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Posted on 05/08/2005 8:31:59 PM PDT by Soaring Feather
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LOL
We have had our share as well. Thunder boomers have been quiet for the last couple of days.
Good evening, ms. marlowe. Such a lovely delicate poem, perfect graphic accenting the written word.
I see the author has used initals. I wonder...who this author might be. :-)
Thank You so much.
Trust all is well with you.
We had a perfect day today. Temp just right and no rain.
Thank you Ms. Feather!
According to what I read, her name is Hilda Doolittle, but signed her poetry H. D. I have read a few of her poems, mostly about flowers. I think they're pretty, too.
I am so glad your day has been a nice one, and rain-free!
It's very warm, we're in for several 100 degree days here soon, but doing well here!
Inside me is a flameless fire
Inside me is a flameless fire,
it burns away the night, until dawn takes me.
I cry out in my silent need,
in a world deaf to my cries of struggling soul.
Your the fuel that keeps the fires,
torching me in ways I have yet to count.
Sweet the pain and perfect the need,
binding me to your circle until my fire consumes me.
Sharing the flames together,
in the brief moments of our contact in the sea of life.
Evening Comes
A Butterfly flitters in the shadows,
as I craft words by moonlight.
And I feel something is so right,
I pause and smile out the windows
I love the night, old friend of time gone by,
and I find my thoughts come it seems, easier.
It is then I set word to form, a bookish chevalier,
letting the moment lead me as time does fly.
I’ve a long life of encounters from which to draw,
from glad to sad and beyond, I’ve seen it all.
Across time, each event has its own special call,
and I know them well, each unique, without a flaw.
I sit in silence, did I hear soft flapping there,
is it the voice of the gentle muse, come to call?
I wait each day for sweet night to finally fall,
then its a different world, one I touch with care.
Awww.... two lovely poems to wake up to.
Thank You, night poet.
"Evening Comes" is especially beautiful.
Good morning Queenie!!
*HUGS*
It's a beautiful morning in Virginny!!
Good morning, Diva.
'Tis a gorgeous morning in New York as well.
*HUGS*
For those who go to duty for this country, a poem from one who was there where you are now.
Service on the Sea
It was a small boat bobbin, out on a chancy sea.
It was that small boat bobbin, that carried me from thee.
It was a trip I shunned to take, but it must for my country be.
Away the day to other places, the Call, it came for me.
I'm duty bound to see it through, my honor has no choice you see.
A promise made, a promise kept, as I made in distant past, it will be.
When duty's done and promise run, return to you I will, says me.
To home and hearth as life permits, back from the chancy sea.
To war it is, and to war I go, with tears for your missing me.
I hold you dear, and keep you so, on board the ship took me from thee.
I'll stand and deliver, my honor to the end, to serve my country upon the dark deep-sea.
And someday I will return, to the woman of my heart, upon the ship took me from thee.
by Trikebuilder
While going through my collection of poems, I found this one, written for you, the Dargonfly Princess. Once again I give it to you with a teasing smile my friend.
Dragonfly
Upon a call to royal duty in a special place so very far away,
the Fairie Princess called her mount, Night Jewel, the great black Dragonfly.
His wings webbed the evening like living diamonds, in the colors of the day
and she mounted with a graceful leap to his back and they were off, into the darkening sky.
They rose amid the stalks of cattails and tall marsh grass,
heading off to Erbon hill to ask the women wise, of things they might perceive.
Through forests grand and ancient glades, and over fens with scattered trees did pass,
until they came to a line of hills along the haunting sea, as the fates did weave.
A shadow passed over them , and they saw the hunting bird diving down at them,
and the Dragonfly took to wing and coursed across the sky.
Wild the flight and close the call for hunger drove the chase that nothing seemed to stem,
as the Fairie hung on for all she had, as the bird learned the flying masters name, that of Dragonfly.
Twisting path among the trees and through halls of nettled bush,
the chase was always close and each escape an epic of its own.
Until they crossed the edge of deep dark Malor’s Wood in a fantastic rush,
swift and bold the Dragonfly led the chase, their wings a constant drone.
Just as they seemed to falter near the giant ancient oak,
the bird flew all the harder to close the gap and win.
With sudden speed and piercing cry the bird fell to the stroke,
of the hunting hawk diving from the sky in a bold talon-slashing pin.
Looping back the way they came, the Fairie and the Dragonfly escaped at last,
with only a short flight to take to the hills on edge of Malor Woods.
The highest was Erbon, the home of the women wise, now their journey past,
both rested for a moment and were silent, just breathing as best they could.
The Fairie kissed the head of her Champion, his wings now hanging low
hugging her friend so tight, honoring his stupendous flight.
And both remembered the fury in the fading evening glow,
bonding both together, overcoming danger in the search for something right.
by Trikebuilder
"Good poem from the master word smith."
I have mastered beer making, motorcycle building race car building, wine making, and a few other such arcane arts, but I am only a fledgling at word crafting, I simply write what comes from inside. I have yet to master the many forms and styles of this wonderful art!
Oh my, this is beautiful. Thank You so much.
HUGS
This means so much to me.
Well, I think you do very well with the art of wordsmithing.
It's an on going process for we poets anyway. As we grow and mature so does our work.
Summer Solstice Happy First Day Of Summer
http://scienceworld.wolfram.com/astronomy/SummerSolstice.html
From bentfeather;
Today the ancient ones do dance
around the maypole in a trance
for it is the longest day
which the sun will warm and play
In the old country Finland
it has been told, the dancing and
drinking went on for days...
in celebration of the Solstice time
with chanting and haunting and
making rhyme.
So hold the cup and take a sip of friendships
near and dear, and let the voices of the poets sing
of ancient rumblings from the stone
and old Viking gods left alone
to cast the spells of Viking days
and burn the kokko into ash.
by bentfeather
I like this very much!
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