Kingsley Station

Original Poetry | 11/25/2003 | January24th

[Soaring Feather]

The improvement
is for the cats nose only
antique's reek
and I seek
a clean breeze
to relieve the rank
odor of feline whiz

[Camachee]

The same, but not the same.

we dance
to similar
syllables
but a different
cadence
between us
our separated
age of the moon
silence of the sunset
and nuance
of the dawn

[Soaring Feather]

We found our dance partner
one whose steps followed
ours, but we don't step on
one another's toes...

Our curves blend in
sync our thoughts
are sent by telepathy
like the beat of drum
we hum with electricity
and spark in twirling light
like the arching of a spark
our bodies melt into one
and like the gears of a
perfect clock we rock

Like souls in perfect tune
we sing our songs
dream our dreams
while riding the nights
moon lite beams

bentfeather

[Kay Syrah]

Wow.


Syncronised
smiles suggest
sensualities
sensed but incensed
in smokey satiety
when after is
just a prelude
to next.

[Kay Syrah]

learning the shape
of originality
in lessons that craft
the art of imitation
to the point
of substantiation
in black and white
which strike no fire
but are a testimony
to the oracles
of shadows.

[Neuromancer]

DELINEATION

Dance between

The shadows

Yielding

..bent

[Kay Syrah]

Exercising some liberties with this:



The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

Dylan Thomas

Thought it would be a fun exercise to take the poem and see what could be done with the imagery and ideas. Just for the heck of it.


Reverse Engineering

The stone that cracks
the mystery
of the untold hour
where water roots
the fused energy
of the becoming
flower,

opened under crooked
clouds, that hand
the water to
the pool, and
clearing the winters
sleep draw it back again.

to lips that face the paschal sky.
deep footed ticked and tried,
time tells the argument
but the wind weathers both
raconteur and tale,
indistinguishable
in the green confusion,

and singular is the wax
that holds,
the colour and the image
of the flower that
teased the stone away
and cheats a crooked worm.

[Camachee]

i once wrote
a lady
recovering
from my
well wishes

[Soaring Feather]

Well wishes
A lady wrote

To a sad heart
recovering
from ashes

[January24th]

The stone that cracks
the mystery
of the untold hour

Now, THAT was a great take on the theme!

[January24th]

Hook

a Tinkerbell, I,
I call to who you were
awakening you to
dares and adventures
stories and dreams
convince you that
the ticking clock
stalks another
who must be driven off
the horizon of our world

a Pan, you,
you rouse yourself too late
from rote responsibility
to un-remembered flight
wondering at the
fanciful firefly that
dared you to dare
believe in her
so she might live

together we brave
pirated moments
of pleasure
scorning the steely point
of blade and hook
that bade us look
to ourselves lest we grow up
forgetting how to laugh
at the sound of the tick
and the tock

a firefly wish
i dared dream
of growing up
to your heights--
poor pixie heart
to find you already there
with another, all grown up...
perhaps you might
remember how to fly
without my stardust
and laughing light

yet sleep, dearest Pan
dream with me
straight ahead until morning

[Soaring Feather]

Hook

Exquisite!!!!!
Sigh!!!

[January24th]

I was thinking you'd like it, bf. So glad you did!

:)

[Soaring Feather]

Shading your memories
away in landscapes of fading
sepia tint
will my desire have my lover
a paintbox of scarlet hearts
and watercolors of black tears

bentfeather
03/04/04

[January24th]

Colorful keepsakes
hue and cry
smile and sigh

life is like a box of--
Crayolas!
we pick a color
and try to stay
inside the lines

...unless we're poets.

:O)

[Soaring Feather]

LOL!!!

:)

[Neuromancer]

OR CROOK

Flight's price is paid

At dawn's harsh

Landing

[Camachee]

i'm not
the syanara
postcard
you recall
flickering
between
dun tents
and the pauses
of paper lantern
wax lions
lighting
the murmurring
of red
dragons

[Soaring Feather]

Really nice work. Thank You.

[Kay Syrah]

Selene keeps
her Endymion
in blissful sleep
smiling in his
unaware prison
but managing to
father her fifty
weeks.

Mab's chariot full
of lusty dreams
and faerie queens
dispensation
a hot blooded
gift to man's
imagination


Diotima discourses
on the mean
and love,
lies in between
that which is not fair
is not then foul
what cannot be a dream
is not always harsh
reality.

all sweet interludes
where ladies intervene
giving dreams the form
that faieries require
pleasure is the reward
and dreaming of reality
the only thing
we can demand
if we must have
a sleeping man.