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not sure how many words

wildsweetone said:
golly it seemed longer than 3 weeks.

i see what you mean about the straight run of thoughts... it flowed so well when i read it this time that it felt like a 'finished patrick poem'. *smile*
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it is finished, as far as i can tell. :)

who knows what that's worth -- i like it, and i sent it to a few places where i'm trying to knock the door down and enter . . . we'll see.

:rose:
 
Its unfinished,
Telecaster sweatshirt
dries on a brass knob.

My dream
Had a fencerail covered in dirt
And my brother Bob in a concert shirt.

I hold my pony
I hold my pony,
I hope my pony
Knows the way back home.

Whats that sound
From beneath the floor
Pounding nails in a
Hardwood floor.

Telephone dumpster
Melodious mac and cheese box
Black market diamionds
That want to stay cold.

Amnesia in her kiss
Missouri quaint hotel
Wants to stay cold
Long lines sustain from a mule's nose.
 
TheRainMan said:
it is finished, as far as i can tell. :)

who knows what that's worth -- i like it, and i sent it to a few places where i'm trying to knock the door down and enter . . . we'll see.

:rose:
Click to expand...

glad to hear it. if you want me to help get people to listen, just shout for me.

:)
 
TheRainMan said:
thanks, T. :)


and i like very much your 'snippet' of America above this post, and also your lady's -- i miss both of you writing here very much-- you do every now and then, and Ange a little less so -- but both of you, not enough.
Click to expand...


ditto... reading ee and Ange's poetry is like coming home. :) keep sharing when you can y'all.


:heart:
 
When I was little
I ignored bumble bees.
I watched daisies
and dandelions
and avoided wasps
as they waited on yellow,
poised to puncture
the foot of a supposed
predator. Now
it's the mumbling,
bumbling of fat bees
that I survey hovering
around the lavender,
hung drunkenly in mid-air
looking as if at any moment
their girth will thicken
and send them hurtling
to the ground
at my feet.
 
Bathing on a sand dune in the Sahara

I remember when
we met
how the hotel room
burned summer on my skin,
when your eyes melted the ice
mine carried, and your tongue
licked morse on my breasts.
I lusted life that day.
Loved your touches, hard
and soft, the way your teeth
scraped my skin
and your fingertips scorched
the veins in my lips.
And now that winter is ending
I look for you
in the Spring sun.
 
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I could only watch
as she skillfulyl ran the blade
through the tender flesh
in rapid repetiton

One by one she disemboweled
her helpless victims with glee
piling their remains like booty

mixed with golden strands
and angel's dust
a treaure awaiting the victor
to consume in hastened hunger
 
There are times
when I just want to get lost
in the moonlight.

A quiet walk, alone at night
trees whispering, sliding along
my arm as I pass by.

I can feel the moons glow
revitalizing my energy.
Taste the wind
as it drinks my form
and spit washes my body.

I see the lake not far off.
Calling for me to toe dip and relax.
Frogs groggily waking up, croaking
their days memoirs off, one by one.
No birds out tonight. I suppose
nesting from a hard days hunt.

Lying back, feet immersed in
the cool mountain water, I think
what a wonderful place to be.
Wishing I could just stay
in this one moment
this soul cleansing experience
forever.

I am one with the earth
and wind. This is my dream.
This is my place in time
to be ... just be ~
 
on a photo of a red rose

Soak up the summer sun

It's red, you know, red
and sits in a crystal vase
on the window sill. It looks
out to where siblings
bounce on long stems
in the garden, midday sun
casting black blooms
to the ground. It will fall
petal by petal
to the white paint below
and the sisters
will nod
as if they knew.
 
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August Twenty-Third - a new birthday

remembered ache between the hollow
lobes of lung and pain expands
the light into waking experience
too soon to rationalize in a panicked
mind that you need this to breathe

to sleep perchance to steal a thought
from some long dead bard as dreams
drift concious knowing through the dim
lights and quiet hum of machine sustained
belief that this too will be forgotten

like the first shock of mother's touch
or the burning breath in a chest
not ready to inhale without the agony
of hot white light in eyes only
wanting to close in sleep and dream
 
champagne1982 said:
August Twenty-Third - a new birthday

remembered ache between the hollow
lobes of lung and pain expands
the light into waking experience
too soon to rationalize in a panicked
mind that you need this to breathe

to sleep perchance to steal a thought
from some long dead bard as dreams
drift concious knowing through the dim
lights and quiet hum of machine sustained
belief that this too will be forgotten

like the first shock of mother's touch
or the burning breath in a chest
not ready to inhale without the agony
of hot white light in eyes only
wanting to close in sleep and dream
Click to expand...

heal, sweet poet.

:heart:
 
sometimes I feel
like a badminton birdie
being swatted back and forth
for other's amusement
often ending up tangled
in a net or on the ground, beaten
then i remember the times in between
when I soared

:rose:
 
I used to think, once upon a time,
that I would write a great novel,
or make a yellow impatiens
or find a cat that didn't purr.
Now I know that just one phrase
if whispered,
or shouted
would make all the difference
and if an impatiens wanted
to be yellow it would be
and my cat did finally stop purring.

And it's all ok.

And so are you, Champ
and Ange
and ee
so are you

and I'm glad you are here.
 
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BooMerengue said:
I used to think, once upon a time,
that I would write a great novel,
or make a yellow impatiens
or find a cat that didn't purr.
Now I know that just one phrase
if whispered,
or shouted
would make all the difference
and if an impatiens wanted
to be yellow it would be
and my cat did finally stop purring.

And it's all ok.

And so are you, Champ
and Ange
and ee
so are you

and I'm glad you are here.
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Hi Boo-so nice to see you,
And Carrie, as Ange said, my thoughts go out for your healing.

:rose:
 
Angeline said:
Hello sweety.

Oh, you meant ee. :D

Eh, I have to go back to work--split shift.

Love ya, Boo.

:kiss: :heart:
Ange
Click to expand...

Well... I could call you Teets!

lol

Hey Angie!!
 
eagleyez said:
Um, yes, an fitting tag, I must admit (gleefully).
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uh oh... She's at work and you and I are discussing her, erm, body parts. That could get us in some deep doggy doo.

Oh, well, in for a penny, in for a pound! Anyone else have anything to add?





*guffawwwwwwing!!!
 
BooMerengue said:
uh oh... She's at work and you and I are discussing her, erm, body parts. That could get us in some deep doggy doo.

Oh, well, in for a penny, in for a pound! Anyone else have anything to add?





*guffawwwwwwing!!!
Click to expand...

Maybe she will call me "a very bad boy" out of the deal.

*guffawing* right back at you.

;)
 
you could all make it a lot worse. i mean, think of the make up sex.

:D


g'morning y'all.

:kiss:
 
wildsweetone said:
you could all make it a lot worse. i mean, think of the make up sex.

:D


g'morning y'all.

:kiss:
Click to expand...
Oh jeeez.. Mary Kaye dealers in pink caddies all over Maine.

the poor clams.
 
:)

hey, i have to scroll so far back to get to your poetry that my spin-the-wheel finger has rsi!

;)

hope you're having a great day. i'm off out for a while. enjoy yourself.
:kiss:

(hi Ange and Boo and Carrie -don't you go gettin' all excited now- and everyone *waving* )
 
Even shields are penetrable

I read the words of poems
let them lift my sullen mood

or sway my thoughts, until sun
spots blemish the blue

lying in wait beneath skin
whitened from winter's dormant
forgotten. I read again

and again until the words pale
and wear their war shields

to fend my prying mind
from searching the schist

beneath, to fend my eyes
from wearing their words
off the paper.
 
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