Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[RhymeFairy]

Sleepless nights intervene within a dream.
Shoving me into the spotlight of a timeless vision.
Running my fingers through curls of blonde.
Feeling soft, snuggling the one I love.

Long strong form, curved into soft feminine delight.
Spooning toward the heavenly land.
Tickling fingers, curving over quivering lil tummy.
Feelings of love, drifting through to tenderness,
desire afloat, softly speaking of devotion-adoringly.

Commitment settling, into the arms of forever.
Bubbles of laughter spring forth, the ones that
only come with comfort. Silliness erupts into
the land of amour. Such a loving commitment of sharing,
caring, drifting along the hands of timeless love.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Had to be said.

 

[PatCarrington]

.....

 

[RhymeFairy]

Time

No don't go in there, its covered in dust,
dirt from years. Travel through the humid air,
waifering memories rush forth, smuggling.

Toward the years of once upon a time.
Kingdoms of peace, eternal love
fights, bad verses good storming up.

Control is the object of lust, greed
withstands the egging of want. Combat
is busy handing out armors shield.

Temporal fusion, igniting within times tunnel.
Eons of avid worship, trenching off to battle.
Screaming battle cry, screeches across
ticking of the clock.

Ageless men marching off to war.
Hate- Destruction
Menacingly choking aura filtering up.

Cold tents sheltering the wounded prey.
Icy fingers gripping the portal of time.
Warping memories taking over, from within.

 

[PatCarrington]

.....

 

[Angeline]

The Second Coming Home

The day shifts in and out of gear
in sips of coffee and yellow light.
Feet creak on steps, music plays
between the notes. Voices speak
behind layered edifice, composed
in pleasantry or simply enclosed.

I can't explain why a certain tilt
of your face or the widening of eyes
reminds me of everything familiar
that has unlocked itself from other
years to move into your smile.

I looked through all these boxes
of photographs, sepia grandpa
at his roll top desk, daddy posed
on a diving board and mama tan
as a coffee bean, leaning long-legged
on a car years before I am born,
me, prescient in her face.

I wear my grandmother
in my left hand, I wear
my sister on my poems. I lost
those photographs years ago,
but I keep the imprint of lives
tucked behind times tables
and grocery lists. I must
put them there in your eyes
next to your own music
because I want you
to take care of them for me.

 

[bluerains]

ange.

The day shifts in and out of gear
in sips of coffee and yellow light.
Feet creak on steps, music plays
between the notes. Voices speak
behind layered edifice, composed
in pleasantry or simply enclosed.

I can't explain why a certain tilt
of your face or the widening of eyes
reminds me of everything familiar
that has unlocked itself from other
years to move into your smile.

I looked through all these boxes
of photographs, sepia grandpa
at his roll top desk, daddy posed
on a diving board and mama tan
as a coffee bean, leaning long-legged
on a car years before I am born,
me, prescient in her face.

I wear my grandmother
in my left hand, I wear
my sister on my poems. I lost
those photographs years ago,
but I keep the imprint of lives
tucked behind times tables
and grocery lists. I must
put them there in your eyes
next to your own music
because I want you
to take care of them for me.

this gives me wet eyes...I say...lovely and full of grace...simply precious...as are you

 

[Angeline]

this gives me wet eyes...I say...lovely and full of grace...simply precious...as are you

 

[flyguy69]

Infidel

I am removing this poem in light of events that followed in London. It is not about terrorism per se, but uses terrorism as a metaphor for strife in a relationship. It seems best to set this one aside for awhile.

 

[BooMerengue]

::

On Orange Alert we lock down
bridges and bus stations, scramble jets
and messages for loved ones:
Always remember I love you, darling!
which means its opposite:
Loan papers are in the basement, let them burn.

We have let the infidels in.
Fat and safe, we forgot
the importance of a word
at the gate of each day, of patience
and vigilant kindness.

An ideology of resentment
foments unrest in the ghettos
of midlife, breeding
snappish assassins wired
with boredom. They detonate

daily, claiming bits of lives
with slights and acts
of contempt. Icy martyrs,
they spill cold tears at night.

But I, the patriot,
will go down swinging. Amidst jet-engine whine
I type out Honey,
loan papers are in the basement, let them burn.

::

I wouldn't touch this, and I wouldn't let anyone else. It's perfect, baby. Perfect.

Hey- some of us are dancing on the Grab a Partner thread. Grab a partner...

 

[flyguy69]

I wouldn't touch this, and I wouldn't let anyone else. It's perfect, baby. Perfect.

Hey- some of us are dancing on the Grab a Partner thread. Grab a partner...

Thanks, Boo! You're sweet as merengue!


You mean the poem, right? 'Cause a lot of people been touching my butt lately and it's getting a little tender....

 

[BooMerengue]

[SIZE=-2]I meant the poem. chuckles[/SIZE]

 

[Guest]

Write me a poem
you said not on paper
on your body so I may read it
as an act of love.

So I started on the tip
of my nose and wrote
on the bridge “cross here”
on my cheeks I printed “this
side up” but then
it didn’t rhyme so I cried
and washed myself clean
of inspiration.

But now my arms are inscribed
with yearnings and reaching
hopes my palms have psalms
as postscript after-thoughts
that occurred to me too late
my shoulders bear the printed
care and burdens borne
willingly my neck grows sinuous
from this strength with
words to urge you to continue
on. my ears are words in tiny script
too small to read
but I will whisper the meaning
as you gasp in my arms
along my spine is where
I call your name
loud and in duplicate
because I won’t forget
but in ecstasy you might
each buttock is dimpled
by word-whorls with no answers
comfy conundrums
my inner thighs are staves
with notes of ancient love
songs to be sung as duets
a cappella and instructions
on how to play the melody
and draw you in where
waits the final movement
a largo with a solid
deep bass beat.

 

[Jennifer C]

Tess that was beautiful, one of the best poems I have read on here, just beautiful, thank you for sharing that

 

[Guest]

Tess that was beautiful, one of the best poems I have read on here, just beautiful, thank you for sharing that

 

[RhymeFairy]

Time
is a wonderful thing,
good or bad.
Takes us on a ride,
that we each
have to decide.

What will I do,
with what I am
given.
What will I
make happen.

Time,
is what you
make it.
Be strong,
happy,
do it all.
In time...

 

[PatCarrington]

1st revision

.....

 

[flyguy69]

Saturday Pirates

::
Saturday pirates plunder
for safe treasure, choose the parrot
perched rather than risk
a wild pair beneath
their reach. They paw skin-deep
for pieces of eight, get a piece
they’ve had before. They’re back on board
by noon, spyglass to their one good eye
prying fabric off the next curving isle.

But these hills hold wealth
fantastic, hid deep
in limpid pools. There is beauty here
to ache the heart and sear the eye
for one prepared to dig
and stay, and learn the secret
path. With tattered map
and sturdy tool I prick
the skin-soft surface.
::

 

[PatCarrington]

::
Saturday pirates plunder
for safe treasure, choose the parrot
perched rather than risk
a wild pair beneath
their reach. They paw skin-deep
for pieces of eight, get a piece
they’ve had before. They’re back on board
by noon, spyglass to their one good eye
prying fabric off the next curving isle.

But these hills hold wealth
fantastic, hid deep
in limpid pools. There is beauty here
to ache the heart and sear the eye
for one prepared to dig
and stay, and learn the secret
path. With tattered map
and sturdy tool I prick
the skin-soft surface.
::

fly, just my first thoughts.

it feels like you might be trying too hard (especially in the first strophe) to reach for images to solidify the 'pirate' coating.

many of them, to me, do not add anything to the poem, and so each ends up feeling like affectation.

i think the poem needs a clearer focus, needs to say what it is trying to say, without so much jewelry. it's too decorative, and the core seems hidden.

 

[flyguy69]

fly, just my first thoughts.

it feels like you might be trying too hard (especially in the first strophe) to reach for images to solidify the 'pirate' coating.

many of them, to me, do not add anything to the poem, and so each ends up feeling like affectation.

i think the poem needs a clearer focus, needs to say what it is trying to say, without so much jewelry. it's too decorative, and the core seems hidden.

You are too kind, Pat: it is a leaden piece of drivel! I appreciate your thoughts and your tact. I think I may mine this one for images, but it really goes nowhere interesting, does it?

I would greatly appreciate your thoughts on this one, however, as I have much higher hopes for it:

Opposing Systems of Belief

On Orange Alert we lock down
bridges and busses, scramble jets
and messages for loved ones:
Always remember I love you, darling!
which means its opposite:
Loan papers are in the basement, let them burn.

Infidels slip in while our cold shoulders
are turned, spread their ideology
with banners that read
Pleasure is Justice, but mean
the opposite: We don’t talk,
anymore. Their propaganda

foments unrest in the ghetto
of midlife, breeding
snappish assassins wired
with boredom. They detonate

daily, claiming bits of lives
with slights and acts
of contempt. Icy martyrs,
they spill cold tears at night and cry out
I love another! the opposite
of Art favors those who suffer.

Our relationship snags
on the box-cutter edge. But I, the patriot,
will go down swinging. As towers loom
I type out Honey,
loan papers are in the basement, let them burn.

 

[Tathagata]

love nullifies questions and warms dead bones
it answers lone echoes over a star strewn lake,
and wonders aloud over exotic teas
love wraps salient bandages over scarred minds

smiling through the onslaught
it bleeds forgiveness over bruised assailants
and lies unperturbed among thorns and razor tongues

love bows it's head in hallowed winter
and dances unabashed in ardent spring

it transforms a halting phrase
into a symphony
an indiscernible gesture
into a petition for comfort

It reads joy and pain with the same
practiced eye
and embraces both
as fickle children

love carves like water and embraces like fog,
it turns the pages of life
gently
lest it wake the sleeping
patient as stones erected
in rows
love knows
love waits

 

[PatCarrington]

You are too kind, Pat: it is a leaden piece of drivel! I appreciate your thoughts and your tact. I think I may mine this one for images, but it really goes nowhere interesting, does it?

I would greatly appreciate your thoughts on this one, however, as I have much higher hopes for it:

Opposing Systems of Belief

On Orange Alert we lock down
bridges and busses, scramble jets
and messages for loved ones:
Always remember I love you, darling!
which means its opposite:
Loan papers are in the basement, let them burn.

Infidels slip in while our cold shoulders
are turned, spread their ideology
with banners that read
Pleasure is Justice, but mean
the opposite: We don’t talk,
anymore. Their propaganda

foments unrest in the ghetto
of midlife, breeding
snappish assassins wired
with boredom. They detonate

daily, claiming bits of lives
with slights and acts
of contempt. Icy martyrs,
they spill cold tears at night and cry out
I love another! the opposite
of Art favors those who suffer.

Our relationship snags
on the box-cutter edge. But I, the patriot,
will go down swinging. As towers loom
I type out Honey,
loan papers are in the basement, let them burn.

i agree this has much more meat than the 'pirate' poem. i love the title. it fits perfectly.

i think here too, the metaphor may be played a bit too hard and needs to be toned down.

i'm assuming that 'busses' is spelled correctly, meaning 'kisses.' --

it may help the poem overall if you can make it crystal clear from the start that you are talking about the collapse of a relationship. the terrorism metaphor plays so hard, it might dominate to many readers, which i don't think you want.

it has great potential, to me. i certainly wouldn't put it away any time soon. you have terrific skills, and i think you can find the balance between message and poetics if you work on it some more.

 

[PatCarrington]

...warms dead bones
it answers lone echoes over a star strewn lake,
and wonders aloud over exotic teas
love wraps salient bandages over scarred minds

...

bows it's head in hallowed winter
and dances unabashed in ardent spring


...

tath,

i think the above, early sections of the poem are too adjective-heavy and need to be solidified. they don't read nearly as well to me as the phrasings below. the writing is far stronger there, to me. nouns and verbs need to dominate. there are just too many modifiers in some of the earlier sections, imo.




...

It reads joy and pain with the same
practiced eye
and embraces both
as fickle children


...


love carves like water and embraces like fog,
it turns the pages of life
gently
lest it wake the sleeping
patient as stones erected

...and hello to boston, from me and mine.

 

[flyguy69]

I'll reiterate Pat's comments, Tath-- the subject matter is so romantic that extremely clean phrasing is the only viable path. It starts out cloying, but gets so good that

love carves like water and embraces like fog

could have come right from 1st Corinthians!

Good luck with this one.

 

[PatCarrington]

.....

 

[annaswirls]

ffffffff