not sure how many words

[Angeline]

Beauty

She glides like jazz,
Hot cider steams in delicate hands
At 3am we awaken, laugh at ouselves,
In the quiet dark night she lights my mind
With talks neverending and mane falling around
Her knowing eyes-

The days and nights have spread to years
And I know a great gift as
Passion and friendship equal love and devotion,

She glides like Jazz, Prezgirl hipsway down
Much traveled stairs,
And when she leaves she stays-
With me endlessly as I perceive it-

Beauty in her heart, in her gentle eyes,
In kisses that brush like angelwings
Heavens embrace like vitamin memory
Of just how love surrounds me

The wind shakes the trees
At dawn as I settle back down,
Next to her dreaming breathe
As birds begin to singsong the day
A lovesong of many movements,

I see beauty and listen as she sleeps,
So much love rains down
From a heavenly sky, and covers the atmosphere of her.

*edited to add, written by EE for my sweet ange girl*

 

[cjh]

She glides like jazz,
Hot cider steams in delicate hands
At 3am we awaken, laugh at ouselves,
In the quiet dark night she lights my mind
With talks neverending and mane falling around
Her knowing eyes-

<snip>

*edited to add, written by EE for my sweet ange girl*

...

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

...

joined at the hip, those two.

 

[tungtied2u]

joined at the hip, those two.

True love is letting your partner run their fingers over your keyboard.

 

[eagleyez]

Nice one Mr. Smarty.

 

[siegrid]

Ange and EE

Crackerjack tells me how special you are. I look forward to getting to know you both.

s

 

[Angeline]

Ange and EE

Crackerjack tells me how special you are. I look forward to getting to know you both.

s

The lilacs in the garden
have been gone for 30 years.
The grass was soft.
In springtime I lay there. I rested
my head by the petals, thought
I feel like lavender smells light
and whispy sweet borne
on the breeze and lost
in the wind. When I touched
the flowers their tips
felt delicate and transient
as insect wings. They didn't fly
away, but fell. Stiff in death,
caught among blades
of grass or drifted across
30 years to where I sit
in a darkened room. I am
fraught with time and transience,
but I still see them. If I close
my eyes, my hands are small
again touching them.

 

[wildsweetone]

not sure how many words - to write on a thread title

not sure how many words
it will take to tell you
i miss travelling the route
where pot holes
pound rubber, where stones
chip metalic paint,
the kind that glows
different tints
at different times
as if the sun changes
colour just because
i travel to you,
and where bends
are things i hunger for,
that lean drive
down through gears
that take me kilometres
closer to you.

 

[champagne1982]

There isn't a language rich
enough in metaphor and design
to fill this page of words
and love. The pain of living
beyond a day when realization
dawns on wisdom unknown
before it's too late to say
all those clever phrases or even
the simple song, I'm sorry.

Pride and anger, fear and resentment
tie you to a time and place where
you're not sure how many words
it will take to write the perfect
eulogy or even just a letter explaining
how much a friend could give
and how much you've lost
in his going away. But you do
and the lexicon records the illustration
of your stubborn honesty.

 

[wildsweetone]

There isn't a language rich
enough in metaphor and design
to fill this page of words
and love. The pain of living
beyond a day when realization
dawns on wisdom unknown
before it's too late to say
all those clever phrases or even
the simple song, I'm sorry.

Pride and anger, fear and resentment
tie you to a time and place where
you're not sure how many words
it will take to write the perfect
eulogy or even just a letter explaining
how much a friend could give
and how much you've lost
in his going away. But you do
and the lexicon records the illustration
of your stubborn honesty.

very very cool and way in tune with my emotions at the moment. clever lass.

 

[champagne1982]

very very cool and way in tune with my emotions at the moment. clever lass.

I'm glad this resonates with you WSO. I wrote it for a friend when he expressed sadness at not having taken an opportunity to talk to a dear friend of his before the gentleman died of a terrible illness.

I hear, quite often, that we shouldn't wait until it's too late for sorry or to say "I love you." It's not the silence while your family and acquaintances are living that will damn you, but the eternal silence in reply if you wait too long.

 

[wildsweetone]

I'm glad this resonates with you WSO. I wrote it for a friend when he expressed sadness at not having taken an opportunity to talk to a dear friend of his before the gentleman died of a terrible illness.

I hear, quite often, that we shouldn't wait until it's too late for sorry or to say "I love you." It's not the silence while your family and acquaintances are living that will damn you, but the eternal silence in reply if you wait too long.

you're right about the eternal silence.

more should be given the chance to read your poem. spread it around dear. it'll be appreciated by a lot of people.

 

[champagne1982]

you're right about the eternal silence.

more should be given the chance to read your poem. spread it around dear. it'll be appreciated by a lot of people.

I just submitted it to Lit. It should be up tomorrow or Friday, entitled, The Lexicon

 

[wildsweetone]

I just submitted it to Lit. It should be up tomorrow or Friday, entitled, The Lexicon

 

[Angeline]

All I remember is a trace
of the song Country Joe la la,
here we go again, but it's morning.
I dreamt those contrails of notes,
a night at the Lambertville Music Circus:
Gimmie an F and Pat follows me around,
around the room with her I Ching.

What does it mean? How the hell

should I know why 7 tigers
chase the moon? It doesn't turn
to butter. Ben Franklin smiles dayglow
red. He winks and doesn't move
the night full of green tastes, blue
with cigarettes. I said Here
Comes the Sun and rocked
my polytextured nerves, sheathed
in that gentle awakening,
warm when the bed covered me,
the constant maiden who crossed
the great ocean. I am firm
and correct through the years

awakening to pine trees,
the gray herald of Maine 2006,
almost almost winter's cotton sky,
cloudy secrets and sisters,
the same sky that thins 1000 miles
south where my children begin.
I begin. I blink another day.

 

[chipotle]

My soul’s map is sort of plain.
No dragons gird the edges, no salt
from oceans explored stains the page.
No epic annotations scrawled about.

It’s tattered and frayed, smudged from spots
of living hard, of careless love.
And it’s led me astray. Sometimes, though,
life’s wonder is in the wander.

My map is dotted with people who truly cared.
Some who cared too much.
Some I zoomed through on to designated scenic spots.
(I no longer blindly trust the travelogues.)

Scores, not concentric lines, mark topography.
Townes’ mournful voice. Toussaint’s bleating horns.
Big halls, little venues, too much smoke too much whiskey.
And always, always, some hot buttered soul.

My cartographer must have cribbed off Moses’ map,
because I’ve driven aimlessly about
for years at a time, watching the gauges,
lookin’ ahead, hoping to find the next Texaco.

My map served me well, though.
It showed me a pass—no road—slick with tears,
littered with shards of broken hearts and shattered dreams,
a pass to my redemption.

And on the other side I found her again,
my long-legged Norwegian girl,
who was fussing with her own map, trying to find me.
There be no beasties here.


trick or treat

 

[wildsweetone]

Hi chipotle and welcome to the Poetry Forum.

 

[wildsweetone]

The Halloween Haul

It's a dust laden road
metal sparse - toes
and heels stomp between rocks -
white plastic shopping bags
slung over shoulders
with only the temptation
of a treat
at the end of the journey
keeping them trudging.

 

[chipotle]

Hi chipotle and welcome to the Poetry Forum.

thank you

 

[wildsweetone]

I just submitted it to Lit. It should be up tomorrow or Friday, entitled, The Lexicon

voted

 

[wildsweetone]

thank you

you're welcome!

 

[sweetjain]

stealin

. . . . .

 

[eagleyez]

First Born Son

He glides forth-
The face of a man
The eyes of a child,

Borrowed from me and her
The amalgum of chromosomes
And the quietest of homes,

And the light flickers in his mind
Chalk it up to time and nurture
And I recognize him in me and the ages
Of pain and smiles and tales told true.

I feel younger than he, regardless living inside the mileage machine
Which heaves and sighs and creaks upon standing,

But I will stand for something, as the anthem of
Parenthood beckons my hand to my heart.

Middle passage and its hard to get off
Slaveships in the blueblack sea,
But I will stand for someone,
Bone on Bone-

The face of a man
The eyes of a child.
It aint cut up so simply
As to say part hers, part mine.

And yes I will stand for this
And reach for the sky
Where bigbirds know that the migration
Has a beginning a middle and an end.

 

[Angeline]

Here's the poem I didn't write.

 

[eagleyez]

There is a back beat
In her jazz feet,
A slow crescendo that blows
Like a gale as she moves ever gently
Across cloud floors and in and out
Of doors while sad tenormen
Rub shoulders, inspired at her sway.

Music O music her chattertalk
Her lithesome walk, her sideways stance
Her daily dance,
As finches and sparrows mingle with
The metallic black crow,
So do the notes of her orchestra
Blow and blow.

I receive upon my knees
The grace I can trace,
Along the map of her form
Her calms and her storm,
In the wake of great wind
I lay down for her again.