Poems...come share your work.

[cinderella]

I wanted a place to put my poems, but did not want to dedicate a thread solely for my work. So I hope I can induce you all to come here and post your musings. I will start with one I wrote a few years back, and is one of my favorites. Feedback and impressions are welcome.

The Lost Summer
God's good earth is calling,
It beckons I return
To greener days,
And childhood plays,
And lost days that I yearn.

Each field and glen remembers
When a barefoot boy did roam
Its hills and dales, its wooded trails,
And now wants him back home.

I sit beneath the shady elm
That once served as my store
For secrets and for treasures dear,
To keep forevermore.

A robin's egg, a spiders web,
Wax and a ball of string,
A kite to fly on windy days
A bluejay's faded wing.

But now I'm tired and weary,
And too old to run and play,
Yet in those dreams of long ago
I search for yesterday.

To find the glory in the flower,
The splendor in the grass,
Forgotten through life's hardships
Come to claim my soul at last.

[Soft*Silver]

In the soft darkness of night the rain comes
gently slipping from sky to earth
making sound as it approaches me
soothing me this late as I await
another breaking dawn

as others sleep
I cannot
way too much for me to leave
my mind simply seeks
conversations
with the rain

I quiet my breath
and turn down low the lights
blow out the candles used for prayer
and I ease myself into my bed
to listen as the rain sings softly
lullabyes to me
coaxing me to slumber
with the other diurnal beasts

I close my eyes
and hold onto its sound
and begin to breath in cadence
with its dance

soon I am one with not just the rain
but of the darkness
the earth
the wind
and my soul passes from Here to There
where we all Begin

In my sleep I hear the rain
it laughs so soft
as it hears my gentle breathing
I feel like a child in its mother's arms
craddled and rocked
rhythm and warmth
connections
between heaven and earth

good night rain
good night softness
good night all
good night All

[cinderella]

This is a poem I wrote for the love of my life of eons ago...the feelings still remain...

The Questioning Heart
Tell me my love, what shall I do
To stop my heart from loving you?
What will I do with this love of mine,
I try to kill it, but it just won't die.

It sleeps and dreams in the quiet dark
Hiding in shadows an eternal spark
That now and then erupts in flames,
Feeding a fire I cannot contain.

The flames consume and burn my soul,
'Til there's nothing left of me at all.
In plumes of smoke my soul departs,
Leaving in ashes my shattered heart.

The heart that sought with desperation,
To find in you some consolation,
With kisses lost so long ago,
With secrets only we would know.

But lost forever now it seems,
Our vows of love and whispered dreams.
Tell me my love, what shall I do,
To stop my heart from loving you?


CAS copyright 2004

[SuperFemme]

Scarlet F

Cinderblock walls.
No oxygen.
Five thousand angry women.

Forever branded with the Scarlet F
Felon Felon Felon

One woman at a time.
Five thousand similar stories.

Daddy or Uncle or Mommas man
hurt them in ways nobody should
think of hurting a child.

First hit of heroin given by Momma
right before she sold them for sex
to get the money to buy the heroin

No love. No light. Maybe an escape
into the arms of a man far worse
than Momma.

They crack one at a time.
Drugs.
Crimes
Murdering that man worse than Momma
until they become one organism.

Five thousand pulsating broken unloved
beat down souls. Finally branded with the
Scarlet F. No hope. No way out. No love.

Society believes they deserve it and then
one at a time...they believe it too.

Where is the brand left on those that looked
past them, around them, and maybe even AT
them.

Don't get involved. It's none of your business
until someone steals your purse.

Momma, Uncle, Daddy, Husband!
Where is YOUR Scarlet letter?

Five thousand Scarlet F's in ONE of many
facilities built to hold them in.

Five thousand stories that have a common
thread.

America has no idea what that Scarlet F really
means. Or the cycle of carnage that will keep
new F's coming.

[cinderella]

Wow! This is very disturbing. This is meant as a compliment. Thanks for sharing.


Scarlet F

Cinderblock walls.
No oxygen.
Five thousand angry women.

Forever branded with the Scarlet F
Felon Felon Felon

One woman at a time.
Five thousand similar stories.

Daddy or Uncle or Mommas man
hurt them in ways nobody should
think of hurting a child.

First hit of heroin given by Momma
right before she sold them for sex
to get the money to buy the heroin

No love. No light. Maybe an escape
into the arms of a man far worse
than Momma.

They crack one at a time.
Drugs.
Crimes
Murdering that man worse than Momma
until they become one organism.

Five thousand pulsating broken unloved
beat down souls. Finally branded with the
Scarlet F. No hope. No way out. No love.

Society believes they deserve it and then
one at a time...they believe it too.

Where is the brand left on those that looked
past them, around them, and maybe even AT
them.

Don't get involved. It's none of your business
until someone steals your purse.

Momma, Uncle, Daddy, Husband!
Where is YOUR Scarlet letter?

Five thousand Scarlet F's in ONE of many
facilities built to hold them in.

Five thousand stories that have a common
thread.

America has no idea what that Scarlet F really
means. Or the cycle of carnage that will keep
new F's coming.

[SuperFemme]

Thanks. It IS disturbing, and does well when in a spoken word format.
nice thread.

[Venus007]

I want to be pinioned, pierced, filled, put in my place.
I want to be shot through with the thick kundalini arrow.
Spin my chakras baby .

I want flesh and bone.
Shake me until I rattle
Pulled under in your tide.

Turn to the big bad wolf before my eyes (my what big teeth you have)
Push back my little red riding hood and lick your chops
Howl with raw throat .

Carnal carnivore
I am predator and prey
Devoured and devouring

Breath to hips to breath, unbroken circle,
Locked together, fiery wheels within a wheel
Spinning thunder in my bed

[Venus007]

My lover is a leopard pelted goddess,
A ripe fruit that must be eaten in the bathtub;
Nectar flowing down
Chin and hands.

In the basin of her hips
I press my lips to the fire,
My tongue to the work of the flames
And am consumed as I knew I would be.

This is my holy heart of fire
This is my sacred gift.

[I'mOneToo]

six feet tall
gorgeous tendrils
of curly blonde hair
i ran my hand through it
caught it in the back,
entwined it in my fingers
held it
pulled it slowly
our lips
so close
i moved to her ear
whispered
my suggestion
"yes"
was her answer
"first..."
ah, negotiation...
"i need to..."
what, what?
in her timidity
she bit my neck
i disengaged to ask
"what do you need?"
she licked my earlobe
gently
and whispered her request,
"i need to see your ID."

baby butch.
diaper dyke.
barely 21,
yes, I showed her proof.
a year later
we laughed about that
at our anniversary dinner
when we celebrated
our one-night stand
that held up
through 12 months
of silly string
and delusions
that made up
our "R"elationship
we exchanged rings
called ourselves married
enjoyed all the trappings therein
and were thus... trapped.

many years later
when history
repeated itself
i tried to remember
that kind of september
when life was so tender
though it wasn't always mellow
and september is not always
kind

but i have learned
through all those septembers
that when october comes
blowing leaves into corners
where they get stuck
in the cobwebs
on the shelves
of the mind
there will always be
a fall
and i will always
catch myself

remembering with kindness
the septembers that fell apart
and drifted away
with the falling leaves

[Venus007]

Turned away from the summit, I camp among your foothills and
recall the days when I took for granted I would always be able to
walk the shining path, through the clouds to your secret garden.

I wait for the storms to clear and the way to open.
I watch others born down from the heights unable to even rest in the shadow of the mountain.
I wonder if they found the precious things I left there.

The sun flashes off the peak and I am Ulysses lashed to my tent pole listening to the song of the sirens.
They beckon me to climb, to force my way up. To face the icy winter storms and
snowy billowing avalanche; to be hurtled down the mountain,
broken, and cast out from even the comfort of the foothills because the mountain does not will it.

There is beauty here, on these lower rises, on these fertile hills.
I watch the intrepid adventurers parade by; packs earnestly strapped on, scoffing at this small tent on the mountainside, confusing patience with weakness.
I have seen their bones pile up over the years. All that is left of them is the plastic they leave behind and the damage from their fires.

They are lured by the peak, like a junkie to a needle, like a moth to a candle, like I am though I endure.

[Mr Nice Guy]

Your glaring eyes tell me what you think.<<disallowed word>>
Your vicious in your thoughts.<<disallowed word>>
I know you don't like me.<<disallowed word>>
Why?<<disallowed word>>
Is it because I'm gay? Or is it because I'm butch?<<disallowed word>>
Well guess what? I don't care!
I was put in this world just like you so take the target you put on my back and shove it!
I don't need your crap or your ideals of what life should be.<<disallowed word>>
I don't need your labels either cause I have my own.<<disallowed word>>
You must not live by my code of conduct because I believe we all should be free to be ourselves.<<disallowed word>>
You have a way with words and I wouldn't call it fluff.<<disallowed word>>
I shouldn't waste my time fighting your bigotry.
I will be the big person and walk away and leave you with your mouth hung opened and a yellow stripe on your back.<<disallowed word>>

[T4Texas]

Letting go


there are times when life will give us
the hardest things to do
when we have to try to forget
what was at one time me and you
the changes that come to pass
are sometimes harder than you know
and its never all that easy
to be letting go.

if only love could carry
us through all those things
if it would just rise up
and take us on its wings
perhaps we'd never have the pain
or the loss that seems to grow
and we'd never have to suffer through
the ordeal of letting go.

If I could have done things different
or said a word or two
just any little thing at all
that might have inspired you
I certainly would have given it
just so that you would know
that I never wanted to be the one
that would have to be letting go.

I always will remember
the times that we both shared
and I'll never forget the times
that you tried so hard to care
but now I must be on my way
to the future, whatever it holds
and I hope some day you will understand
how much I hated letting go.

4/17/11

[Mr Nice Guy]

The tears I cry today are for memories of yesterday.
Seeing you again makes it all new.
I thought that after all theses years I would be over you.
I guess I'm not and this shocks me to the core.
You wave goodbye and I stand there and watch my feelings walk out the door.
God please help me, please take away this pain.
Make me see that once was yesterday is not today.
You can't hang on when there's no rope to hold.
Just walk with your face held high and heart full of hope.
Someday your soulmate will come and take your heart away.
Today or tomorrow but never yesterday.



This poem was inspired by the threads I read.

[Mr Nice Guy]

I lie awake as darkness falls and
Listen for the sound of silence.
It touches a part of me that no one sees and only I can feel.
It's my heart laid open like a book thats being read.
Or a curtain that has yet to be closed.
It's my greatest treasure down deep the depth that no one knows.
A colour of beauty that would steal your breath away.

[T4Texas]

No matter how many days
we spend apart
I still have a place for you
right here in my heart
a tiny little nook
set aside for you
no matter what you say
or no matter what you do
it doesn't matter how the world
might spin from end to end
that little place will still remain
a refuge for a friend.

You'll always have that place
no matter how things go
if some day you come to find
you must move along, just know
there will be no animosity
no anger or despair
just someone who always cared
and wanted to be there
You've given me a gift
I never can repay
you've given me myself again
somewhere along the way.

You remind me of the Texas sky
at the end of a perfect day
when the ribbons of red reach far and wide
then fade to deepest grey
it's all a part and parcel
of the mystery that is you
I hope that I shall never lose
that moment when I knew
you were the woman I wanted to know
and to keep a little close
the one who brightened up my life
and made me less a ghost.

[Mr Nice Guy]

Raven
Verdict
Rendering
Shouts
Whisper
Wing
Eye
Soul
Cradle

Take your sign of death, your raven that sits upon my heart.<<disallowed word>>
My heart is not dead yet.<<disallowed word>>
You cannot steal my soul to quench your desire of need.<<disallowed word>>
You cannot cradle my soul and expect me to just lay.<<disallowed word>>
You will hear my shouts of protest and know my wrath.<<disallowed word>>
You will know that I will not go willingly.<<disallowed word>>
I will stand up and look you in the eye and whisper in your ear with venom.<<disallowed word>>
" I am me and I choose to stand strong with hope and faith " I give this to you as my rendering, a statement, a fact. "<<disallowed word>>
This is my life's verdict.<<disallowed word>>
"I will love again."
<<disallowed word>>Take this on a wing and a prayer.<<disallowed word>>

[luv2luvgirls]

what a great thread! Thank you Cinderella for making it and inviting us to share
I must say all of these poems hit me for so many different reasons,thank you all for sharing them :) here is two of mine..


let it burn...be consumed in the flames
tears stream silent falling like rain..
wash my face cleanse my soul..
bring me back out again whole..

...with each emotion comes a price
feelings are like rolling the dice
even when one is pure and true
its opposite is waiting to claim you
Ri~




in sorrow we see the better side of the you and me
in pain we digress to scared to confess
in love we are blind to all rhythm and rhyme
in hate we are consumed by the flame of doom
in happiness we feel like conquering the world

Ri~

[LaneyDoll]

disenchantment: (English) Singular Noun (plural noun-uncountable) 1.the act of disenchanting or the state of being disenchanted. 2. freeing from false belief or illusions


~*~Disenchantment~*~

You say I don’t exist
Yet I lie here in your arms
So how did I end up here
Once I fell for your charms?


All the times I wanted you
So close and yet so far
I could almost reach and touch you-
Like grasping for a star.


I listen to your heartbeat
And feel the breath you take,
I touch the warmth of your skin
As I lie here and I break.


But when you talk I hear you
And tears fall down my face,
When you say I that I’m not real
That I don’t have a place.


You gently kiss my lips
And run your fingers through my hair
So why did I feel these things
When I’m not even there?


To you, I don’t exist
And yet you held me tight,
As the moon left for the sun
And morning replaced the night.


~Laney
(c)

:sparklyheart:

[cinderella]

You're more then welcom,luv2. Glad you are enjoying the posts. I particularly liked this one of yours...very touching.

what a great thread! Thank you Cinderella for making it and inviting us to share
I must say all of these poems hit me for so many different reasons,thank you all for sharing them :) here is two of mine..


let it burn...be consumed in the flames
tears stream silent falling like rain..
wash my face cleanse my soul..
bring me back out again whole..

...with each emotion comes a price
feelings are like rolling the dice
even when one is pure and true
its opposite is waiting to claim you
Ri~




in sorrow we see the better side of the you and me
in pain we digress to scared to confess
in love we are blind to all rhythm and rhyme
in hate we are consumed by the flame of doom
in happiness we feel like conquering the world

Ri~

[luv2luvgirls]

You're more then welcom,luv2. Glad you are enjoying the posts. I particularly liked this one of yours...very touching.

thank you Cinderella :)...im in the mood for expressing hope you dont mind more :P

up and down and round again
wondering if today it will end
love falls on deaf ears
bringing the sound of my fear
gently i sway
...to the rhythm I play
in my heart so true
the beat is for you
lyrics in my head
fall like spent lead

Ri~


you didnt see,couldnt feel
the hurt inside was so real
finding ways to cope with loss
wondering why its so easy to toss
your words ring false and untrue
I'll never get over you
one day I will lift my head
face the world feeling dead
‎life has been good to me
raise my glass and let it be
have a drink on me toast my pain
lift your glass and let it rain
down your throat it slides
warm as fire as it glides
its ok I learned life is that way
consume me in the flame
so I rise again another day

Ri~

[cinderella]

Yay!!! I love poems that rhyme!!! Loved it! :)



disenchantment: (English) Singular Noun (plural noun-uncountable) 1.the act of disenchanting or the state of being disenchanted. 2. freeing from false belief or illusions


~*~Disenchantment~*~

You say I don’t exist
Yet I lie here in your arms
So how did I end up here
Once I fell for your charms?


All the times I wanted you
So close and yet so far
I could almost reach and touch you-
Like grasping for a star.


I listen to your heartbeat
And feel the breath you take,
I touch the warmth of your skin
As I lie here and I break.


But when you talk I hear you
And tears fall down my face,
When you say I that I’m not real
That I don’t have a place.


You gently kiss my lips
And run your fingers through my hair
So why did I feel these things
When I’m not even there?


To you, I don’t exist
And yet you held me tight,
As the moon left for the sun
And morning replaced the night.


~Laney
(c)

:sparklyheart:

[cinderella]

You walked away so long ago
I cried so at the start
I've tried so hard to love again
But how, without my heart.

Among the things you took with you
When you walked out the door,
My soul, my heart
My faith in love,
Now lost forevermore.

[cinderella]

This is what I wrote with the 9 words that were provided in the challenge. I wrote this a few years ago...


The 9-Word Poetry Challenge:
Dilettante * Flotsam * Sheer * Lighter * Lazy * Woeful* Ivory * Filigree * Leaves

The Elephants Graveyard
Ivory bones bleached lighter by the sun,
Shining through the filigree of leaves.
Trumpeting widow’s woeful cries are done
Her sorrow-laden heart no longer grieves.

Very much like flotsam they are now
Sheer, skeletal debris all that remains.
Where now that massive head and noble brow,
That curling trunk that drank of the sweet rains?

The wild holds no refuge from the callous hunter
Greed impels him here to where the beasts abide.
Triumphant they carry their kill as they saunter,
Never knowing nor caring how many have died.

Dilettantes discussing the length, shape and sizes,
And the glorious trophy as they made their stave.
Ornaments are fashioned from the ivory prizes
Carved from all the tusks picked up from that grave.

Lazy matrons vying to obtain possession
Of the bounty brought to the homeland shores.
Anxious eyes covet with greedy obsession
To add yet more booty to their treasure stores.

[luv2luvgirls]

You walked away so long ago
I cried so at the start
I've tried so hard to love again
But how, without my heart.

Among the things you took with you
When you walked out the door,
My soul, my heart
My faith in love,
Now lost forevermore.

such emotion in this..I really like this

[cinderella]

Thank you so much. :)

such emotion in this..I really like this

[luv2luvgirls]

words fall like rain washing over me cleansing my soul
wishing for the time when I can feel whole
whispers in my ear tease my imagination
waking me from this sleep and procrastination
where will it lead on this winding path
hoping that this feeling lasts
broken words shattered past
can you see behind my glass
look deep to find who I am
my walls are like a dam
one look from you and it broke
spilling forth till im soaked
Ri~

[Bootsandheels]

I wrote this not long ago-it's one of my fav's...hope you enjoy it!


Mending, Treasure, Morning, Alone, Fact, Soul, Love, Future, Hoping...

Morning comes,
And I’m finally alone
To ponder the fact
That my heart is still mending
From the tearing
And the rending
Yes
Still mending…

So…
Isn’t there some stitch-witchery
That will completely set me free?
To love again
To trust again
And yet
Again…

My heart is still mending
From the tearing
And the rending
Yes
Still mending…

So…(Sew it together now…)
My body you may pleasure
Now and then at your leisure,
But the fabric of my heart
To me is the real treasure…
And the resilience of my soul
Only I alone know…

So…(Sew it together now…)
I’m hoping for future love
That fits Mmmm…like a kid glove,
Hoping and coping with my
Heart that’s still mending
From the tearing
And the rending
Yes…
Still mending…

Morning Comes…
And I capture the sunrise
Shining in my eyes
And I realise
With quiet surprise…
That my heart is done mending
From the tearing
And the rending
Yes
Done mending...
Yes
Done mending...


Boots :stillheart:

lkf 4/29/11

[Bootsandheels]

Tremble
Lips
Dinner
Menu
Watch
Calculate
Time
Rush
Table


"Just Desserts"

The fancy red napkin discreetly covers my lap
as I pick at my delicious dinner...
Watching you
watch me...
My lips begin to tremble
as I see you calculate the time,
and the distance...
as your hands caress my thigh-highs under the table,
taunting,
teasing...
telling me to "Relax...
there's no rush...
Daddy always delivers the dessert menu,
right on time..."

Boots :stillheart:

lkf 5/2011

[Bootsandheels]

I’m supposed to be put together…been told I know how to do that well...
Yet I have so many loose ends going this way and that…

The man-child …a hot blue brilliant flame of strong satin ribbon…trying desperately to blame…

The ex…a worn black leather cord…it’s tightly knotted razor edges once loved and adored…

The lover…a sky blue silk string…deliciously wrapped so delicately in between…

The dog…a metallic soldered silver thread slipping carefully by cheating death...

The job…a wiry rough jute rope…frayed and full of false promises and hopes…

The friends…a multiple strand of vibrant yarns wrapped round me keeping safe from harm…

The family…a soft and strong cotton blend allowing me room to grow and bend…

The Femme…a fierce fiery red silk strand carefully and intricately sewn by hand…
　
　
All these loose ends somehow find their place...

in their own interwoven interface…

It’s a mystery that even I sometimes cannot see…

But when I really look…

a beautiful femme tapestry…
　

Boots :stillheart:

10/31/10 lkf
　

I'm just getting started here on BFP...if interested to read more, go to BF and click on my blogs...Bootsandheels... :)

[Bootsandheels]

Haste
Public
Journey
Lips
Sweet
Intrigue
Illuminate
Shame
Bound


BOUND

It was a six year journey you took me on...
(in the beginning the strongest of bonds...)

So unaware of the intrigue you held for me there...
(in the beginning you were so full of light...
in that public room your halo so bright...
in the beginning you could illuminate my darkest night...
in the beginning I could finally see...
the sweet hot butch of you igniting an explosion of femme in me...)

Then slowly you bound me with your nameless shame,
a crushed and broken halo your wicked game,
and pressing your finger across my lips
with a drunken smile you whispered and hissed...
Shhh
Shhh
Shhh...


Boots :stillheart:
8/2011 lkf

[Bootsandheels]

~Bumping thread...calling all poets!~

[Elijah]

I, remain

“I’m just a simple prairie girl” she would retort, as I reveled in her depth and complexity.
I understood her and misunderstood her, simultaneously.
Long, languishing evenings spent intricately weaving our souls together.
Pleading with each other inaudibly to “handle with care” the gifts we sometimes reluctantly, sometimes voraciously bestowed on each other.
She sang for Me, I listened.
Captivated.
I realized after her unannounced departure she had been saying goodbye, since hello.
Beguiled, I waited for her return, passing the time building a fortress and a carefully placed moat around My remains.
It remains…
I, remain…

~Elijah

[SoNotHer]

I watch the scene no one else sees.
It’s me before a momentary pond held
at the edge of an aging parking lot. It’s midnight,
and like a quiver full of arrows, the rain falls
in a magnificent arching descent,
exploding in a flash of silver and white
as they hit the pond's quick skin.

The surface is taut then lax, wrinkled then smooth.
Impression. Realism. Impressionism.
Realism. Within the black water,
they will wait for a cloud lift.
Ascension. Falling. Ascension.
Falling. And none of this will ever
seem like anything but home.

[Nadeest]

Our Beliefs

We all have
Our beliefs
And are positive
They’re right
What if
Come Judgement Day
Things start
Getting kinda tight
Will you be able
To tell the Boss:
“Although I was wrong
In my beliefs;
I caused no one
Any loss.”

8/09/2005 by Terry King

NOTE: This is the name that I write under.
NOTE: This poem may be posted anywhere on the web, providing that it is unchanged and that it is attributed to me.

[Morgan]

Fear is something to be conquered.........
Morgan

Think what you want, I don’t care, you surrounded me and lied to me.
You said they would hurt me, so I feared them.
You said they would laugh at me, so I hid…..
... I believed every word you said, I trusted you, now I know it wasn’t true and I am left with nothing more than a shell of who I am.
All my life I have been afraid to live.
I have continuously walked in others’ shoes.
I played it safe, fearing the worst, afraid to participate in my own life.
Morphing into people I met along the way, a piece here, a piece there, until one day I became them, all of them.
Like some warped and grotesque figure, staring back in the mirror. Who is this person, who are they all looking back at me?
How did she know, she says “oh you cannot hide”, now it is time to face my demons, oh how I want to run……
My muscles have grown tired and I have grown weaker, with each passing day I have grown weaker, today is my fight, today is my day,
My mind is mine, my body is mine, and now I know MY LIFE IS MINE.
I am no longer a child……..I have no excuses, MY LIFE IS MINE.

[Sassy]

Below is a poem I wrote in 2006 when my holiday was not so bright an occasion. I'm in a better place these days. But I know I've seen some folks saying lately they weren't really feeling the holidays this year. So I'm sharing. Mostly because, for some reason, whenever I've felt like crap in the past, it's helped a little to know that other folks have been there and pulled through it.

So, here's Big Hugs to all the folks out there whose holiday isn't what they wish it to be. I hope it gets better and that your New Year finds you and yours healthy and happy.

-S

---------------------

FALSE CHEER

Shiny and tinkling
In all it's fraudulent joy,
The season sweeps humanity along
In a tide of unwanted revelry

Discordant chimes echo
Down crowded halls
Gaping maws drinking deep,
gorging on saccharine trifles

Alone in the throng
Wrapped in silence
Rarely seen, less often touched
Wonder stands dieing in arms reach

-S, 2006

[Sassy]

"I.Am.Stardust"

I am chocolate and sorrow
Whiskey and stardust
sex and nightmares
all rolled into one
sweet
compact
sensual package
complete
and incomplete
without chains to bind me
a cage to hold me
love to fill me
I bend but don't break
I yield but never surrender

-Me

c) 2009

[T4Texas]

Never love a stranger
they'll take your heart away
they'll set it loose on the northern wind
and there will be no way
that you can get it back.

Never love a stranger
they'll leave you feeling sad
and wishing that what you wanted
was more than what you had
but you will have nothing.

Never love a stranger
they'll be quiet when they leave
with the lights still out and the curtains drawn
they will try to make you believe
that they'll be back....

2/25/12

[WomenMoveMe]

Not much of a poet, not certain I get it really. However, I suppose most all of us give it a whirl at some point in our lives. This was my one and only attempt:


A Beauty Unsurpassed


With a beauty unsurpassed by any,
that’s how our love should have grown,
but I took advantage with my selfish ways,
oh if only I could have known.

That I would so soon, yearn to touch your hair,
and feel the blessedness of your smile,
to once again enrapture your laughing heart,
and this time keep it laughing all the while.

For childish reason I disowned your love,
for a pain of which you knew naught,
oh if only I could have known back then,
the sheer joy your love could have brought.

So bestow me your sincerest forgiveness,
although your word values more than my worth,
and our lives shall grow together as one,
as our love regains strength in rebirth.

[cinderella]

This is exquisitely beautiful! Don't be a 1-hit-wonder, write some more. You've got talent! Thanks for sharing this - lovely!

Not much of a poet, not certain I get it really. However, I suppose most all of us give it a whirl at some point in our lives. This was my one and only attempt:


A Beauty Unsurpassed


With a beauty unsurpassed by any,
that’s how our love should have grown,
but I took advantage with my selfish ways,
oh if only I could have known.

That I would so soon, yearn to touch your hair,
and feel the blessedness of your smile,
to once again enrapture your laughing heart,
and this time keep it laughing all the while.

For childish reason I disowned your love,
for a pain of which you knew naught,
oh if only I could have known back then,
the sheer joy your love could have brought.

So bestow me your sincerest forgiveness,
although your word values more than my worth,
and our lives shall grow together as one,
as our love regains strength in rebirth.

[deedarino]

The Light makes Its presence known,
The warmth beckons, tempts.
Intrinsically driven to reach for the moon,
White Light, yellow Light? It matters not now.
Intoxicated, blinded, enchanted; Delusion?
Power undeniable.
In the end a need will be met,
It matters not which or how.
Fluttering forward
In spite of the consequences
It is the moth’s destiny.

[deedarino]

Your illusions delusions are touching
Until they aren’t.

[Morgan]

Silence speaks louder than words…

If you have nothing to say, than say nothing at all.
For silence speaks louder than words….
To pretend is pointless.
To be angry a waste of time.
The scars you leave behind,
Create pain, not for me, but for those who believe.
You see I do not believe,
I cannot, I do not want to hurt anymore.
So I trust no one and I believe no one…
So I appreciate what you have to say, nothing at all.
Morgan

[WomenMoveMe]

Okay, so I gave this poetry thing another whirl after I posted the only one I had ever written. I recently wrote another and vowed if this thread came to light once again, I would post.

Something Stirs Within

Echoing whispers in my soul,
something stirs within.
Yesterday's tortures left me for dead,
resurrected, I begin, again.

Dark and alone, I let no one in,
for fear of where it may lead.
A brutal penance for earthly sin,
life is not judged solely on good deed.

Torment and desire ravaged my soul,
left me shattered and on my knees.
Twisted, writhing, the luster of coal,
No choice but to heed their pleas.

My soul had lost it’s way it seems,
there was nothing there to inspire.
I no longer slept for fear of dreams,
was this my heart’s desire?

It is, as though fate was calling me,
to a world of shadow and night.
It swallowed me whole, my heart enslaved,
To weary to brave the fight.

[~ocean]

Uof M instilled ... ty for sharing

[UofMfan]

Uof M instilled ... ty for sharing


Excuse me?

[~ocean]

ur thoughts r instiiled

[Gemme]

Uof M instilled ... ty for sharing

Excuse me?

ur thoughts r instiiled

Maybe WMM?

Did you post in here UofMfan?

*confused*

[WomenMoveMe]

Thoughts of her provoke me,
choke me, cloak me,
my soul can barely breathe.

Visions of her torment me,
tempt me, they empty me,
Oh how my body bleeds.

Utterances entrance me,
romance me, take chance with me,
their intent only to deceive.

Animosity surrounds me,
confounds me, abounds in me,
inflicting wounds you can't conceive.

Tasting life evades me,
shades me, downgrades me,
will it ever be mine to retrieve?

[deedarino]

The beauty of your breath swirls, spins, entwines
Disclosing desire without words
Inhaling soul and breathing fire
Melting inhibition and resistance, futile
Sighs permeate, infiltrate, saturate
Whispered permission evokes surrender
Drawn to the depths, tempest released
Gasping for sustenance, intimacy, connection…

Harmonic chants recede
Beckoned home, awaiting the inevitable
When memory stirs the beauty
Etched by breath

[WomenMoveMe]

It Wasn’t Supposed to Be Like This

It wasn’t supposed to be like this,
held captive in a life long lost.
Struggling to summon her voice, her face,
warm remembrance given way to frost.

She left me on a winter’s day,
though she’d left me long before.
To weak to let her find her way,
begging she stay a minute more.

Mired in guilt and dark despair,
heart slaving to overcome.
Days and nights grew into one,
not living, nothing but numb.

No, it wasn’t supposed to be like this,
a heart left caged and unattended.
A grievous wrong was done that day,
leaving another forever suspended.

[kittygrrl]

Between Worlds~
I often find myself undone
By things beyond my control
Like slipping on ice
On a autumn day
Feeling the icy wind
Brush my cheeks
And wondering
If I can pick myself up
When suddenly your
hand appears
warm to my cold fingers
Your breath on my neck
as you laugh
at my awkwardness
and hugging me closer
whisper
“You’re most beautiful
when you need me..”

[deedarino]

Mind Dance

Beautiful words as constant as breath
Seep into my thoughts, permeate my mind
Intoxicated, I float, weave…crave. Need.
A soul to surrender with self-inflicted restraints
Drawn to the altar; haven or sacrifice?
Silence awakens me from this dream, balance flees
Ancient instincts conflict with this life’s lessons learned
Bound to the wisdom that has been my path
Words are only words, even the most beautiful
Until spoken again…

[deedarino]

As a gallant heart begins the descent
A mysterious song begins to stir…
“Deeper” she whispers… it is where I am
There is such beauty here, only she knows.
But as the path darkens, bravery wanes
Stifling the air, now thinned with fear.
Destruction lived here,
Scattered remnants of a broken life evident…
And faced with their own debris of battles won and lost
Visions of beauty transform into instincts of salvation…
…withdraw is protection for only one.

Resolution in her veins, intention in her soul
She finds a hiding place, deeper than the one before.
And welcomes the distance that stills the noise
So she can still hear
Her beauty unsung

[Hollylane]

My first attempt at Gogyohka:
• 5 lines of free verse
• No set syllable pattern
• Short & succinct lines, governed by the duration of a single breath
• Captures an idea, memory, observation or feeling in a few compelling words


I think I may have missed the mark on "succinct"...:|

Anyway...Here it is:



Is what you are experiencing
Through lengthy conversations
With eagerly parted lips
enough to know both the satiation and the hunger
of wholehearted love?

[Hollylane]

A second attempt at Gogyohka:


From the dock
A tether breaks free from the mooring
Adrift on a torpid lake
The empty vessel is floating into the dawn
And there is no one left to bear witness from the shore.

[Kast]

Forgive me my poet friends, I woke up tired, only 2 sips of coffee yet and I'm not even sure what I want to say. Upon speaking with a poet friend and asking the thread leader to be able to have a place where we could ask questions, comment on, bring in some of the Masters... well, basically talk about any aspect of poetry and writing included, (your input needed here - what would you like to see more of?) This thread already being here and our hostess, being so gracious, well - come join us?

For a little fun and to bring in some of the works of the Masters for discussion - my girlfriend found this site that tells you who you might write like. You just plug in a piece of your poetry or writings and it analyzes it (which I haven't done yet), it is at:

http://iwl.me/

I read through the first 3 pages of this thread and of course, there are very many excellent poems posted there which I will bring some more in, but noticed a poet named "Womenmoveme" who said that they'd only written three poems ever and posted them there. I was very impressed with all three.

Not much of a poet, not certain I get it really. However, I suppose most all of us give it a whirl at some point in our lives. This was my one and only attempt:


A Beauty Unsurpassed


With a beauty unsurpassed by any,
that’s how our love should have grown,
but I took advantage with my selfish ways,
oh if only I could have known.

That I would so soon, yearn to touch your hair,
and feel the blessedness of your smile,
to once again enrapture your laughing heart,
and this time keep it laughing all the while.

For childish reason I disowned your love,
for a pain of which you knew naught,
oh if only I could have known back then,
the sheer joy your love could have brought.

So bestow me your sincerest forgiveness,
although your word values more than my worth,
and our lives shall grow together as one,
as our love regains strength in rebirth.


Out of curiosity's sake, I cut and pasted their piece into the analyzer, it says this person writes like H. P. Lovecraft. I will go look at H. P. Lovecraft's work now. I don't know if "Womenmoveme" is still around, but you have a natural talent for poetry and I want to encourage you to keep writing. You're very good IMO, especially for a beginner!

[Kast]

"H.P Lovecraft is best known for his stories of the macabre. He was born in Providence Rhode Island, where he lived with his two elderly aunts for a good part of his life. He died in 1937 at the age of forty-seven."

"Where Once Poe Walked
by H. P. Lovecraft

Eternal brood the shadows on this ground,
Dreaming of centuries that have gone before;
Great elms rise solemnly by slab and mound,
Arched high above a hidden world of yore.
Round all the scene a light of memory plays,
And dead leaves whisper of departed days,
Longing for sights and sounds that are no more.

Lonely and sad, a specter glides along
Aisles where of old his living footsteps fell;
No common glance discerns him, though his song
Peals down through time with a mysterious spell.
Only the few who sorcery's secret know,
Espy amidst these tombs the shade of Poe."

[Estella]

Okay, I do not pretend to be a poet. But at the hotel where I work, I sometimes find myself faced with the need to creatively attract clients who might otherwise choose another hotel. So I do what I can. Following is something I wrote for a potential client in an effort to land a big incentive trip. Don't laugh - this works. And if you work at Insulate America, I hope you had a good time.



Greetings to you from Boston, the land of the Cutthroat Cod
Where even a seasoned fisherman might find it somewhat odd
That an unassuming flounder can be more than it really seems -
For Bostonians think they’re heaven, with coleslaw and baked beans.

But here at Boston’s (insert hotel name here), we treat every fish with respect
And even a seasoned fisherman can be confident that he can expect
To see the doorman smiling, and to sense the housekeeper’s pride,
And to know when the waiter brings flounder, it will have lemon on the side.

The Cutthroat Cod, he beckons – that King of the East Coast Fish -
To welcome Insulate America, and to see to their every wish,
For even a seasoned fisherman, wise and wily as he can be,
Knows quality when he sees it, and perfect service – guaranteed.

[Kast]

Hi Estella, thank you so much for sharing. I liked it! I hope you got the trip? I liked the rhythm of it and think it's a near perfect horse ride (I read somewhere where the reader is on a horse riding and the rhythm makes the rider go up and down and that you don't want to toss the rider off the horse...). I'd have to read it out loud - but I think, it's perfect or near perfect with the syllables.

You write like James Joyce! wtg !!

(Got me craving a fish dinner... lol)

[Kast]

"James Augustine Aloysius Joyce was an Irish novelist and poet, considered to be one of the most influential writers in the modernist avant-garde of the early 20th century. Joyce is best known for Ulysses (1922), a landmark work in which the episodes of Homer's Odyssey are paralleled in an array of contrasting literary styles, perhaps most prominently the stream of consciousness technique he perfected."


"All Day I Hear the Noise of Waters
by James Joyce

All day I hear the noise of waters
Making moan,
Sad as the sea-bird is when, going
Forth alone,
He hears the winds cry to the water's
Monotone.

The grey winds, the cold winds are blowing
Where I go.
I hear the noise of many waters
Far below.
All day, all night, I hear them flowing
To and fro."

[SingularNYCFemme]

Kast, you've started things up really well! Estrella, I love your poem, it's brilliant!

I'm going to keep trying with that iwl thing, I didn't like the result I got the last time I tried it. H. P. Lovecraft is far more interesting!

[SingularNYCFemme]

My first attempt at Gogyohka:
• 5 lines of free verse
• No set syllable pattern
• Short & succinct lines, governed by the duration of a single breath
• Captures an idea, memory, observation or feeling in a few compelling words


I think I may have missed the mark on "succinct"...:|

Anyway...Here it is:



Is what you are experiencing
Through lengthy conversations
With eagerly parted lips
enough to know both the satiation and the hunger
of wholehearted love?




I'd say you're spot on. Lots to remember ... I might need to try this sometime.

[Hollylane]

I tried out the website, and entered an entire poem I had written and got one author, then different stanzas of the same poem, which resulted in different authors each time. I entered the entire poem again, and got a different author than the first time I entered the entire poem. In my opinion, I didn't find it to be very accurate.

[Kast]

Hi Holly, I've never done any

Gogyohka:

• 5 lines of free verse
• No set syllable pattern
• Short & succinct lines, governed by the duration of a single breath
• Captures an idea, memory, observation or feeling in a few compelling words

I think you did a great job at capturing the format with an excellent poem! Kudos.

As far as the iwl website goes I'm not sure about it yet, I haven't entered anything into it yet to see. I studied and wrote one in the style of Poe, Frost, Dickens, etc... if I plug those in and it says some other Master - then... (of course, my emulations were 'spot on' (rolling eye emoticon here... uh huh)).

Right now, we're just having fun with it and looking at some of the Masters that it tags. There might be a better analyzer out there somewhere, I'd have to look?

SNYCF - tell us more about who you came out with and why you don't like or agree with that opinion? Yes, Lovecraft is pretty interesting, I'd like to read some more of his 'stuff'.

[SingularNYCFemme]

A child stands
rouged with a bouffant
that could only come from hell

She is static as a deer
caught in the headlights
on a deserted country road

As one parent works away the years
in a foundry hot as the hell
from which this child's hair was created

The other parent takes latitude
and with lassitude appalling
believes cheap glamour a blessing

The small girl
trapped within someone else's dream
learns how to blow the audience
a wise and ancient
kiss

And who I write like, according to www.iwl.me? Vladimir Nabokov...

[Kast]

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/22/books/review/vladimir-nabokovs-selected-poems-and-pale-fire.html?_r=1

"Nabokov’s English poems share some of the qualities of his prose, notably its confident lucidity (Nabokov is complex, but never garbled) and elegantly unfolding inventiveness. While the poems are slightly simpler in diction than the typical Nabokovian sentence, his fondness for half-­dollar words is still much in evidence: over the course of 10 pages, we get “prototypic,” “anchoret,” “scholiastic” and “dendrologists.” And as you might expect, Nabokov fixates on — and is sometimes fixated by — formal prestidigitation. Notice the way he not only juggles the potentially heavy rhymes in the tercets that conclude “Lines Written in Oregon,” but throws in a little French and German as well:

And I rest where I awoke

In the sea shade — l’ombre glauque —

Of a legendary oak;

Where the woods get ever dimmer,

Where the Phantom Orchids

glimmer —

Esmeralda, immer immer.

The poem, which recalls Nabokov’s own visit to Oregon, is about the interaction of Old World and New (thus the French and German, which would otherwise be little more than showing off). But there’s an additional, subtle formal touch. The ­poem’s unusual trochaic meter is also used in Longfellow’s “Song of Hiawatha,” one of the definitive early poems of America — and that meter in turn was inspired by the Finnish “Kalevala,” one of the great mythic poems of Europe. It’s an ingenious fusion of structure and theme."

[Kast]

A child stands
rouged with a bouffant
that could only come from hell

She is static as a deer
caught in the headlights
on a deserted country road

As one parent works away the years
in a foundry hot as the hell
from which this child's hair was created

The other parent takes latitude
and with lassitude appalling
believes cheap glamour a blessing

The small girl
trapped within someone else's dream
learns how to blow the audience
a wise and ancient
kiss



I like this poem SNYCF, I have a wide range of likes for various reasons. It grabs me in a slightly disturbing way and holds my attention to it. I didn't look at its structure, format - none of that - I like it for many reasons.

The 9 Words, and thank you Arwen for all the years of hostessing for us, what can we say about the 9 Word format?

What does this poem mean to you and I'm wondering what the 9 Words were and how much they influenced this poem?

[SingularNYCFemme]

The 9 Words, and thank you Arwen for all the years of hostessing for us, what can we say about the 9 Word format?

What does this poem mean to you and I'm wondering what the 9 Words were and how much they influenced this poem?

The nine words were

static deserted glamour child foundry latitude kiss blessing hell

I provided them as they randomly floated into and through my brain; then thought ack! What could anyone come up with using those words?

What the poem came to be about (led by glamour, child, and hell) is those little girls whose bizarrely obsessed mothers spend ridiculous sums of money doing odd and inappropriate things to stick these innocent little beings into beauty pageants, a practice I personally find offensive and indefensible, no matter how much of an industry has grown around it. These little children are objectified, and by the time they are 5 or 6 years old are veterans with a competitive edge against other little girls. Anyway, the poem grew out of the words, which is one of the things I've loved about Arwen's thread through the years. :)

[Kast]

The nine words were

static deserted glamour child foundry latitude kiss blessing hell

I provided them as they randomly floated into and through my brain; then thought ack! What could anyone come up with using those words?

What the poem came to be about (led by glamour, child, and hell) is those little girls whose bizarrely obsessed mothers spend ridiculous sums of money doing odd and inappropriate things to stick these innocent little beings into beauty pageants, a practice I personally find offensive and indefensible, no matter how much of an industry has grown around it. These little children are objectified, and by the time they are 5 or 6 years old are veterans with a competitive edge against other little girls. Anyway, the poem grew out of the words, which is one of the things I've loved about Arwen's thread through the years. :)

Yes, that's what I was thinking the poem was about too. Just wanted to make sure, nicely captured.

[macele]

i wrote this in september 2008, election year. i've never been able to find my place in politics. always feels like a depression of sorts. and this, ...



death is merely a deviation, a digression
from living, but not life
and death doesn't just show up out of the blue
like some alien from outer space.
we can see change coming from a mile away
but still wallow in ... what we don't know, won't hurt us
it's like being surrounded by false hope
dressed in a gracious heart.
breathing on the brink
of an answer that is neither here nor there
and much easier said than done.
we try to make choices feel right
but the choices are all wrong
and then fall on our knees to pray for the kind of rain
that washes the blood off the concrete.
some people run without a caring consequence
until they run out of their shoes.
most are insensible,
and living is numb on the right side of hell ...
in an america that has gone mad with greed,
and mad with you and me.

mac

[Kast]

Wow, Mac! wow, wow... Don't get me started on this topic... that's about the time I left America. But, when you're far away for a long period of time - you'll miss her right down to the center of your soul like no other lover, boogers and all. She is messed up not like her old self, but I love her unconditionally like a mother loves her child because I know she holds hope and promise... and so much more.

Just out of curosity, I plugged your poem into the analyzer, it says you write like Margaret Atwood. America could be a euphemism for her "A Sad Child":


"A Sad Child
by Margaret Atwood

You're sad because you're sad.
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.

Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.

Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favorite child.

My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you're trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,

and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside you head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are."

[Kast]

To improve, learn or to confuse myself - I sometimes go study a Master's style to see what I can learn from them. I have found that the more I learn, the less I know. Ok, finally testing the analyzer to see if it is on or off target. Here's one I wrote as a tribute to William Blake in the 9 Words:

Fluid, round, stone, brook, life, sang, polish, tone, & quiet

"Tribute to William Blake"

You are a sick, sick rose!
The invisible round worms
That eat man's souls
Have found a place in your bed.

The many, the few, the one...
Let the fluid of your black blood
Cast out life in the brook's song
Let no stones be polished.

The tone of your voice
Is likened to a hissing snake
So quiet you think we cannot hear,
That you are one sick, sick mf'er!

Most everyone is familiar with his "Sick Rose", let's see how close I am to his?:


"The Sick Rose
By William Blake

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy."


The analyzer says I write like J. K. Rowling (I'm just thankful that I write like somebody). It wasn't in the style of Blake with his 'O' and 'thou' and 'thy' - for sure, it was more of a 'theme' thing that I was stealing... (and as you can see - I didn't steal too much, lol) ok, I'll try another one later. The jury is still out on the analyzer...

Does anyone have an idea of what my and Blake's poems are about?

[Kast]

I think whomever said, 'curosity killed the cat' should be number one on the list of geniuses. I'm not a big J. K. Rowling fan and just went to look at her style.

I see that she has a $1,000 prize in a poetry contest at:

http://www.poetrycontest.com/j-k-rowling/

I am not promoting this, know nothing about it, have never entered one but do know that there have been many scam sites to pay money to enter, etc. I'm just pointing this out to whomever might be interested and wants to check it out.


"Grigotts Wizarding Bank poem:
by J. K. Rowling

Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn,
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there."

[Kast]

The answer is: the social engineers.

It's going to take me a while to find those other poems, in the meantime, I went looking for other writing analyzers and there's not another one like this (that I can find). I did see a writing editor helper at:

http://www.editminion.com/

[cinderella]

I agree with your analysis, Kast. Actually, I loved it - you know how I love rhyming. :)

p.s. I am totally craving fish now! :)

Hi Estella, thank you so much for sharing. I liked it! I hope you got the trip? I liked the rhythm of it and think it's a near perfect horse ride (I read somewhere where the reader is on a horse riding and the rhythm makes the rider go up and down and that you don't want to toss the rider off the horse...). I'd have to read it out loud - but I think, it's perfect or near perfect with the syllables.

You write like James Joyce! wtg !!

(Got me craving a fish dinner... lol)

[KayCee]

Okay, I do not pretend to be a poet. But at the hotel where I work, I sometimes find myself faced with the need to creatively attract clients who might otherwise choose another hotel. So I do what I can. Following is something I wrote for a potential client in an effort to land a big incentive trip. Don't laugh - this works. And if you work at Insulate America, I hope you had a good time.



Greetings to you from Boston, the land of the Cutthroat Cod
Where even a seasoned fisherman might find it somewhat odd
That an unassuming flounder can be more than it really seems -
For Bostonians think they’re heaven, with coleslaw and baked beans.

But here at Boston’s (insert hotel name here), we treat every fish with respect
And even a seasoned fisherman can be confident that he can expect
To see the doorman smiling, and to sense the housekeeper’s pride,
And to know when the waiter brings flounder, it will have lemon on the side.

The Cutthroat Cod, he beckons – that King of the East Coast Fish -
To welcome Insulate America, and to see to their every wish,
For even a seasoned fisherman, wise and wily as he can be,
Knows quality when he sees it, and perfect service – guaranteed.


(Got me craving a fish dinner... lol)


p.s. I am totally craving fish now! :)

A few years back I worked in the public relations/marketing sector. And seen from that perspective, but not only, is the reason why I find your poem absolutely brilliant, Estella.

It totally 'directs' the reader exactly where you want them to be, in this case, staying at your hotel....and eating fish..lol..yep!..GREAT!

[Kast]

I was feeling something strongly the other day and it reminded me of a poem I had written. Then, I had another fond memory of another I had written, I guess there's only a handful out of the many that we might write that we call our 'babies'. Yes, I consider certain poems like my children, all the steps of bringing a child into the world are there (in a different form) to bring the poem about. Bring your adorable, cute, ugly (lol) 'children' in here for us to get a gander at?... these are nice people here and if it has an issue, I'm sure it'll be pampered anyway...

You know I've always liked your poetry, Cinderella. I asked you one time how you managed your syllables and you said 'I can just tell when a word is out of place' or something like that. In other words, you're a natural unlike myself.

For fun or whatever, I'm using this poetry analyzer to mostly boost the self esteem or encourage the poet. (We're not exactly sure if it's accurate or what criteria it's looking for to make a comparison. I'm sure if we put several of ours in, we'd probably get different answers?) I plugged your first poem in:




The Lost Summer

God's good earth is calling,
It beckons I return
To greener days,
And childhood plays,
And lost days that I yearn.

Each field and glen remembers
When a barefoot boy did roam
Its hills and dales, its wooded trails,
And now wants him back home.

I sit beneath the shady elm
That once served as my store
For secrets and for treasures dear,
To keep forevermore.

A robin's egg, a spiders web,
Wax and a ball of string,
A kite to fly on windy days
A bluejay's faded wing.

But now I'm tired and weary,
And too old to run and play,
Yet in those dreams of long ago
I search for yesterday.

To find the glory in the flower,
The splendor in the grass,
Forgotten through life's hardships
Come to claim my soul at last.

It says you write like Neil Gaiman. I'm not familiar with him, so - I'll go look him up...

(Also, poet's feel free to put one of yours in the analyzer and give us your opinion on how or why you feel it's accurate or inaccurate.)

[Kast]

It seems, at first glance, that he's a storyteller of sorts. Everyone loves a good story and I'm sure back in the times of old - these were the people that would stand around the fire at night and amuse, earn their keep by reciting a 'yarn', and were very much loved in the community... (gosh, my imagination - can someone catch it! - it's running down the path there...) lol

"Instructions
by Neil Gaiman

Touch the wooden gate in the wall you never
saw before.

Say "please" before you open the latch,
go through,
walk down the path.

A red metal imp hangs from the green-painted
front door,
as a knocker,
do not touch it; it will bite your fingers.

Walk through the house. Take nothing. Eat
nothing.

However, if any creature tells you that it hungers,
feed it.

If it tells you that it is dirty,
clean it.

If it cries to you that it hurts,
if you can,
ease its pain.

From the back garden you will be able to see the
wild wood.

The deep well you walk past leads to Winter's
realm;
there is another land at the bottom of it.

If you turn around here,
you can walk back, safely;
you will lose no face. I will think no less of you.

Once through the garden you will be in the
wood.
The trees are old. Eyes peer from the under-
growth.

Beneath a twisted oak sits an old woman. She
may ask for something;
give it to her. She
will point the way to the castle.

Inside it are three princesses.

Do not trust the youngest. Walk on.

In the clearing beyond the castle the twelve
months sit about a fire,
warming their feet, exchanging tales.

They may do favors for you, if you are polite.
You may pick strawberries in December's frost.
Trust the wolves, but do not tell them where
you are going.

The river can be crossed by the ferry. The ferry-
man will take you.

(The answer to his question is this:

If he hands the oar to his passenger, he will be free to
leave the boat.

Only tell him this from a safe distance.)

If an eagle gives you a feather, keep it safe.

Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; that
witches are often betrayed by their appetites;
dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always;
hearts can be well-hidden,
and you betray them with your tongue.

Do not be jealous of your sister.
Know that diamonds and roses
are as uncomfortable when they tumble from
one's lips as toads and frogs:
colder, too, and sharper, and they cut.

Remember your name.
Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found.

Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped
to help you in their turn.

Trust dreams.

Trust your heart, and trust your story.

When you come back, return the way you came.
Favors will be returned, debts will be repaid.

Do not forget your manners.
Do not look back.
Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall).
Ride the silver fish (you will not drown).
Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).

There is a worm at the heart of the tower; that is
why it will not stand.

When you reach the little house, the place your
journey started,
you will recognize it, although it will seem
much smaller than you remember.

Walk up the path, and through the garden gate
you never saw before but once.

And then go home. Or make a home.

And rest."

[Kast]

Looking for something else, I found this:

Helping writers get inspired and find places to publish. Find calls for submissions, contests, journals accepting work, and publishers.

http://www.placesforwriters.com/


Places a writer writes from - Past and Present Tense:

http://tabwriter.blogspot.de/2011/02/mixing-past-and-present-tense.html

"But if we mix the two, we get the best of both worlds. We get the reflection and the wisdom that comes with it, plus the immediacy of how the character is feeling at the time she’s telling the story. A definite win-win for both reader and writer. :)"


http://tabwriter.blogspot.de/p/articles-on-craft-of-writing-and-lots.html

[SingularNYCFemme]

This is absolutely stunning. Thank you for sharing it with us here.

six feet tall
gorgeous tendrils
of curly blonde hair
i ran my hand through it
caught it in the back,
entwined it in my fingers
held it
pulled it slowly
our lips
so close
i moved to her ear
whispered
my suggestion
"yes"
was her answer
"first..."
ah, negotiation...
"i need to..."
what, what?
in her timidity
she bit my neck
i disengaged to ask
"what do you need?"
she licked my earlobe
gently
and whispered her request,
"i need to see your ID."

baby butch.
diaper dyke.
barely 21,
yes, I showed her proof.
a year later
we laughed about that
at our anniversary dinner
when we celebrated
our one-night stand
that held up
through 12 months
of silly string
and delusions
that made up
our "R"elationship
we exchanged rings
called ourselves married
enjoyed all the trappings therein
and were thus... trapped.

many years later
when history
repeated itself
i tried to remember
that kind of september
when life was so tender
though it wasn't always mellow
and september is not always
kind

but i have learned
through all those septembers
that when october comes
blowing leaves into corners
where they get stuck
in the cobwebs
on the shelves
of the mind
there will always be
a fall
and i will always
catch myself

remembering with kindness
the septembers that fell apart
and drifted away
with the falling leaves

[SingularNYCFemme]

The child of city streets
forever dreaming of forests
woodlands and worn paths
the Queen Anne's Lace on the side
of summer camp roads

Ferns
all those frowsy blowsy leaves
bowing beside the paths we walked
that's where I was spoiled most
in the glens and secret walkways
of childhood summers far from concrete

I adopted a rock once
not far from the tent in which
I slept covered in cool breezes
a special rock requiring just
a slip of a climb

My thinking rock
the summer I turned 13
the summer of my adoration
of a counselor
Lynnea
who taught me massage
and ran away in the middle of the summer
with some stupid boyfriend

Just before she left
she came to me and swore me
to secrecy
and then gave me a massage
a backrub
and I adored her even more
crying when she left because I knew
she was truly gone

My rock was my solace
my solitude
just 20 feet beyond my tent
at the edge of camp
and on hikes there were
Queen Anne's Lace
Black Eyed Susans
and thousands and thousands
of ferns and their fronds

[txdoc]

She enunciates clearly my unformed thoughts
Sowing seeds of possibleness
Stroking my intellect
Gently probing my beliefs
Brushing past my horizons
She enters me
Surrounds me
Becomes me
While she listens to the lilt of my song
Creating us with voice and laughter

[cinderella]

I totally disagree with that analyzer - I don't write anything like this. I don't feel any rhythm or flow in his poem.

It seems, at first glance, that he's a storyteller of sorts. Everyone loves a good story and I'm sure back in the times of old - these were the people that would stand around the fire at night and amuse, earn their keep by reciting a 'yarn', and were very much loved in the community... (gosh, my imagination - can someone catch it! - it's running down the path there...) lol

"Instructions
by Neil Gaiman

Touch the wooden gate in the wall you never
saw before.

Say "please" before you open the latch,
go through,
walk down the path.

A red metal imp hangs from the green-painted
front door,
as a knocker,
do not touch it; it will bite your fingers.

Walk through the house. Take nothing. Eat
nothing.

However, if any creature tells you that it hungers,
feed it.

If it tells you that it is dirty,
clean it.

If it cries to you that it hurts,
if you can,
ease its pain.

From the back garden you will be able to see the
wild wood.

The deep well you walk past leads to Winter's
realm;
there is another land at the bottom of it.

If you turn around here,
you can walk back, safely;
you will lose no face. I will think no less of you.

Once through the garden you will be in the
wood.
The trees are old. Eyes peer from the under-
growth.

Beneath a twisted oak sits an old woman. She
may ask for something;
give it to her. She
will point the way to the castle.

Inside it are three princesses.

Do not trust the youngest. Walk on.

In the clearing beyond the castle the twelve
months sit about a fire,
warming their feet, exchanging tales.

They may do favors for you, if you are polite.
You may pick strawberries in December's frost.
Trust the wolves, but do not tell them where
you are going.

The river can be crossed by the ferry. The ferry-
man will take you.

(The answer to his question is this:

If he hands the oar to his passenger, he will be free to
leave the boat.

Only tell him this from a safe distance.)

If an eagle gives you a feather, keep it safe.

Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; that
witches are often betrayed by their appetites;
dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always;
hearts can be well-hidden,
and you betray them with your tongue.

Do not be jealous of your sister.
Know that diamonds and roses
are as uncomfortable when they tumble from
one's lips as toads and frogs:
colder, too, and sharper, and they cut.

Remember your name.
Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found.

Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped
to help you in their turn.

Trust dreams.

Trust your heart, and trust your story.

When you come back, return the way you came.
Favors will be returned, debts will be repaid.

Do not forget your manners.
Do not look back.
Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall).
Ride the silver fish (you will not drown).
Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).

There is a worm at the heart of the tower; that is
why it will not stand.

When you reach the little house, the place your
journey started,
you will recognize it, although it will seem
much smaller than you remember.

Walk up the path, and through the garden gate
you never saw before but once.

And then go home. Or make a home.

And rest."

[SingularNYCFemme]

Just posting this here to share it. :balloon:

There is a lurching within
to realize that plates have shifted
beneath the ground on which I walk
my daily walk

The world seems less safe now
so many people less
all right
so many actions
so wrong

Breathe
I whisper to myself
deep and long
through the days and nights
with resurgence waiting
around a bend or two

Breathe and learn to be
resplendent in self
abide in the truths of
what was before
what is now
open these hands to
work and the world

[luv2luvgirls]

Thanks to the ones who posted links on analyzing your poems.. I really enjoyed seeing whom I write like

[SingularNYCFemme]

Based on the above poem, I write like David Foster Wallace. I find that fascinating and a real compliment.

[luv2luvgirls]

Based on this poem, I write like David Foster Wallace.



cool! his name came up on one of mine as well.. just dont remember which one :cheesy:

that is a lovely poem

[SingularNYCFemme]

cool! his name came up on one of mine as well.. just dont remember which one :cheesy:

that is a lovely poem

Thank you so much. I edited it because I thought it was a bit much to quote a poem that was already posted right above that revelation. I like that different poems have different results; to me it indicates fluidity and movement in style and form. I need to go back and read some of your poems soon!

[Estella]

Our F&B Director asked me to write a preemptive thank-you to his department for what they're going to go through on Thursday, and this is what I came up with. If you've ever worked in the food industry, maybe this will resonate.


As the diners in (our restaurant) all relax and sip their wine,
They’re chatting with their loved ones and enjoying their time,
While the clink of glass and silver and the crackle of the fire
Ensure all feel warm and welcome, with everything they could desire.
And upstairs in the condos the hosts all beam with pride,
As their guests enjoy their turkeys with whatever’s on the side.
And even in the Ballroom there are families tucked away,
To indulge in all we offer on this extraordinary day.

It’s Thanksgiving at (fancy hotel) – on the surface it’s serene
With the city’s finest service and food fit for a king.
But peeling back the layers you don’t have to look too far
To get a clearer sense of just how nuts things really are:

The Kitchen staff is buzzing, from the heat and the caffeine,
Pastry’s hip deep in flour, but they insist it’s just routine.
Banquets are professionals, who consistently amaze,
Stewarding are troopers – but they haven’t slept in days.
And the Servers? Well, they’re smiling but they look like they’re in shock -
And the turkeys are already running for the loading dock.
It’s the ultimate team effort, with credit shared by all -
And there goes (Sous Chef), chasing turkeys down the hall.

If you ask me what I’m thankful for on this November day
It’s the care and dedication that you show in every way.
Only a team like ours could deliver such a feat
While making it look seamless, like you do this every week.
But what’s even more impressive is the attitude you bring
As you’re smiling through the chaos, and perfecting everything,
And doing unto others, as you would have done to you -
So thank you for your service, and Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.

[Hollylane]

http://i33.tinypic.com/14vmm2u.jpg

[Velvetkitten]

Scales of time tipping in my favor
balancing the before, the now and the ever
After
Mirror upon my soul looking back at me
Calling, screaming urging Awaken!
Mine answered with a resounding call for it would not
Be forsaken
Now time ceases to exist
For it is
What is, what was, what has always been and will
Forever be...
When I look into you and you look back at me

[~baby~doll~]

magic
what is this sound
it twirls me around
surly it is the chant of magic
beating in my heart

tempted by a vision
time for decision
surly this sight
will be scrying all the night
it is bound to be magic

my feelings loosely bound
have me hanging above the ground
candles burn
pages turn
my heart an open book
time for me to look
now i read the words of magic
the spell is not so tragic

a drop of blood does fall
finding yet my call
what was lost is now regained
the linen blouse is blood stained
the tearing of my heart
ripping from the start
it must be magic of a different kind
which comes to call
helping me not to fall

what magic is this
which binds my hands
it alters all my plans
on cold stone alter we all at sometime lie
knowing better than to cry
oh sweet release into magic's hands
makes for me different plans

the crow caws through the night
the familiar spirit of my cat
it runs and hides like a rat
the beak will certainly bite
and this is the magic it calls me best
this witch it comes and sinks into my breast

the lavender glows my selflessness
the white for my lost innocence
the pink shines forth in love
and here i lay the sacrifice
gift i am and still i be
i do not care what others see

they might judge i walk behind
they may laugh as i kneel at her feet
they may think it is insane to relish after loves unique pain
they can call me vile and disgusting to my face
the sweet caress of love will erase
i find myself bound in magic
no i am not tragic
i am purified by my life
though i will never be a wife

this witch is me
waiting here on bended knee
i will wait so patiently
this magic is my love
it burns me from above
it fills me like a dove

i rest my head in the night
i have learned not to fight
i will awake with the suns first light
seeing the beautiful magical day

[Artzy76]

Letting Go

I don't want to miss you anymore...
I don't want to feel the memories trapped in these walls.
You may not be present but your energy lurks and my name it calls.
I can still smell you in my pillow i hold onto each night.
I can almost feel your hands in my hair and holding me tight.
I want the ghost of you gone, out of my sight.
I took down your pictures, locked your gifts away with the pain.
My heart beats to your rhythm, tears they fall like rain.
Frozen by fear I sit stoic by your love stain.
I beg of you to break this spell and let me soar!
I just don't' want to miss you anymore!

[Venus007]

I hang in the eternal still space between whistle and strike
A single exquisite banquet or a cornucopia
Will I arch or hollow
Either way a crossing on that old Windy Tree, the Gallows Horse.