Posted on 11/24/2003 9:52:48 AM PST by January24th
This is a thread for readers and writers of poetry. You are welcome to join in this quiet room, but please respect a few rules that will assure that this thread is easy to read, loads quickly, and maintains the confidence of the poets and readers.
1. Only original poetry, please. All poems are the property of the posting poet. Please do not copy or reproduce in another area.
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That's it. Now, get busy and write!
we write
each night
in silence
words grown thin
like neruda's
tracks of gulls
scratches
easily erased
by the new tide
but still hopeful
of paradise
beyond
the next wave
some
dark doors
open
revealing
a receding
mellow hello
and a wistful
sleepy smile
engulfed
in natchez
neon desire
expires
silent
unsatisfied
alley wonk
honky tonk
symbolism
lost
in the stale
ambiance
of disregard
Some treasures are hidden
behind dark doors
beyond shadows
beyond myth
Some rise to greet the moon
gleam in starlight
glitter til dawn
while some yawn at dawn
creep back into dark shadows
and ride the day sleeping away
oil can solutions
tin hotcat regales rooftops
finding his own heart.
after electrical,
elemental storms
men return
to tree tops
poets manqué
remark the reverse
swinging on lines
laid in tangles
with an opposable
thumb and a pen.
blue t-shirt
bum
bending over
a white plastic bag
sorting
bungee cords
death or
ectasy ...
Parrish
The river is up
on the levee
where it has lain
for several months
softening the shoulders
of resistance
with insistent cover.
Full straining to hold
the stream in the line
that self interest declares,
the sloping earth forbids
to the river the beckoning basin,
which wants the rhythm of the water
that seeks to stop its swifting course
and gain rest along the bayous
and retreats of the swamp’s
patient flanks.
In the yard they’re moving pipe
and it chimes the creeping hours
to bell the cat-eyed dark
filling the hollow nights
expanding cathedral arch
with tones of enterprise,
Loaded upon the busy shadow
of daybreak and the thump
of engine strain,
wakes churn the heavy
burdened water, boats
leaving for the site.
The bearded softness of fog dipped
screens imparts upon the lens
morning mist’s remission
of the night's harrowing of sins
the image of the silver moss
in haloed half light, held
against the breast
that swells against
timely demands,
and breaks upon the nudge
that sends a flood
upon the land.
Fabulous!!
i sat alone
in a darkened garden
green at the mercy
of a dusky gray
day dissolving
cat bit bleeding
abandoned and absent
purple martins
Dusk has arrived
I alone in my garden
feel cold and
dread the night
I arise and walk toward
the door to close dusk out
and sit in the dread of night
without light
commute
the lights summon
the street to reflect
a depth that worn paths
suggest but cannot offer
clearly, the routes
are numbered
and the buses appear
making choice just
the marquee of destination
and the community
of mass transport.
she was a pocket
princess, easy
as worry beads
and equally
accessible waiting
to be pulled
from the compartment
that she occupied
without territorial
imperatives and filling
the need to sooth
the moment's necessity
for relief from the enumerating
of unknowns and counted
upon to provide a sanctuary
strung out upon stones.
i thought
i thunk
reality
before
the last
drink
and the last
drunk
and the last
out the door
implored
a little faith
in the fog
of forgetfulness
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