a few of mine, diversity and regrets included

not sure that one's quite cooked yet ^^

suggestions always listened to and thought about :)
 
eyes of the dead

let's not pretend:
we don't close the eyes of the dead
to seal out visions from their gaze--
fixed, uncompromised,
oblivious to flies that
buzz, feed, shit, breed,
to grit, pollen, rain, or light.

pennies, laid, add weight;
some pray, to bolster hope
for sensibilities demand
they stay that way.

should cold eyes remain unveiled,
we are compelled:
imagine,
consider possibilities.


eye to eye we are
connected.
we are exposed.

it's not to protect the dead
that we close their eyes.
..
love this, I think it should start the poem
 
..
love this, I think it should start the poem

that was my thinking... it was the line that began the idea of the poem; i thought putting it at the front might be too obvious, but i do agree (again) it's a solid start. but then how to end?

thankyou x
 
eyes of the dead

let's not pretend:
we don't close the eyes of the dead
to seal out visions from their gaze--
fixed, uncompromised,
oblivious to flies that
buzz, feed, shit, breed,
to grit, pollen, rain, or light.

pennies, laid, add weight;
some pray, to bolster hope
for sensibilities demand
they stay that way.

should cold eyes remain unveiled,
we are compelled:
imagine,
consider possibilities.


eye to eye we are
connected.
we are exposed.

it's not to protect the dead
that we close their eyes.
revision 1:

eyes of the dead


it's not to protect the dead
that we close their eyes
seal celestial visions from their gaze
place stones or pennies on closed lids
and pray they stay that way...

unveiled eyes compel
eye to eye we are connected
our sensibilities exposed
we
imagine

it's not to protect the dead
that we close their eyes






--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
this is more how i wrote it first, but not the same - didn't know if it was too obscure and needed expanding. i prefer it more concise, it's true.

overkill, using that phrase twice so close together?
 
revision 1:

eyes of the dead


it's not to protect the dead
that we close their eyes
seal celestial visions from their gaze
place stones or pennies on closed lids
and pray they stay that way...

unveiled eyes compel
eye to eye we are connected
our sensibilities exposed
we
imagine

it's not to protect the dead
that we close their eyes






--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
this is more how i wrote it first, but not the same - didn't know if it was too obscure and needed expanding. i prefer it more concise, it's true.

overkill, using that phrase twice so close together?

I like the concise version. “seal celestial visions in their gaze” sounds better to me but may not be what you intended.
 
hi Harry and gm :rose::rose: thanks for your thoughts on this one

i guess the concept of sealing something 'in' is the polar opposite of what i want to convey... a cutting off, a cessation of sensory input. to seal those visions in means the person/voice in the poem will still need to consider, imagine, and this could be uncomfortable.

with regards to 'entomb': the word 'seal' is supposed to act as a link to tombs/graves apropos to the theme of the poem, as one seals a tomb - though, historically, one could think about things sealed IN tombs with the body being interred as well as the sealing out of light/sound/sensation. basically, i guess i want to seal everything out and not have to consider what the body may go through or the mind of the deceased still perceive. hmmmn.

having said that, perhaps the poem would be better for these changes, though i need to think about how i can bring what they will say to meet with some compatibility with what i was saying :D
 
I was reflecting a spiritual bias, I.e., “the dead shall see what is unseen.” Inward makes more sense to me, but your reply suggests that was not your intention.
 
wrote this about a month ago but reading tod's piece today reminded me to post it

adrift on god's inkwell
steal a shooting star from his heavens
use it as the quill to dip
to spill
of eyes that ghost beneath its surface
a hammer of hearts that sing my veins
infinity touched
stirred by a transparency of finite fins
and how small mouths taste an ocean's loneliness
all sorrows salt
as dreams have no beginning, no end
life slips between one place and the next
when black suns hide beyond the
feathered arc of a pale wing
sleep and death all dreams within dreams
breathing the void









------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
that hazy place between wake and sleep, when a damned line won't allow you to cross the barrier but insists on being written *sigh*
 
*note to self: try to find another word to use instead of dip when it comes to quills and inkwells :eek:
 
*note to self: try to find another word to use instead of dip when it comes to quills and inkwells :eek:

Lol

Might have to look up a variant in another language :D

I’ve noticed that certain words pop up in writing at different intervals and become mainstays till I realised I’m doing it and start seeking new words, new phrases. The infinite numbers of combination meanings and intents scares me sometimes as if I might drown in the possibilities because there is always something else behind the current level.
 
Lol

Might have to look up a variant in another language :D

I’ve noticed that certain words pop up in writing at different intervals and become mainstays till I realised I’m doing it and start seeking new words, new phrases. The infinite numbers of combination meanings and intents scares me sometimes as if I might drown in the possibilities because there is always something else behind the current level.
maybe!

gawd, you sound like me sometimes... the secret life of words. hmmn
“Sip” perhaps, given all the mysterious twists and turns in the poem?
nice!
My thought too, a nib does kind of sip the ink and the word "sip" sits well with "spill".
it does *nods*
 
edited

breathing the void

adrift on god's inkwell
steal a shooting star
his heavens can spare one

use it for your quill
to sip
to spill

of eyes that ghost beneath its surface
a hammer of hearts to sing your veins
infinity touched

stirred by a transparency of finite fins
and how small mouths taste an ocean's loneliness
all sorrows salt

how dreams have no beginning, no end
life slips between
one plane and the next

when black suns hide beyond the pale
arc of a wing
sleep and death all dreams within dreams









------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
that hazy place between wake and sleep, when a damned line won't allow you to cross the barrier but insists on being written *sigh*


revision again


god's inkwell

adrift on god's inkwell
steal a shooting star
his heavens can spare one

use it for your quill
to sip, spill

of eyes that ghost beneath its surface
a hammer of hearts to sing your veins
infinity stirred by transparent fins
how small mouths taste an ocean's loneliness
all sorrows salt
how dreams have no beginning, no end

life slips between
one plane and the next
when black suns hide beyond the pale
arc of a wing
sleep and death and dreams within dreams
 
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This is beautiful, butters. The last stanza is masterful and layered with meaning for me as in “black sun” as well as “beyond the pale/arc....”
 
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thanks, to both of you for taking the time to read and comment. so busy here lately there's never enough time. roll on, autumn!
 
thanks, to both of you for taking the time to read and comment. so busy here lately there's never enough time. roll on, autumn!
..
adrift on (in) god's inkwell
steal a shooting star
his heavens can spare one
..
one small change ties a lot of similar words together in the rest of the poem.
 
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..
adrift on (in) god's inkwell
steal a shooting star
his heavens can spare one
..
one small change ties a lot of similar words together in the rest of the poem.

we had this discussion :D

'in' makes the inkwell a literal 'container', whereas i was referring to that black sea of imagination existing in that place somewhere on the edges of sleep. i think that allows me the leeway to use 'on' - 'sides, adrift in god's inkwell has too many short 'i' sounds in a small space and makes it sound a little brittle to my ear, whereas on reinforces the lower note of god's as so closer to that sleepy place than so many jittery i's.

i don't expect you to agree with me on this - just as well, lol

:kiss::rose:
 
when you dream
too deep too dark too long
you barely face the sun it
hurts your eyes
and living seems less real
than those swift streams that
pull you under
drag you till exhaustion
spits you out again
to coffee and a song
played over and over
time takes a cigarette
but you inhale its poisons
 
https://i.imgur.com/59VJ3y3.png

the mask...

hangs suspended between frames
invites consideration of direction
intent

an oscar - shed its shiny hues
notoriety mouths its silent script
levitation
above the hand of the conjuror

the actor without his mask
the forgotten faceless
a smollet moment
 
march magicala

there's plenty of Alakazam!
skies light up in flash-frame
booms of clabrous vivacity
the acrid scent of ozone
perhaps to herald in
something more magical
than day after day after day
of torrential rain

suck it up you choking drains
you wading plants and trees and
soggy animals alike
bright days and tepid nights
wait in the wings
daylight shows mirrors everywhere
low-hanging smoke
 
absurd

dreams of satsumas with tiny hands
and melting dolls with eastern europian names
a white house turned shades of deep pink
and frantic games of musical chairs
where there are too many chairs
and not enough players
and the bobble-heads
are climbing on the table
looking for indian ropes suspended in disbelief
tricks to climb as floodwaters rise
above the chins of the serious children
reluctant to abandon their chairs
determined to go down with their rudderless captain...

i want to find rabbit holes
the temptation of glass-stoppered bottles
a choice to be made
the dichotomous dangers of eat and drink me's
perspective
fitting in
or not fitting
hand me a paddle
let me steer my dream-raft clear
of such badly-sketched political metaphors
and wild queens shrieking
"Off with their heads!!"
 
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