life
viewed through the life
of Mark Wickham on-line .
.. such as it is.

How am I feeling today?
- asks Facebook.

How am I truly feeling?
- says Mark.

Am I feeling :) or :( ????

Play it safe.

Just reveal two dimensions.

:/

Emoticons are the hieroglyphs
of Facebook
intimacy.

;)

Mark

Ruminations
Ruminations
How I wished They'd never start

Warts are a sign
of Judgement:(
Put on your back for a reason:/
Because
If they were on your front
You would be sure
to see Them;)

Terra, Mar e Aire...

Here's the revised version...

Where the hell are we going?
Controlled by wussies whining
They want what they're not seeing
They want what they don't want of me
They want what is safe to be
Many have come before us
Lynchings from the dead
Gone into hiding
On a cryptic melody

Here's the video that I have just completed, for the poem, The boy and the sea

Xo,
A gentle soul, your work is so beautiful.

Thank you Karen!!! You are very kind...I think I said before that sometimes I wonder if anyone is watching...Comments like yours certainly encourage me to continue creating and sharing...Thanks again, and by the way I love your poetry too, and although I don't often comment on the poetry of others I love to read the different styles, themes...this thread and its poets I have mentioned before and I'll do it again its a great source of inspiration to me.

Thank you again Karen and all contributors!!!

I don't often comment either, but I love seeing into everyone's soul! Thank you Maria for this thread and for all of the time you take with your kind comments:))

Xo,
I've always found a relaxing sense of harmony in your work .... JK

I would like to echo the expressions of gratitude to Maria et. al. for their contributions here. It is fast becoming my "Go to site", to see what has been posted recently. Thank you all. Reading what you have posted makes my day brighter and more meaningful . If this were Facebook, I would "like" y'all.

XXX OOO to Xoanxo. I love "El nino y el mar". I am doing a similar piece set to Claude Debussy's "The Snow is Dancing". It is purely a musical tone poem with imagery. When I finish, perhaps someone will be inspired to put words to it. For me, it is complete. Maybe I should post it now and call it "My Unfinished Symphony".

How about a new topic?

Who I am

Fire Walker
Angel Talker

Tree Hugger
Technicolor Dreamer
Imagination Jumper

Long Time Barber
Recent Photographer

Twisted Big Sister
Missus of the Mister
Wicked Stepmother
to some
Auntie of Others

Armchair philosopher
Always a Poet
and my friends
mostly think
a Know- It-All
but in a nice way:)

Beautiful poem with a plethora of substance! It registered in an instance.

Thank you very much Mark and Jack,

@ Jack, to convey a "relaxing sense of harmony" with my work would be more than a reward for me...Thank you!!!

@ Mark., please do share it!!! I would love to put words to anything?? and I am sure most poets here would...it could be quite interesting for all of us to interpret it and give some words to it...Having said that...would you not want to do so too? You are a great poet too!!!

Karen I love your piece on who I am...

For many years the only information about me in the "About xoanxo" section of my own website was (although recently I added a bit more info to it)...



Who am I ?

A father, a brother, a son?

Or none?

A painter, a poet, a man?

Or none?

A lover, a husband, a friend?

Or none?

Am I a person, a concept, a name?

Or none?

I am who?

If we are One,

I can only be You.

Poetry in Motion. Claude Debussy's "Afternoon of a Fawn"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZRbjgbske08&feature=youtu.be

I always check this discussion every morning before I go to work...if there's nothing been posted...nothing to read...and so to warm my bones and lift me...even if the poem has a negative tone..its the expression that counts....then I am that little bit less of me....Sure I can usually make it up during the day, but there's nothing like a good breakfast of poetry. Oxo, how could you possibly think that nobody may be watching!!! When i get home after work, i check the discussion on poetry and photography...its beautiful to see new comments etc. I havn't had chance to look at all the videos which i already know are going to be wonderful to watch all together, probably at the weekend. i often do not read or watch something because I feel they need uninterrupted time. Sometimes a poem just doesn't work on me right away and I have to come back to it, etc, etc, I.m sure you all know what i mean. I'd just like to say a big thankyou for keeping the thread going, and to be enjoying it so much, my concern is when that stops!!
I too will be putting words tot he music mark, great idea. As well as all the other things that I feel I am, I am a songwriter, at heart, but no musician, can't even hold a tune! This is what life throws at us, challenges at every turn, so will be back soon...off to work now...see ya later :))

Who am I, you ask
Is that a what or truly a who?
Is that a who am I to you, to me, to any other being
There are so many who's and what's to be
Some so false I know not where to begin
My who is just a smile
I was born with that kind of spirit
A smile that could not be taken
A smile I was not faking
A smile that could not be mistaken
No matter how hard I was beaten
It could never be taken
It was my dignity above it all
It may be the only thing that is only me
The rest is not mine
It's just there for the mind
For anyones taking
But the smile
That is mine
Is that not who or what you're asking?

Wheeee! This is so fun! Thanks everyone, so far...

Even though a
What
seems to be my label

It's the condensed version
of
What
I really like about
Me

Thank you María, yes this thread is flowing again with wonderful poetry and it has over 5000 views (and many are mine :-) I was referring in general...many of my poem videos on you tube don't even reach 50 views :-( Anyhow...let's keep it flowing...

Who am I? Was asked...
You are this moment in time!!!
My friend replied!!!

Smile or no smile...
:-) :-(
Nothing...but this moment in time!!!

A moment in time?
Without a smile?
I wonder how long I could last
Would I be me?
Without a smile
I suppose for just a moment
I could be me
But is me who I am?
What is who
Who is what
Would I be me with a frown?
How long could I last?
Wait a moment
The moment has passed

:-)

Has passed...
and yet...it never does...
...so better wear a smile...
and may this moment be your life!!!

:-)

I remember when my daughter was just a few years old and said,
"Now is so small It's like a germ
First we're born and then we get old and then we die
Daddy I'll be so sad when you're dead"

Who Am I?

I am everyone I connected with
Everything I just had to touch
Every event and image that moved me
To this spot.
I am all the words I read
All the worlds I imagined
All the steps I’ve tread
All the dreams I’ve dreamed
I’m just a dot.
I am all the songs I’ve sung
In them I’ve belonged
Like poems and photographs too
I’m the one who others call YOU.
I’m just a little pixel
In the big picture
Thats who I am
Just part of the mixture.

Maria Disley27/2/13

Who am I?
And Who will I become?

I am that little girl
With big dreams of someday..
A someday unrealized,
A someday still imagined.

Dreams that twist and turn
into hard reality.

Like a taffy pull
that stretches through time...
to harden into my life's story.

This music video is the preface to that little girl's life story. Who is that little girl? She is us, and we are her.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CLJQeDufbmE

Upon becoming a woman years later.

That little girl has grown into a woman.
Her life has taken a tragic turn.
Here is the continuance of her saga...


Lyrics to the song: Empty Room


Plea:

Verse 1:

With no one to hold me,
No one to hold me near...
Doesn't anyone feel for me?
Is there anyone to calm my fears?
Doesn't anyone feel for me?

With no one to call me,
No one to call me dear...
Doesn't anyone hear from me?
Do my pleas just fall on deaf ears?
Doesn't anyone hear from me?

With no one to love me,
No one to love me pure...
Doesn't anyone truly love me?
Must my eyes just shed real tears?

With no one to feel my gloom,
My heart plays to an empty room.

(instrumental break - alto saxophone)

Verse 2:

These walls enclose me,
This room is cold and black ...
This empty room that holds no cheer...
Can these walls contain the fear?

These walls don't listen,
These walls don't answer back ...
This empty room that echoes clear...
Do these walls have ears to hear?

These walls will spell my doom,
These walls will seal my tomb ...
This empty room that closes in near...
Can these walls hold back the tears?

With no one to feel my gloom,
My heart plays to an empty room.

(instrumental break - alto saxophone)

Repeat 1 & 2:

Prayer (Chorus):

Hold me Jesus, hold me; hold me please ..
(soprano sax: Jesus answers reassuringly)
Hear me Jesus, hear me; hear me please ..
(soprano sax: Jesus answers reassuringly)
Tell me Jesus, tell me; tell me please ..
(soprano sax: Jesus answers reassuringly)
Love me Jesus, love me; love me please .
(soprano sax: Jesus answers reassuringly)

Prayer Answered (Chorus):

I can feel you Jesus, I'm in your arms, held tight ..
(soprano sax: Jesus answers reassuringly)
I can hear you Jesus, answering my plea, this night ..
(soprano sax: Jesus answers reassuringly)
I can talk to you Jesus, as my counsel, as my friend ..
(soprano sax: Jesus answers reassuringly)
I can feel your love Jesus, your love for me; it has no end.
(soprano sax: Jesus answers reassuringly)

Before we leave the topic of emoticons altogether, I couldn't resist sharing this with y'all. It is so gosh darn cute. ^_^

Let us add emoticats to our lexicon.

Want to share poems about family members? Here's mine about my dad:

FATHER BONSAI

Meticulous
leather fingers prune
tiny forms
in long-sought perfection.
Now every twig has purpose,
each gnarled branch
fits his retrospective vision.

He has studied this craft
almost as long as fatherhood.
The human lives he has planted
have placed roots in other gardens.

He welds a polished tool
to adjust a final leaf.
These creations he can change.
his children must be placed
in God’s perceptive hands.

I seemed too nice in my last piece :)

Warts

I am Narcissistic
Lethargic
Melancholic
and God forbid,
Cynical

Wordy and Witty
and Sharp when I'm mad
I cut to the bone
to make loved ones sad

I dance with the Capitan
and assorted other crutches
I swear to Myself
I'm not caught in their clutches

I don't like decisions
or making a stand
Sometimes accused of
My head in the sand

Thank The Lord
I'm also Optimistic

A beautiful, beautiful thread indeed. Something, if I may, is the children's prayer my mom authored for me and my brother, rather than the " Now I lay me down to sleep .....


As Stars come nightly to the sky,
I come in prayer to Thee.
No deep, no high, nor I myself,
Shall keep my Good from me.

.

I think we need to come up with a special set of emoticons for Karen Newell's many moods & (dis)temperaments. We can call them "warticons". %:)P

Beautiful prayer, Shasta. It is going right to my Facebook wall (with attribution to your mother) .

Angela - That was a perfectly manicured piece. Not a word or phrase out of place. The analogy is quite apropos. The poem was as perfect as a Bonsai.

p.s. Can anyone advise as to how to retain formatting of poems? All lines get left-justified and lose spacing when imported in from Microsoft Notepad. Can you put the poem in quotation marks and not have the quotation marks visible?

Can't help you Mark with your question, I have no idea...

I would like to share this video I made of my friend "Hernán Ruiz" first visit to my Studio a few months ago...His CD "Dice la sombra" inspired the Butterfly Dreams Poem. I am planning to use his wonderful music in my video of Butterfly Dreams once I have finished illustrating it....Here;s he is performing his own composition "Farewell"

Hope you enjoy it...

Hernan Ruiz el Magnifico.

An optimistic, indecisive, angry, addictive, sloth ... in short.... A Dreamer....or a 9

Really enjoyed all the videos and poetry.
A poem which wrote itself after listening and watching Hernan Ruiz in Oxo's video.


Infusion

I watch, enjoyably envious
At the musician,
ff,
o
g
I feel him liftin
He’s not really in our world
As his fingers strum
And the images move around the screen,
I f o l l o w h i m,
I lean in...
And for a few moments forget everything.....
The painter/poet and the musician!

Sorry about the format...it really didn't work when I pasted it onto discussion board. the third line is supposed to go off to the right....reading, 'I feel him lifting off'
Who’s the magician
Who’s fused them for listening?

Maria Disley 28/2/13

format FAIL - , ,

Instrument in Your Hands

Plucking vibrations
into the air
Strumming strumming
softly soothing
Combing combing
gently smoothing
the neglected tangles
of My Mind

A Quiver of Notes

shimmering, shivering,
notes a-quivering.

melodious melding into
euphonious tonious.

dulcet duet of
body and soul.

UPDATE regarding my initial failed attempt at format preservation. It may have been accidentally successful. SERENDIPITY!!
I put the word "delete" in closed brackets: < >, and it was interpreted as a command. I shall now perform my 2nd experiment to see if I can re-confirm my findings, but enclosing the word "space" within brackets instead. If you can see recursive spacing in the following text, EUREKA!! else FAIL AGAIN.

a b c d

Looks disappointing. Multiple spacing commands only appear as a single space. Sorry.

Music. It's a joking matter. :D

C, E-flat, and G go into a bar. The bartender says, "Sorry, but we don't serve minors." So E-flat leaves, and C and G have an open fifth between them. After a few drinks, the fifth is diminished, and G is out flat. F comes in and tries to augment the situation, but is not sharp enough. D comes in and heads for the bathroom, saying, "Excuse me; I'll just be a second." Then A comes in, but the bartender is not convinced that this relative of C is not a minor. Then the bartender notices B-flat hiding at the end of the bar and says, "Get out! You're the seventh minor I've found in this bar tonight." E-flat comes back the next night in a three-piece suit with nicely shined shoes. The bartender says, "You're looking sharp tonight. Come on in, this could be a major development." Sure enough, E-flat soon takes off his suit and everything else, and is au natural. Eventually C sobers up and realizes in horror that he's under a rest. C is brought to trial, found guilty of contributing to the diminution of a minor, and is sentenced to 10 years of D.S. without Coda at an upscale correctional facility.

EGAD! - ART!
A poem of Paradox.

EGO -
Art is in eternal conflict with itself.
An uneasy alliance
between Self and selflessness,
The Creator and the created,
the creator and the audience.

ERGO-
To become Oneself
is to lose oneself
into Everything
becoming nothing.

EPHEMERA-
An artist's thirst is slaked first
by emptying one's pitcher first;
Thus quenching the thirst last
of those who thirst most.

EPIPHANY-
He who is last
will be first.

To become emptied
Is to become full -

of oneself,
of Others,
of Oblivion.

Thank you Mark and María!!!

@Mark...Yes I also think he is "Magnifico" :-)

@Maria, Beautiful poem...

Who is the Magician you asked...
The Magician is you I replied!!!
Who is the Alchemist?
Metal or Gold?
None are,
Only the Alchemist is!!!

M
....a
......r
.......k

...........I

.............t
..............h
.................i
...................n
....................k

........................................................................t
........................................................................h
........................................................................i
........................................................................n
........................................................................k

.........t
................h
.....................i
........................s

..............................could

.......................................be

.............................................a

...............................................w
..............................................a
..............................................y
.............................................?
............................................?
...........................................?