Non-erotic poetry (that is, Poetry)

[_Land]

Interesting interpretation. Kind of 90 degree tangent, but good just the same.

I appreciate the original context, but my brain couldn't move past Wiley E stealing the moon to blind the road runner...... I am a bit weird, I know and freely admit this

 

[WCSGarland]

ELEMENT

Silent sits the rock,
Basking in the stillness.
Here comes the water,
Turning rock to sand.
There goes the wind,
Wandering the land.
And fire energetically,
Transforms them all.

Does the moon hear,
The turning of the Earth?
Does the earth taste,
The saltiness of the sea?
Do the planets sound,
Like whistles in the solar wind?
Does the Sun feel,
The cold emptiness of space?

 

[melimelissa]

FLUTTER BY BUTTERFLY

Flutter by, butterfly,
For beauty is thy name.
Flutter by, butterfly,
Survival is thy game.

Flutter by, butterfly,
For life is very free.
Flutter by, butterfly,
Freedom is known by thee.

Flutter-by Butterfly,
Feel no demise,
Or stinking carcass,
Beneath black skies.

Survival is cherished:
Even captives form
A plan, sans merits,
In the sun's warmth;

A plan dusk kills,
Chilled butterfly sighs,
Night rules endless
As the flutter-by dies...

 

[melimelissa]

ELEMENT

Silent sits the rock,
Basking in the stillness.
Here comes the water,
Turning rock to sand.
There goes the wind,
Wandering the land.
And fire energetically,
Transforms them all.

Does the moon hear,
The turning of the Earth?
Does the earth taste,
The saltiness of the sea?
Do the planets sound,
Like whistles in the solar wind?
Does the Sun feel,
The cold emptiness of space?

On the face of it
The moon must have ears,
To hear solar winds
And listen for the tears
As serendipitous romances
Have to fade and die,
Having looked far too long
At the lunar-washed sky

You won't see lunar ears,
Hid by scraggly eons-old hair,
Until it streams forever behind
Rushing winds: and that's where
The moon is arrested.
For listening to those lovers pure,
So perverse and now bested:
Ahh! Lonely solar écouteur.

Méli

 

[_Land]

Migration

A Cento

The sky is full of them
their cries like needles threading the wind
Some fly north, some fly south
none forget the way

You leaned into me as dusk grew feathers
I knew then love is not a nest
it is the flight

The trees are turning and still
your shadow lingers at my door
We do not choose the seasons we return to
We only follow the pull

I carry your name in the hollow of my wing
And when the sky opens again
we rise


Line Sources and Credits:

1. “The sky is full of them” from “The Quietness of the Birds” by Linda Hogan

2. “their cries like needles threading the wind”
adapted from imagery in “Bird” by Pablo Neruda

3. “Some fly north, some fly south” from “Migratory Patterns” by Camille T. Dungy

4. “none forget the way” inspired by “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver

5. “You leaned into me as dusk grew feathers”
adapted from “Love Poem” by Audre Lorde

6. “I knew then love is not a nest / it is the flight” composite adaptation inspired by themes in “Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong” by Ocean Vuong and “The Raincoat” by Ada Limón

7. “The trees are turning and still / your shadow lingers at my door” from “October” by Louise Glück

8. “We do not choose the seasons we return to” lightly adapted from the tone and structure of “Meditation at Lagunitas” by Robert Hass

9. “We only follow the pull” from “Field Guide” by Tony Hoagland

10. “I carry your name in the hollow of my wing” inspired by “I Carry Your Heart With Me” by E. E. Cummings and “Famous” by Naomi Shihab Nye

11. “And when the sky opens again / we rise” from “Instructions on Not Giving Up” by Ada Limón

 

[_Land]

At the Clinic

Vinyl gloves.
Stainless tray.
Sterile swab.

Lesions,
three on the shaft,
one ulcerated.
Yellow-gray center.
Raised edges.
No discharge today.

She undresses
from the waist down.
No eye contact.
Speculum in.
Cervix inflamed.
Pus at the os.

Swab. Culture.
Label: C. trachomatis rule-out.
She winces.
Bleeds a little.
Notes: friable tissue.

He complains of burning.
Urethral smear taken.
Gram stain: intracellular diplococci.
Discharge milky, thin.
No lesions observed.

Room 4:
Anal warts—cauliflower clusters
around perianal fold.
Biopsy taken.
Cryo scheduled.

Room 7:
HIV follow-up.
CD4 dropped.
Kaposi's spot noted
on left cheekbone.
Purple. Flat.
Photo logged.

Autoclave running.
Sharps in container.
Paper gowns in trash.

Prescriptions:
Azithromycin 1g, stat.
Ceftriaxone IM, gluteal.
Follow-up in 2 weeks.
Abstain until cleared.

They all leave
without touching
the condom bowl.

 

[Ash999]

3rd Test@Lord's
==============

The other evening@Lord★ s'
As Sir Jaddu negotiated ....
Treacherous inswing and quiet Ffords......
A fascinated World watched.. th....the gripping contest
In era of 6-'s and Insta Gratification... .
Of IPL and Premature Ejaculation.........
There still remains
A dedicated audience4Concentration....
Grit and patience.....
For 1 Run per over Tests
Hard fought Contests...
Where Win or Lose
U R Honoured
As the Noble Enemy
Who fought Hard....
Thus concludes this
Humble bard

 

[WCSGarland]

GRAVEDIGGER'S FOLLY

The morning was as clear as a fragmented mirror,
The trees, grass, and sky were as one,
The Sun hid in fear behind clouds,
The gray fog danced in delight.

Meanwhile, I tried to obscure my beckoning terror,
My tools gleamed in the half-dark morn.

But time is gold,
And I commenced the dig,
Glancing from side to side,
Watching for nothing yet feeling something.

And all the while, conscious of the leaden sound,
Of shovel biting ground.

 

[WCSGarland]

GNOME

I met a little gnome,
Who whispered in my ear,
He told me of a treasure,
Hidden in a tree,
Thereupon I asked him,
To show me where it was,
We traveled quite a distance,
Through the thorny brush,
And if I’m not mistaken,
Several figure eights,
Where then he did crouch,
Afore a jump across a rock,
And then it got confusing,
The gyrations he did take,
Which I followed every one,
The best that I could,
It must have been a sight,
The squirrels were watching me,
At last we did arrive,
Where he had me gather,
Seven dragon hatchlings,
From a branch up high,
So now I'm very popular,
When someone needs a fire.

 

[BiDave1962]

My heart cannot contain,

The love I feel for you,

To try might be in vain,

But there is naught for me to do.



So I stand here eyes awater,

Trembling with the thought,

That the world’s most perfect daughter,

Thinks I am what she sought.



I want to spend my life,

I want to keep things right,

I want our love to last,

I want to hold you tight.



We may not be wealthy or great,

But that doesn’t worried me much,

I just want you for my mate,

I want to live for your touch.



Our minds compliment and reside,

In a world we have given life,

There is no else to stand beside,

Can you imagine yourself my wife?



I want to spend my life,

I want to keep things right,

I want our love to last,

I want to hold you tight.



With you I can stand the night,

And find comfort all through the day,

What’s wrong I can make right,

Find strength to continue to play.



I want to spend my life,

I want to keep things right,

I want our love to last,

I want to hold you tight.

 

[BiDave1962]

They sucker you with sweetness and with money and with fame,
They drink up from your lifeblood without even knowing your name,
They tell you soothing lies with words you must believe,
But all the while they full intend to make you cry and grieve.

The devils talk and talk and yet never say a thing,
The words of devils find you and leave behind a sting.

Devils hide in plain sight and they ride within your wake,
To torture mind and body and attempt your soul to take,
The devils take your voice and use it for their evil goals,
Gobbling up the young and old and poisoning their souls.

The devils talk and talk and yet never say a thing,
The words of devils find you and leave behind a sting.



Warnings come in many forms so please listen to mine,
If you do there is a chance that somehow you’ll be fine,
Heed not words of devils for their nature is to lie,
They seek to live within you but without you they will die!

The devils talk and talk and yet never say a thing,
The words of devils find you and leave behind a sting.

Beware, beware, beware the Words of Devils!

 

[BiDave1962]

She carries a sword, she carries a gun,
She kills without mercy, She thinks it’s fun.
The world has ended, and yet it persists,
So she goes out hunting,
For whatever still exists.

She’s the Queen,
She’s the best,
She’s the bomb,
Queen of the survivalists.

When the mutated beasts,
Are scratching the gate,
When the other survivors,
Wanna decide her fate,

She just doesn’t flinch,
She just doesn’t blink,
She knows how to fight,
She knows what to think.

She’s the Queen,
She’s the best,
She’s the bomb,
Queen of the survivalists.

Her bunker is smokin’,
And I don’t mean with fire,
Her supplies are the greatest,
Her spirit is higher.

How well she survives,
Is on her own shoulders,
And when she escapes,
She gets a little bit older.

She’s the Queen,
She’s the best,
She’s the bomb,
Queen of the survivalists.

She’s the Queen,
She’s the best,
She’s the bomb,
Queen of the survivalists.

 

[_Land]

Moments of Impermanence
(A collection of forty-one poems)
By Bear Sage

Morning dew
on overnight webs
threads jeweled
for a moment
then gone

Crocus pushes
through thawed soil
the bloom
trembles
before the wind

A child’s breath
on the cold glass
stays longer
than
his footsteps

Petal confetti
on wedding shoes
crushed
into spring
like promises

Rain pools
in a robin’s footprint
then lifts
into
sky again

The last plum
on the branch
loosens
without
farewell

Lilac perfume
lingers
on the hem
of someone
departing

Picnic blanket
left in the grass
the sun
folds it
into memory

Sunburn
on her shoulder
peels
like a page
never written

Lemonade
sweating
on the windowsill
forgotten
by dusk

Steam rising
from jasmine tea
curls into silence
then
nothing

A bee
drunken with nectar
collides
with a dandelion
already gone

The moon
touched the lake
then drifted
out of
itself

The kite
caught
on telephone wire
fluttered
then fell

Paper cranes
on the windowsill
folded in hope
faded
to ivory

Sunflowers
facing west
bowed
by something
more than wind

Chalk lines
on the sidewalk
after rain
still whisper
the child who drew them

Candlelight
in a chapel at dusk
flickers
before
being memory

The fireflies
blinked
like they never
meant
to be believed

Wind chimes
sang
to no one
but the ghost
of summer

First snow
on a crow’s back
vanishes
without
a sound

Frosted panes
frame
the withering orchard
still
it bore sweetness

The mitten
left on a fencepost
filled
with last week’s
snow

Pine needles
in her boots
long after
the hike
was done

His voice
on a voicemail
still warm
with the day
he left

She braided my hair
in the hallway light
by morning
the scent of her hands
was gone

Ashes
in the urn
whisper
what bones
once carried

The mirror
held
her face
longer
than he did

Two cups
on the counter
only one
still
steaming

The note
on the pillow
creased
where
she once lived

The swing
rocking
with no one
in it
yet

Photographs
in a drawer
curling
like leaves
never pressed

Her earrings
in the sink
shimmered
with the last
yes

Shoelaces
untied
still hold
the shape
of running

Laughter
echoing
from the stairwell
doesn’t
come back

A scarf
slipped
from her shoulders
onto the night
without pause

The bench
still warm
after she left
knows
what goodbye means

The journal
closed
mid-sentence
but full
of her voice

Snowmelt
seeping
into last year’s soil
returns
as silence

The clock
keeps ticking
as if
what was said
can be undone

A single light
in the upstairs window
goes dark
before
the stars arrive
~~~
We do not choose
what disappears
only how we
tend
what remains

Every vanished moment
blooms again
in the ache
that says
I saw it

This is the cost
of being witness,
to love
what leaves
and let it leave

 

[WCSGarland]

LIGHTNING

super-luminary lines
momentary fragmentary
white-hot crazy string
stitching up the clouds
tightening up the sky
until the edges overflow
and splatter on the ground

 

[WCSGarland]

(acrostic form)

NO MORE

What? a barren field, unbroken white,
Hasn't had any disturbance.
It doesn't care, and might actually prefer it.
The colorlessness burns its way into my soul.
Every time i shut my eyes, inspiration disappears.

Perfection here mocks my existence.
All of it screams at me, tauntingly, hauntingly, saying...
Go ahead, do something about me, what are you waiting for?
Echoes of the past 15 years come scrabbling up my spine.

Not this time, though, for i am up to the challenge!
Oracles would happily die, to feel this rush of power...

My essence coalesces, my mind becomes a juggernaut,
Onward rushing, thoughts conspiring to break the silence,
Rise up my nearly broken spirit, like a phoenix, rise...
Enter words onto this page, that it be white no more.

 

[_Land]

This is worth a listen........ It's profound

 

[WCSGarland]

2NIGHT

2night, I was supposed to write a poem,
Well, I did,
But it was delayed, and dismayed,
2night, the battery died,
And I get the call,
I have got to pick up my wife,
2night, she went to see a movie,
I could have gone,
And then I would have had to walk,
2night, I stayed home,
Like it was a premonition,
But it wasn't even close,
2night, I just didn't want to see it,
Oh no, not that dumb movie,
What a relief...

 

[WCSGarland]

OUT BY THE LAKE

Out by the lake,
Surrounded by trees,
Sliding and climbing the hills,
Now resting on a rock,
On a cliff near the shore.

Watch the boats,
Bumping over the jumping, choppy water,
On their way to the ramps,
To be carried away,
Like beached fish from the shore.

Flies in the air,
Rising currents of warm air,
Chased away by a cool blowing breeze,
The beads of sweat,
Dry into a crusty film.

Walking along trails;
Crunching and smashing the leaves,
Sneaking up on very fast and alert birds,
Squishing through the mud on the shore,
Out by the lake.

 

[melimelissa]

Unknowing

Urged to unknowing paths, I clamber down
Steep cliffs, to shimmering, salty coves: these store
Wrecks of ruined rowing boats: each a drowned,
Skeletal wraith, spewed on a sundered sea floor;

Cushions of wildest thyme gift rocky graces,
While sea breezes flush iris fumes: a reek
Of honeyed memories, on a hand, soon traces
Aqueous happiness, wholesomely replete;

I rarely feel content, out-with the thin shade
Of shrubs smattering cliffs and coastal waters;
My senseless, reluctance swells, until waylaid,
As silence rules unsure; it hardly ever alters
Flavours of forgotten fights or seminal bliss:
Lost paths and place and pace: unknowing synthesis.

Méli

 

[Angeline]

Unknowing ......

Lovely Meli. Glad you're back.

 

[WCSGarland]

MY THOUGHTS WANDER LIKE FIREFLIES

My thoughts wander like fireflies on a summer night,
Not quite tracing the jumbled outline of broken field,
Dark for a few moments then others bright.

From the corner of my eye one may flicker to light,
to blinker out as soon as my attention's sealed,
My thoughts wander like fireflies on a summer night.

Jumbled patterns are traced by their flight,
As suddenly extinguished as quickly revealed,
Dark for a few moments then others bright.

I could capture one from the air in midflight,
But once in my grasp it would just be concealed,
My thoughts wander like fireflies on a summer night,

And yes though they inside my head are locked tight,
Seldom can I use them for they seldom yield,
Dark for a few moments then others bright.

From up, down, corner to corner, as well as left and right,
Often deeply mesmerized I watched as they wheeled,
My thoughts wander like fireflies on a summer night,
Dark for a few moments then others bright.

 

[Angeline]

MY THOUGHTS WANDER LIKE FIREFLIES....

That's a lovely villanelle! Thank you for sharing it.

 

[paddyboi]

Her house boy I be





She says, I do

She instructs, I oblige

Lists she compiles

My, I comply



Sex? Not us we, very intimate be we.

Hug? A lot, never a deep kiss.

Oh! Peck on the cheek

Brush of an ear

Hold hands

Pat of a knee.

Her house boy I be, so free.



She and me

Married once

To each other

Can you believe

Fulfilling roles imposed by others



Independent now together we be

No expectations nor demands

Express to each other

I feel….., I think……, I want……

And let it just be

Her house boy I be

So free

 

[WCSGarland]

That's a lovely villanelle! Thank you for sharing it.

You're welcome!

 

[_Land]

Very few ever comment on my writing here. I would appreciate some valuable feed back on this however if you would be so kind.
I swore off trying to rhyme in anything to serious back in 2003 after being challenged here in the forum. Outside of trying different forms as a challenge to my creative capabilities. Fuck you Sonnets

I digress.... I would like a little feedback on this if you could spare a few moments, I would be very grateful
Your overall thoughts and specifically if the use of the word lie (to different meanings) throws this off course ?

The Truth of Small Universes
by Bear Sage

A laced-winged gnat on a thistle vine,
knows time by dew and shadow line
a drop is flood, a breeze is quake,
and gods are those that petals make.
Its sky is stitched in thread and thorn,
its dusk, a fog of pollen born.


A fieldmouse scurries through woven wheat,
with thunder pulsed in kestrel beat.
It reads the grass by scent and bend,
each broken stalk a whispered end.
Its kingdom crowned in root and seed,
a world that shifts with fox or weed.


The kestrel rides on columns blue,
maps truth in twitching fur below.
Each gust a gate, each spiral turn
a prayer for claws and hunger’s burn.
It hunts by math the mouse can’t see,
a theorem drawn in gravity.


The hawk is stalked by weather’s hand,
storm systems bloom where clouds expand.
Winds dictate paths the feather flies
its gospel inked in pressure skies.
The thunderhead, a preacher bold,
who speaks in flash and breaks the fold.


The forest listens with spongy ear,
decades deep in rings unclear.
It does not flinch at blood or bone
just weaves them in and grows its own.
Its gospel: silence, rot, and leaf
truth composted beyond belief.


Above, the stars in ancient drift
write symphonies the cosmos lifts.
But they burn blind to gnat or hawk,
indifferent in their endless walk.
Each orbit sings in molten scale,
unmoved by hunger, claw, or trail.


Yet here we stand, within our scope,
declaring truth through lens and hope.
Not knowing what we’ve never known,
each verdict carved from self alone.
We call things fact, we brand them real
but truth is shaped by what we feel.


And so the bug, the mouse, the kite,
all navigate a different night.
No gospel wrong, no cosmos lie,
just windows framed by where we lie.

We are not bound by the truths they see,
but only the limits of our own galaxy.


For truth does not walk straight in line
it spirals, loops, forgets, refines.
It doubles back through time and thread,
alive in what is left unsaid.
A map redrawn with every glance,
a song that changes as we dance.