Posted on 11/24/2003 9:52:48 AM PST by January24th
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That's it. Now, get busy and write!
a ghost
of a chance
haunted
my dreams
it seems
pack rat treasures
words
saved here and there
hidden away
smiling notes
tucked behind
volumes of knowing
reams of understanding
underpinning sorrows
and disappointments
stacked hither and yon
leaves of love
scattered amongst
travels and postcards
she cannot move
for fear that even one
bright word could fall
she keeps them all
and binds them to her heart
Today the mountains beckoned me
to see the great old mystery
enshrouded in fog and clouds was he
the old master of the mountain.
On the way we did pass the old and cold
Potter's Marsh, and did behold the Salmon Dance
of spawning in the marsh of grass.
Some their bodies ragged and old
told the story of the old ancient ritual
of the swim back home to their spawning ground
to fertilize the newest generation.
What a wonder we held
the Salmon Dance of the old salmon
that had come back home
to die in and feed the others need to survive.
bentfeather
10/07/04
Today the mountains beckoned me
to see the great old mystery
enshrouded in fog and clouds was he
the old master of the mountain.
On the way we did pass the old and cold
Potter's Marsh, and did behold the Salmon Dance
of spawning in the marsh of grass.
Some their bodies ragged and old
told the story of the old ancient ritual
of the swim back home to their spawning ground
to fertilize the newest generation.
What a wonder we held
the Salmon Dance of the old salmon
that had come back home
to die in and feed the others need to survive.
bentfeather
10/07/04
Such a beautiful scene, bf!
sing me
the silent song
of a warrior
waiting
a singing silence
a pretty jest!
and yet
and yet...
sweet silence
sings when set free
to wage war
against a day of thoughts
a nightmare of staccato
rat-a-tat talk
about nothing, aimed nowhere
and killing all the same
sweet, strong silence
bound up in the steely
arms of a warrior
waiting
to come home
she swept past
soft september
waiting
for her mistress
and the gold
of timber traces
in dusky shade
parched memories
remark
the seal
that stayed
the knowledge
contained
within the waxen
moment impressed
and branded
upon the unbroken
heart.
San Marco
proportion
in the haze
of sweat that
runs between
my shoulder blades
and breasts
suffers in the heat
generated by stained glass
and arches aching
for interpretation
while pigeons fly
at the irritation
of observation;
leaves in the wind
of autumn,
that will not come
and winter tides
that wait to flood
the foolish who stand
and record.
every patriarch experiences
the history of autumn
made into a tapestry
that remembers the
dreams of conquest
and the cost of victory
which requires the sacrifice
of the uninintiated
as the offering
to time, as if
the choice is
empirical, and
to know, is to decline.
how to compete
with pulitzer
prize guys
sharing
their black&white
polarity
this period's
poetry
of abtuse
promiscuity
in abstentia
derrida decided
that exits aren't
all that
everything
deconstructs
in a telegraph
obituary,
which misses
the point
as such things
always do.
eyes wide
glide in
the silver slide
of moon light
on your skin
intoxication
resides in
the glance
that careens
from your glass
raised to life
regardless of the
varietal.
fall's frost
melts before
the changing
sun
retrograde suns
blind
distort
and
fade
unchanged hearts
beat back the sorrow
that resides in the
shadows shaped
by a constant sun
the killing frost
delivers its blow
only when
it surrenders
to the warmth
the partnered enemies
heat and cold
that collide and collude
to share the spoils
mark their lines upon
the ground I'd never grant
to such transient warriors.
but I have tried
I have tried.
ok, one for grins.
Murano
Progress proceeded
from our remarkable
energy that
propeled the invention
of our intentions
forward with the
breath of youthful
heart and resiliency
And I remember
remember, remember
the slap of waves
beneath the window
the fruit upon
the plate, glazed
as we burned
with the colours
that became
us in the fire
that we made,
though, it seems clear
in retrospect
that we blew it.
Wow, I see this thread goes back to Nov. 2003!
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