Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[Tathagata]

Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: A Winter’s Tale

well it is warmer today, but high only in 40s here. i'll take my socks off.



P.S. This is NOT strip poetry!

i'll brush up on my foot fetish terminology
; )


killjoy

 

[Angeline]

Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: A Winter’s Tale

i'll brush up on my foot fetish terminology
; )


killjoy

 

[Tathagata]

.....

 

[Angeline]

I am three years old...on a warm summer day

There is no pain in the taking
only in the loss
or thoughts of the loss
like swallowing knives
( to kill the spider)
it stays with you...
how does one comfort the internal scars?
they wait like jagged corners in a dark room
ready for the slightest mistake in judement


I am three years old and my cousin has a green balloon...from a parade

you feel around
seeking braille readings
tender spots
and find a warm embrace
as your hands join the trap is sprung
and letting go becomes death
( letting go is life...holding on is death)
it colors your gift
covers it in flagellistic spikes
some holy sacrifice
that makes you rightous
but eases your brain down
into fears' cooing bed
like lying with a dying relative
afraid to stay
afraid to leave

my cousin asks if I want the balloon, I say yes....and he lets it go

we chase pleasure afraid of catching it
because then
we grow claws
strangle and suffocate
( I petted him too hard george)
the hole within us becomes an abyss
a garabage dump
we jettison all we can
to satiate its hunger
all the while admiring it's teeth
coated with specks of our well being

I jump and miss the string...I watch it float away for what seems like hours...my father says it will get only so high before it pops, one of the only true things he ever told me


we capture the flag and turn to see
a thousand better flags
cruel reminders of conquests untried, unrealized
markers of self loathing
or' the home of the brave


I am 3 years old and have experienced loss for the first time

the world shifts to one side
and you lose your balance
you grow holes in your hands and heart
you become an hour glass clutching at sand
dying
dying
dying
on the vine






even now 42 years later..I catch myself searching the ground..for a frayed length of string..tied to a green weather worn piece of faded rubber

I saw a bag of green balloons are the grocery store yesterday, and I thought of this poem. Really. Isn't that cool?

 

[Tathagata]

I saw a bag of green balloons are the grocery store yesterday, and I thought of this poem. Really. Isn't that cool?

it is my earliest memory
which is both sad and somewhat prophetic

well ive got anna and maria seeing crows and now you seeing green balloons
LOL

i should write more about sex.......

 

[Tathagata]

,,,,,

 

[Angeline]

I danced with Christmas memories,
holly decked and Chanel-ed,
luxuriant hair and wraps,
stockinged and heeled.
We spun in pine needle air
under glowing angel eyes
and shared merlot whispers and kisses and tongues.

I spoke with Christmas past again,
the same stories , laughs, and losses.
I wonder if he ever tires of the old days?
He remains a boy as I bend
like the tree,
as if drawn to the grave by inches.
He pretends not to see
and I love him for it.

I sang with Christmas present
with melting ice pool eyes.
We harmonized on " 2000 miles"
as apple pie candles burned and tried in vain
to make a house smell like home.

The clock struck and I heard a key in the door,
Marleys' chains come to claim me again.
A puff of breath
and the flame disappears and takes with it
my Christmas eve company,
only ghostly fingers remain
playing with blue spangled ornaments on my tree.

Beautiful.

You must have about a book's worth now.

 

[Tathagata]

Beautiful.

You must have about a book's worth now.

it's not done yet

I have about 5 i'd consider book worthy
and out of those maybe 3 i'd refuse to edit
; )

 

[Angeline]

it's not done yet

I have about 5 i'd consider book worthy
and out of those maybe 3 i'd refuse to edit
; )

You have more than five.

And you have an editor.

 

[Tathagata]

You have more than five.

And you have an editor.

5 I feel are worth it

yeah but she distracts me with jazz and blues and sexual innuendo

 

[Angeline]

5 I feel are worth it

yeah but she distracts me with jazz and blues and sexual innuendo

You don't have insight into how good your poems are--I keep telling you this, and you just have to have faith.

And focus.

 

[Du Lac]

Can anyone help me with this one?

Hi all this is my first poem I ever wrote from last March. I love it but it is a mess!!! And I think I am too close to it.. to edit it correctly.. can anyone help me? (it is long lol.....a saga Valleys of Glass is the third part of the series)

Thank you
Du Lac

The Priestess of the Fallen Oaks

I fell into the moon
And lived in the land of the midnight sun
the gate swings open
and I am greeted by a muse
gently he whispered love laced riddles in my ear
speaking to my heart, my soul opened
each willing to hear
my mind runs to the darkness...
Taking the muses hand we walked through the garden
in silent seperation
the light shines on
Alone with the muse
Sadly our hands slip out from the tender embrace
surrounded by a lush green of a dream
the riddles danced through me
the answers sleep upon the muses lips
I yearn to know the answers
but still
I am not told
there will be no kiss
so I may breathe in the answers..
anger flares...
why?
I look at the muse
no words..silent sadness
the riddles flying like hummingbirds in the air
The muse slowly fades in front of me
bursting into star dust
surrounding me like a tornado of Divine light
Soaking through my skin
the garment of my soul
I am a day star in the land of the midnight sun...
Without my muse I am lost.
my starlight fades in and out
traveling the overgrown paths
finally lost in the wilderness
I forge my own ...
searching for the answers
My shining garment is soiled and torn
My soul exposed and vulnerable
I am trailed by the hummingbird riddles
the whirl of their wings
throbs noisly in my mind
lost in the darkness still
memories of my muse
glisten upon my skin
a torture of the lessons learned
Hope struggles with each dying breathe
Desire and longing
I firmly clasp at my breast
my heart beats for the muse
to look within the all knowing eyes
and to see my granduer as he once did

I awaken in a meadow
bees busy at work
floating from stem to stem
bringing new life into the center of the moon
I gaze upon a mighty oak
tall and strong
My hands long to roam across the rough bark
and hear the whispers of the years
A lonely oak
who longs for companionship
I see the changing of many seasons
a hawk flies above and watches my progress
A voice I hear
with wise words that draw me
beware for what you seek
It will both amaze and bring you great sorrow
The seed of the old oak
dropped from the sky
the struggle for the roots to receive the life's water
Clutching at the earth
its mother
each morsel of soil
clings to the roots
painfully they spread and gain strength
Feeding from the full breasts of the Goddess
I feel the years of the oak passing through time
standing tall young and proud
Alone he is not
living among a forest of friends
slowly the disease of man took away their lives
Only shadows of fallen oaks grace the meadow
Towering alone now
waiting to be called forth
ripping it' s roots from the mother earth
The goddess lives within the pulp
She cries for the shadows of lost souls
The the dance of the leaves
of her fallen soldiers
that once stood proudly in the meadow
I call...
softly, gently
a lullaby
yearning to see the miracle
To feel the earth beneath my feet
rumbling
ripping itself from the mother
The oak struggles for freedom
as the hummingbirds take refuge within the branches
I hear the earth give way
thunder and screams...
groaning ...
straining for release
I stand aside...
my tears
now the life source for the exposed roots
I reach forward
crystals drip from the tips of my outstreched fingers..
like rain in the desert
falling to the roots
mingling with the milk of the Goddess
each splashing into a thousand stars
that sail towards the sky
swimming with the hawk
Alone I stand waiting
for when the oak will be ready to live in my star shine
and I in the center of the rings
One with the Goddess
her Priestess of the Fallen Oaks...

Love Light and Peace
Lady Lorraine du Lac

 

[Tathagata]

You don't have insight into how good your poems are--I keep telling you this, and you just have to have faith.

And focus.

the dreaded two "F"'s
i have problems with both

but i shall try dear

 

[PatCarrington]

Re: Can anyone help me with this one?

Hi all this is my first poem I ever wrote from last March. I love it but it is a mess!!! And I think I am too close to it.. to edit it correctly.. can anyone help me? (it is long lol.....a saga Valleys of Glass is the third part of the series)

Thank you
Du Lac

The Priestess of the Fallen Oaks

I fell into the moon
And lived in the land of the midnight sun
the gate swings open
and I am greeted by a muse
gently he whispered love laced riddles in my ear
speaking to my heart, my soul opened
each willing to hear
my mind runs to the darkness...
Taking the muses hand we walked through the garden
in silent seperation
the light shines on
Alone with the muse
Sadly our hands slip out from the tender embrace
surrounded by a lush green of a dream
the riddles danced through me
the answers sleep upon the muses lips
I yearn to know the answers
but still
I am not told
there will be no kiss
so I may breathe in the answers..
anger flares...
why?
I look at the muse
no words..silent sadness
the riddles flying like hummingbirds in the air
The muse slowly fades in front of me
bursting into star dust
surrounding me like a tornado of Divine light
Soaking through my skin
the garment of my soul
I am a day star in the land of the midnight sun...
Without my muse I am lost.
my starlight fades in and out
traveling the overgrown paths
finally lost in the wilderness
I forge my own ...
searching for the answers
My shining garment is soiled and torn
My soul exposed and vulnerable
I am trailed by the hummingbird riddles
the whirl of their wings
throbs noisly in my mind
lost in the darkness still
memories of my muse
glisten upon my skin
a torture of the lessons learned
Hope struggles with each dying breathe
Desire and longing
I firmly clasp at my breast
my heart beats for the muse
to look within the all knowing eyes
and to see my granduer as he once did

I awaken in a meadow
bees busy at work
floating from stem to stem
bringing new life into the center of the moon
I gaze upon a mighty oak
tall and strong
My hands long to roam across the rough bark
and hear the whispers of the years
A lonely oak
who longs for companionship
I see the changing of many seasons
a hawk flies above and watches my progress
A voice I hear
with wise words that draw me
beware for what you seek
It will both amaze and bring you great sorrow
The seed of the old oak
dropped from the sky
the struggle for the roots to receive the life's water
Clutching at the earth
its mother
each morsel of soil
clings to the roots
painfully they spread and gain strength
Feeding from the full breasts of the Goddess
I feel the years of the oak passing through time
standing tall young and proud
Alone he is not
living among a forest of friends
slowly the disease of man took away their lives
Only shadows of fallen oaks grace the meadow
Towering alone now
waiting to be called forth
ripping it' s roots from the mother earth
The goddess lives within the pulp
She cries for the shadows of lost souls
The the dance of the leaves
of her fallen soldiers
that once stood proudly in the meadow
I call...
softly, gently
a lullaby
yearning to see the miracle
To feel the earth beneath my feet
rumbling
ripping itself from the mother
The oak struggles for freedom
as the hummingbirds take refuge within the branches
I hear the earth give way
thunder and screams...
groaning ...
straining for release
I stand aside...
my tears
now the life source for the exposed roots
I reach forward
crystals drip from the tips of my outstreched fingers..
like rain in the desert
falling to the roots
mingling with the milk of the Goddess
each splashing into a thousand stars
that sail towards the sky
swimming with the hawk
Alone I stand waiting
for when the oak will be ready to live in my star shine
and I in the center of the rings
One with the Goddess
her Priestess of the Fallen Oaks...

Love Light and Peace
Lady Lorraine du Lac

i'm not sure what you wanted done here. so i treated it as if it were my own, gave it one edit, without adding anything.

in my opinion, it is still far from done. the images are too sketchy and tangled, the meaning too misty.


The Priestess of the Fallen Oaks

I fell into the moon
and lived in midnight sun.
Open gate and greeted by a muse
of whispered love-laced riddles.
My mind runs to the darkness,
his hand.

Through a garden, in silent separation,
the light slips as sadly
as our hands.

I yearn to know answers
but still
I am not told.
There will be no kiss.

He bursts into stardust, fading
like a hummingbird into divine light.
I am a day star, lost
in the dark night sun,
garments soiled and torn,
soul on a plate.

I am trailed to sleep by the whirl
of his wings, struggle with longing
for his wise eyes.

I awaken in a meadow,
bees busy from stem to stem,
hands rubbing the bark of a mighty oak
searching for his whisper
in a clutch of roots, its dip
to strength.

The goddess lives within the pulp, cries
for the shadows of lost souls. Dances
the dance of leaves,
her fallen soldiers.

And her lullaby for miracles,
no refuge in the branches,
to waltz the rumbling roots beneath my feet
and rip them from their mother,
give them to me.

My tears are their life-rain.

And I the center of the rings,
one with the goddess,
priestess of the fallen oaks.



i hope that helps some.

 

[Du Lac]

Thank you...

I know it is far from done but I am at a wall.. hence why I posted it here for help... and that you did dear one.. thank you.. I will study it and learn
Happy new year
du lac

 

[PatCarrington]

.....

 

[annaswirls]

eel skin revisited

I am still working on this one.


eel skin bound~ revision


they glance over the display
of hand stitched manuscripts
set out, propped up by reputation

he makes a note:
do onion skin eyelids filter more
or less when open wide?

pupil slits narrow,
tongue flicks the air
to detect the taste
of scoop neck jasmine
that scatters a deceptive signal,

there is nothing worth biting here

and certainly it is well known
that verse bound in eel skin
stands a better chance
of being fondled by lady fingers
that linger over perpendicular lines,
upright and leather tight
straight into reptilian brain.


once home she makes a note:

to thick skin a bite is as good
as a kiss... maybe even better.


his finger holds its place
as he traces translucent skin
stretched tight over the hollow of her back.
reading fragrant verse scripted on the inside.


original:

eel skin bound
by annaswirls ©

~

set out, propped up by reputation
onion skin eyelids filter more
when open wide, pupil slit narrows
and tongue flicks the air for a taste
of the pressurized jasmine
that sends the signal
there is nothing worth biting here

and certainly, it is a well known fact,
eel skin bound verse stands more of a chance
of being fondled by lady fingers
that linger over perpindicular lines,
upright and leather tight
straight to reptilian brain

and she says,
to thick skin a bite is as good
as a kiss...

better

his finger holds his place across
translucent skin stretched over the hollow of her back
as he pages through her latest verse
tattooed on the inside

 

[Du Lac]

Still working on this one..

Myself, an outsider I beheld,
Creature comforts and rewards,
flowed easily to my door.
Affinity with people, always a struggle.
My greatest love in life,
that perfect second of bliss,
silence and peace with all you are,
all you will be.
Reviving memories of that second,
Fresh from the womb,
First breathe still a goal,
The Second,
allied with all things,
softly, smiling in the face of God.
In this life, if only that second we feel,
a lifetime it would last,
contentment would reign.
Instead,
it lurks in the memory of our soul,
we become restless,
always need more.
The taste of pure chocolate does not satisfy.
A serene note from the song of a bird is vague.
A smile from a child no longer enchants.
The smell of fresh cut grass annoys us,
forever a reminder of this worlds responsibilities.
Endlessly, we seek to touch the face of God,
when we kiss our lovers lips,
only to find a human there,
Again, disappointment reigns.

we forget,
we seek,
we cry.
To lavish in that second once again,
death seems a joy.

All the while,
it stares us in the face,
flourishing, hidden in our hearts,
our minds render us blind,
not allowing us to see,
...nor believe.........

dlt © Jan. 5 2005

 

[Tathagata]

,,,,,

 

[Angeline]

Divide the sea, Moses
Move them all out
of Africa in a divine
four-wheel drive u-haul,
the seaplane special,
guaranteed to traverse
a bumpy red floor
grain by grain

I'll just stay behind,
tend to the fishes,
wait to see if wandering
vines cover the denuded
path of your absence.

I'll stay behind stuck
like a burr of memory
or whirr through
the heathens' forget us not
like a damned Semitec
Boll Weevil, lookin for a home

Take the lamps, too
howevermany nights
of oil are left I've burned
my nights at both ends,
davened enough light
years of soul to extinguish
your kababbalah

Leave me behind
I'd rather scratch here
in the sand like
an unkoshered chicken
searching for seeds
of sea change

 

[Tathagata]

.....

 

[Angeline]

Grandmother could undress
an apple in one thread.
I watched her knife flash,
turn circles until the peel
fell in a perfect coil.

Sometimes with a Macoun
or a Gold Delicious, you can taste
a whole smoke-crisp orchard
in one bite of pale flesh.

I denude oranges
segment by segment,
peel and pith,
until I part the pieces,
sip the gently tart nectar
from atop its fragile skin.

Cantaloupe is best
scooped to submission,
musk or watermelon slice
pressed twixt lips and teeth.
When you dip your head,
the juice runs over your tongue,
your throat.
You swallow summer.

Mama said don’t swallow
the seeds. They'll grow
in your belly! I thought
pregnant women carry
little melon babies,
not having spit.

Strawberries are bitten mouths,
bananas just an embarrassment.

I'm self-conscious.
What if someone saw
behind my lips,
saw past my mouth
bliss-locked to that flesh,
overheard me plotting,
really trying to make you
sweat?

 

[PatCarrington]

.....

 

[*Catbabe*]

Drawn Down

Words slide inside me
like swallowed fingers, searching
hidden places no one has seen.
They move beneath my skin.

Casual touches that turn
insides out, parting seams
with fingers that make room
for binding sighs. Moving

through my mind to find
secrets tied with special strings
that pull me closer, till words
become whispers
and I lay undone.

 

[Angeline]

Corn Planting Season

Spring Earth is woman,
fertile, capturing seeds.
Its damp hips suck,
pull rain down the tendrils
of secrets yet unborn,
but growing in nacre soil,
thin green sugared in layers
with the rut of musky dirt.

Spring Moon is pastel.
It holds the giddy night up,
backdrops the birthing fields

Stars don't change.
They could be watching,
but hold themselves apart,
brilliantly distant.