Replies

Afternoon Bob.

Good work as usual.

Here's my response.

There are some sores
that so so deep
that scaring over
doesn't keep the hurt
at bay or far away

'Tis from this source
a poet sings
a song of love
its cost and pain
laid out it
beautiful refrain...

Yes, some folks say
oh move on leave it there
for the dawn
but opposites to attract
and time moves on
to heal some wounds
enough to move beyond
the hurt and open up
to a new love song
every hopeful to belong

bentfeather
05/13/04

Pain and poets walk
arm in arm, Lady Dear,
but is that the only song
the bard must always hear?

HA! For if we choose to stay,
in the same village all our days,
and never travel beyond that hill,
our hearts, though content, are only ever still.

I will take your arm, and march you
over that forbidding rise,
and such things that you've
forgotten
will remind your starting eyes!

Love is gladness, o'er that hill,
pine-song in breezes, and rippling rill,
swaying grasses, birds in bowers,
Here: a small gift of words and flowers,
all for you.

Hi Bentfeather, very nice poem! Very insightful.

I've noticed most people seem to think that poets cry out from a tortured, pain-filled soul.

Naturally, I look at things a little ... differently! You are going to like this!

A Thirst for Life

I drank at life so thirstily,
I hardly paused to taste,
The sweet nectar of the essence,
I’d consumed in so much haste.

Now that the glass is nearing,
The zenith of its rise,
I try to savor every drop,
And drink more with my eyes.

The world seems filled with rainbows,
With color everywhere,
And sparkling diadems that float,
As dust motes in the air.

I’ve switched to slower motion,
To capture every glance,
I want to draw in ... Everything!
While there is still a chance.

I wonder what I’ll see on,
That distant fateful morn,
The dawning sun will rise no more,
Night’s curtain won’t be torn.

No new things to enchant me,
Will memories too fail?
I will be travelling lightly,
With new seas yet to sail.

The waters I will journey,
Will seem immense and vast,
But they are only more of what,
I’ve captured in my glass.

The liquid that refreshes me,
Will ease me when it goes,
The fire that warms me in my den,
Will yield to cooling snows.

With all these cycles turning,
There seems to be no end,
I will not fear what I may find,
Beyond the hidden bend.

NicknamedBob . . . May 13, 2004