Poetry for killing time

[HB1965]

I've needed thoughts expressed by this poem more than anything today. I think in my own vision of the Universe I have substituted the term Lord with Spirit Guide.


Footprints in the Sand


One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
other times there were one set of footprints.

This bothered me because I noticed
that during the low periods of my life,
when I was suffering from
anguish, sorrow or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints.

So I said to the Lord,
"You promised me Lord,
that if I followed you,
you would walk with me always.
But I have noticed that during
the most trying periods of my life
there have only been one
set of footprints in the sand.
Why, when I needed you most,
you have not been there for me?"

The Lord replied,
"The times when you have
seen only one set of footprints in the sand,
is when I carried you."
Mary Stevenson

 

[HB1965]

The Jivas dance and entwine
In that place of light and energy
Where I yet remembered peace and understanding
I want to go back there among the others
Where I felt I knew the reasons
Where I understood what lay before me
Back to that place where I could feel without fear
Back to that place where I was able to have what I want most
Back to that place where I was wrapped in that other
And I knew an unspeakable joy beyond measure
Back to that place where I could know the answers I seek
Back to that place where I knew me
And knew that I would find that peace again
For now…I don’t know.

 

[wideeyedone]

it lurks
it has a name but I dare not speak it
not in the night
in the night there are not words
just smells and sounds
just fear
it lurks
i want to run but I dare not chance it
not in the night
in the night I do not feel strong
just small and silent
just weak
it lurks
i want to wake up but I dont
not this night
this night I feel helpless
just breathless and afraid
just shamed

 

[Honey123]

Instinctively
I want to call you out
and tell you what a
fool you are
but instead
I will wait and I will
watch and you will
see
that I no longer care.

 

[atmas]

No.
It is an experiment. Will you obey?
No. You will not touch you
Until I say you may.

Yes.
It is an assignment. You’ll obey
You will touch you
Until I say stop.

Maybe.
It hangs in the air. Will you quiver?
You want to proceed and finish. Will I allow?
Excitement grows from tension.

Now.
It is a gift. Will it be taken back?
You want to give in. Will it please me?
Pleasure from sensation and obeying.

Yes.
You may let yourself go. Can you stand it?
It feels good. Do I like it?
Your concern hangs above your heated flesh.

No.
We have more to explore. What heights will be reached?
More arousal. More need to please.
No ends, just beginnings.

 

[Gunner70]

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them; no prayer nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning say the choirs.
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling them from their sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in their hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Wilfred Owen 1917

 

[wideeyedone]

No.
It is an experiment. Will you obey?
No. You will not touch you
Until I say you may.

Yes.
It is an assignment. You’ll obey
You will touch you
Until I say stop.

Maybe.
It hangs in the air. Will you quiver?
You want to proceed and finish. Will I allow?
Excitement grows from tension.

Now.
It is a gift. Will it be taken back?
You want to give in. Will it please me?
Pleasure from sensation and obeying.

Yes.
You may let yourself go. Can you stand it?
It feels good. Do I like it?
Your concern hangs above your heated flesh.

No.
We have more to explore. What heights will be reached?
More arousal. More need to please.
No ends, just beginnings.

i love not only the content, but the format. the one imperative mixed with the interrogative.

 

[Victoria_2001_02769]

Cravings
by Victoria_2001_02769©


It's you I crave
I need your touch
You fill me with desire
You stir to life
Something deep inside me
It's like a raging fire.


It's you I crave
It's you I need
Caress my parted lips
I hunger for your warm embrace
Your tender finger tips.


It's you I crave
And desire so
In our midnight darkened shade
I dream about you many times
And oh the love we made!


It's you I need, so tenderly
Your warm and liquid eyes
Please hold me tight
Please don't let go
Feel love in me arise.

 

[naughtycakes]

Emerald Ice
by Diane Wakoski

If I were a jeweler,
I'd look for emeralds the color of
healthy basil leaves, pungent and thick and green
as parrots;
and if I were a woman who had emeralds weighing down
her harpsichordian hands and nudging her neck
as they turn warm but do not melt,
I would hold my emerald-laden hand
against this new snow which covers the not yet frozen
November ground, the liquid hardness of the stones
contrasting with the chalky softenss of the snow.

For just a moment at least until,
if I were an astronomer, mirroring an arc of light which
might mean a new galaxy
has been discovered, I might name
this phemonemon, "Emerald Ice,'
to tell you how
beautiful these things are to me.

But none of it would
matter, if I didn't dream of boys
with leather aviator jackets,
or men who rode motorcycles into the living room, once,
or the Silver Surfer who might travel with me,
nude of emeralds, a galactic wonderer.

What could matter
if there were any sex or love that could
transcend death,
speed faster than my imagination
or the light?

What could matter
if these boys,
if all men,
were not just memories like emeralds,
or pungent basil,
new snow,
throwing their scuffed leather jackets carelessly
over my empty bed,
while I am surfing,
streaming,
light trailing my heels,
from galaxy to galaxy,
trying to escape death?

What could matter if life
was really about sex
instead of learning
to die?
Isn't orgasm called
"the little death"? Or is that something else?
like eating the best
fresh-leaved pesto on homemade noodles,
drinking an icy, or is it
snowy
eau de vie? one drop of which glistens
over the basil,
and together they are the only
emerald.

Do women dream
the Saturnian ice of emeralds and sapphires
because men never touch them? They sleep
alone in snowy sheets,
surfing galactic oceans.

We pretend,
but there is no mystery
in either sex or death. Just -
the unthinkable.

The one,
always elusive, never attainable, missing
as soon as you seem to have it.

The other
always waiting, unavoidable, something
no one escapes.

 

[atmas]

We pretend,
but there is no mystery
in either sex or death. Just -
the unthinkable.

The one,
always elusive, never attainable, missing
as soon as you seem to have it.

The other
always waiting, unavoidable, something
no one escapes.

Wow...gripping.

 

[naughtycakes]

Wow...gripping.

Yeah, I love this poem. I love Wakoski, though I've only read a couple of her books.

I wasn't sure if this thread was for posting your own poetry or somebody elses, but I just felt like posting this one.

 

[Gunner70]

Yeah, I love this poem. I love Wakoski, though I've only read a couple of her books.

I wasn't sure if this thread was for posting your own poetry or somebody elses, but I just felt like posting this one.

You hooked me. I am going to order some of hers any suggestions?

 

[naughtycakes]

You hooked me. I am going to order some of hers any suggestions?

Well this poem is from a book by the same title that's like a compillation of her stuff, I would think.

The other one I read from her was an epic poem titled "Greed." Very interesting, but draining, too. I'd go for "Emerald Ice."

 

[atmas]

Yeah, I love this poem. I love Wakoski, though I've only read a couple of her books.

I wasn't sure if this thread was for posting your own poetry or somebody elses, but I just felt like posting this one.

The thread police are willing to let it slide.
Was that as suggestive as intended?

 

[naughtycakes]

The thread police are willing to let it slide.
Was that as suggestive as intended?

Hahahahah. I don't know, maybe you shoulda added a menacing this time.

 

[Gunner70]

Strange Meeting

It seemed that out of the battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which titanic wars had groined.

Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall,-
By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.

With a thousand fears that visions's face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
"Strange friend," I said, "Here is no cause to mourn."
"None," said the other, "Save undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something has been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity of war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled.
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress,
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery;
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery;
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirt without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.

I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark; for you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now......"

Wilfred Owen 1918

 

[litfan361]

Wow, amazing thread. A lot of very talented people here at Lit. Thanks all for sharing with those of us who are poetically challenged.

Wonderful poetry Mr. Atmas. Did you ever have your reading?

 

[naughtycakes]

Wilfred Owen 1918

Wow. Thanks for sharing that. Very powerful.

 

[Gunner70]

Wow. Thanks for sharing that. Very powerful.

he was killed seveal days before war ended- like my great uncle. Better go to other thread- you are gettin an ass whupn

 

[naughtycakes]

he was killed seveal days before war ended- like my great uncle. Better go to other thread- you are gettin an ass whupn

Hahahah. Thanks for the heads' up... or tails' up... or whatever

 

[Raidho]

A bit of the extraordinary

The Milkshake Poem

Daydream delusion. Limousine Eyelash.
Oh, baby with your pretty face
Drop a tear in my wineglass. Look at those big eyes
See what you mean to me. Sweet cakes and milkshakes.
I am a delusioned angel.
I am a fantasy parade.
I want you to know what I think
Don’t want you to guess anymore.
You have no idea where I came from.
We have no idea where we’re going
Launched in life like branches in the river.
Flowing downstream Caught in the current.
I’ll carry you. You’ll carry me.
That’s how it could be.
Don’t you know me?
Don’t you know me by now?

 

[ImpishSeraph]

hoping for excitement
never dreamt of love
you forced your way in
so unexpected

don't you realize
the volume it holds
so few have entered
yet forever they stay

you weren't invited
yet you are home
now I go on
after you're gone

cause once you have entered
you're there to stay
you might choose to leave
but it won't fly away

I give it in full
and can't take it back
I can't help it
you are permanent

but never before
have I watched with such pain
the crack up the center
from one exiting

will it mend
is it there to stay
it seems you have scarred it
my heart as you played

 

[atmas]

Wow, amazing thread. A lot of very talented people here at Lit. Thanks all for sharing with those of us who are poetically challenged.

Wonderful poetry Mr. Atmas. Did you ever have your reading?

Yes. I'm pleased you asked. I read at a club in the big, bad city. It was the closest to combat I've come, but left with applause.
Ranks up there, fright-wise, with the first time I ever did a blind free-rappel, ever took someone hard into the boards, entered a ring, ever got serious air while skiing.
Or ever fell in love.

 

[atmas]

The Milkshake Poem

Daydream delusion. Limousine Eyelash.
Oh, baby with your pretty face
Drop a tear in my wineglass. Look at those big eyes
See what you mean to me. Sweet cakes and milkshakes.
I am a delusioned angel.
I am a fantasy parade.
I want you to know what I think
Don’t want you to guess anymore.
You have no idea where I came from.
We have no idea where we’re going
Launched in life like branches in the river.
Flowing downstream Caught in the current.
I’ll carry you. You’ll carry me.
That’s how it could be.
Don’t you know me?
Don’t you know me by now?

*Grin*

 

[atmas]

hoping for excitement
never dreamt of love
you forced your way in
so unexpected

don't you realize
the volume it holds
so few have entered
yet forever they stay

you weren't invited
yet you are home
now I go on
after you're gone

cause once you have entered
you're there to stay
you might choose to leave
but it won't fly away

I give it in full
and can't take it back
I can't help it
you are permanent

but never before
have I watched with such pain
the crack up the center
from one exiting

will it mend
is it there to stay
it seems you have scarred it
my heart as you played

Powerful.
And, mournful.