Life Is Beautiful

She tells me she feels
A current in her throat
Going the wrong way
Such natural poets
Children; language is
So fluid and mailable
To them that I believe
They have as much to teach
As they do to learn
If we can only see past
The vomit and glean
The beauty of what
They spew in their
Involuntary and unconscious
Revolt of all that we try
To cram down their throats

Oh, indeed...

This is nice. :)

Thanks, Trix. :rose:
 
My Apologies to Mrs Kraemer

My 4th grade teacher
declared to all
"I swear, Richard, someday
you'll be president"
and she might've been right
or at least
a fat ass cigar chompin
martini swilling senator
Or maybe
second baseman for the Yankees
the next Hemingway
Einstein reversed
But instead
I daydreamed
through strike three
window watched
the big math test
and drifted on Jackie's perfume
when LBJ wrangled
the reins
I might've been a dancer,
too
but got lost
in the music
 
bow

Longing to please the puppy jumps.
Foolish and confused he fails again and again.
Yet he remains sniffing, pleasing stroking in the hope the vet will not muzzle him
He can learn and sit at her feet
 
These Orphans of the Heart

They come to me in pieces
Broken arms, broken legs
Snatched bald, skulls cracked
And I piece them together
Using glue and tweezers
Carefully matching up pieces
Or replacing what can't be mended
With something newer
Filling heads with crumpled words
To give them an extra bit of strength
Before I string new strands
Of gold, sunset or loam
Handing them back or passing them on
To be loved again or anew.
I remember every doll
All precious and none mine.
i love this! all i'd question is the proliferation of 'ings' and the word 'doll' - if you replaced it with 'one', it would leave this open to wider interpretation.

especially love 'fill heads with crumpled words'

re the 'ings': just feels crisper this way, trix, hope you don't mind me playing :rose:

These Orphans of the Heart

They come to me in pieces
Broken arms, broken legs
Snatched bald, skulls cracked
And I piece them together
Use glue and tweezers
Carefully match up pieces
Replace what can't be mended
With something newer
Fill heads with crumpled words
To give them an extra bit of strength
Before I string new strands
Of gold, sunset or loam
Hand them back or pass them on
To be loved again or anew.
I remember every one.
All precious and none mine.
 
No Butters, I don't mind you playing at all. It's what I came to the poetry forums for.

I'll have to read it aloud both ways and see which way feels better.

The doll stays though :rose:

EDIT: ok I have a thing for ing, lol. Better without it. Thanks for poking me :kiss:
 
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A Tomorrow My Coin Cannot Purchase

Leaping, spinning, turning
body always moving
At seven I knew I'd be
a dancer, how could I not
I simply couldn't sit still
if music was playing
Lessons? Bah, no need
my body knew where to go
what to do for any piece
you could play.
At fifteen I carried a sketch pad
and a pencil case with me
so I could sit down and draw
whenever something caught my eye
I never could get the shadows quite right
a teacher suggested lessons.
Bah said I, some things are either
natural or they're not. This is just
me taking in my surroundings.
Of all the things I might have been
the only one I wish I'd invested more
of the coin of my imagination in
is a dreamer.
So that now, when I can't sleep
I'd still have dreams
to carry me through the night.

I LOVE this one, Trix. I had to "catch" my breath at the end, literally.
 
The time to walk away
Is not when you no longer care
But the second you know
You don't care enough
To compromise

When I, has once again
Become more or less
Than we

Walk away while you can still feel
Love as a living thing
Not simply a memory

Leaving shouldn't be easy
It should be a gut punch
As love is

This is breathtaking, Trix.

To leave with love, take the gut punch, is so much harder than leaving while you're the one giving the gut punch instead. A lot of emotional integrity and strength. Walking away with love takes more courage than walking away with hate.

Thank you for this. It touches me, personally. Great piece.
 
Thanks Love.
Was talking to a friend about sad, beautiful endings and this came out.

Glad someone else feels it too. :rose:
 
Thanks Love.
Was talking to a friend about sad, beautiful endings and this came out.

Glad someone else feels it too. :rose:

There aren't many people that have felt that. It's so good to know that someone out there has felt it too, for me, as well. *hug*

Have a good night, Trix. Spin some words into magic, lady. ;)
 
Before It's Too Late

Whatever you'd give
For one more day
With a past loved one

Spend instead
That day
On someone here now
 
Whatever you'd give
For one more day
With a past loved one

Spend instead
That day
On someone here now

The person I was thinking about (my sister's father) passed away 24 hours after I wrote it.

The day before they told him he had a couple of months. Fortunately my sister was able to spend most of yesterday with her father.

Don't miss you're day!
 
The laughter, early boisterous
had waned like the moon
too slow
to notice.
It was well past midnight
though the clock had paused
to consider, and
his chips were piled high.
Yes, he was winning
and winning well
yet no one wished
his hands to fold.
The narrator thought he had
a few winners left and wrote
it into the script
Now as they watched
he glanced to the broken clock
fingered his pile
winked to the narrator
then pushed them all in
~before folding.
We'll never know
if he had aces over kings
or deuces over nothing.
What we do know
is that he knew when to leave
the game
and how to bless the table
 
Days like these taste of
sad regret, mingled with
those times that were happy
gather together to collect
the precious memories
let them burn a cleansing flame
light a torch
etch that pain into some place noble

bear the burden with family and friends
know that he is as there as he can be
within you all.
 
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