a few of mine, diversity and regrets included

great griefs are silent

sweet idleness, black care
my love i commit to the air
experimental balloon on a wordless journey
 
end game

in the end
self-preservation will out

in the end
love to unlove
powerless
to empowered

in the end
stretched beyond stretching
sometimes
something
snaps
 
u.v glare

not an easy man to love
yet vital as the sun
he lit my days

now i know:
to fly too close risks sunburn
and the cancer of him

when his uncertain light eclipsed
i found i owned an inner heat

and when i looked into the night
the sky was full of stars - all shining
 
"Be still, O little one, for I am Death."
Rudyard Kipling

i come to you with a kiss
sweet and deep

for bright as your struggle
to be alive
life is but the briefest gasp
as full of grief as joy

from the dark you came
and back into folds of nothingness
you will sink

be still o little one
and offer me your lips
for i come to you with a kiss
sweet
and deep
 
life is like a patio

it looks simple enough
given a few instructions
and your basic materials

it can't be that hard
loads of people have one

so set to with a will
with a plan

later:

wipe your gritty face
ignore the aches and
take a step back
for the best view

now, hands up
who forgot to make use
of their spirit level
 
locked

thoughts line her head
like shelves full of books in a
circular room

although lips are parted
words cannot funnel through
such a dry throat

so each book remains
in its place
on its shelf
unopened and waiting
 
watching for boats

i stand on this island
looking out to sea
watching for boats

and if my gaze
could draw you back to me
there'd be footprints in the sand by now

but the sea's not giving up its secrets
and skies change and change again

shifting sands beneath my feet
vibrate to strange rhythms
a beat too rapid surges -
fails
 
spirit

it's when i close my eyes
close out the madding crush
allow the hush to come
it's at these times
these quiet, hungry times
i feel you
 
dear F.C

time to raise the bar, sweetie
it's all very well being loving and giving
but it's a recognised fact
life's all about balance

too much loving and giving
empties one so

time for a little taking in return
just a little
something to balance the books
 
the art of refusal

a man who's allowed
to take
take
take
is like that kid in the candy shop

it'll rot his teeth
make him fat
spoil his appetite for you

so do you both a favour
learn sometimes
it's ok
to say No
 
kerb appeal

all this laying down
doormat-fashion
and all that turning other cheeks

just how many cheeks do you got?

hey now
don't take me wrong
what i'm trying to say here is
isn't that just a little too
passive-aggressive?
kinda?

i'm not saying you're to blame
entirely
but you know guys
no? time you up-wised
give 'em a doormat
they're gonna wipe their feet

watch a little daytime t.v
you'll see

don't give 'em a doormat
shine the tiles
make 'em take off
their shoes

just you watch
how more careful-like
they tread
 
white flags

fingers
are better than eyes
for discovering flaws

subconscious
speaks truer than
the heart

lovers
march blindly with the band
hands behind their backs
bright hearts exposed
 
not everyone's a shapeshifter

nobody's fault
some people simply don't fit

no matter how hard they try
to adapt
adopt
accommodate
they remain
the wrong shape

maybe fault lies
in the trying to be
something other
 
listen

with a mouth full of broken glass
i try to make you understand my
fear of blood

crazy carousel

you
are the ashes in my eyes
the flat stone on my tongue
the shroud that binds me
the silence in my ears
and the one and only thought -
beginning to end -
that spins, a crazy carousel,
in the dark and static room
that is my mind

I like flat stone your tongue... i didn't really try to imagine what that would feel like until i compared it to the mouth full of broken glass.

dog days

the grey dog rests
her bones in the shade
eyes half open
ears muffled by age

she's quiet except for
the wheeze of slow breathing
but make no mistake
she's watchful and smart

though stamina's failing
and teeth are half broken
she's wily and wary
still able to bite

this is another one of your poems where i keep trying to figure out why it sounds like it's rhyming! part expectation, part near rhyme?

love

this
is my model
it's based on theory
observation
and experiment

like all models
it's unsound and subject to change

nothing is sacrosanct

awww, this is what i TRIED to tell them in college LOL. I'm much better at speaking to those people now.. if I'm forced to speak to them at all LOL

great griefs are silent

sweet idleness, black care
my love i commit to the air
experimental balloon on a wordless journey

black care, that's a beautiful image, if image is the right word for it...
I like it...

life is like a patio

it looks simple enough
given a few instructions
and your basic materials

it can't be that hard
loads of people have one

so set to with a will
with a plan

later:

wipe your gritty face
ignore the aches and
take a step back
for the best view

now, hands up
who forgot to make use
of their spirit level

locked

thoughts line her head
like shelves full of books in a
circular room

although lips are parted
words cannot funnel through
such a dry throat

so each book remains
in its place
on its shelf
unopened and waiting

i was just saying on another thread...
do you think it's the poet who has the hardest time speaking?

I like the image of the dry throat
and the book shelves ... i do like to think of books on shelves as so much intellectual and emotional vomit spewed from the insides of humanity... ugh.

watching for boats

i stand on this island
looking out to sea
watching for boats

and if my gaze
could draw you back to me
there'd be footprints in the sand by now

but the sea's not giving up its secrets
and skies change and change again

shifting sands beneath my feet
vibrate to strange rhythms
a beat too rapid surges -
fails

the rhythm of the waves and the sky changing weather and night and day
very beautiful

kerb appeal

all this laying down
doormat-fashion
and all that turning other cheeks

just how many cheeks do you got?

hey now
don't take me wrong
what i'm trying to say here is
isn't that just a little too
passive-aggressive?
kinda?

i'm not saying you're to blame
entirely
but you know guys
no? time you up-wised
give 'em a doormat
they're gonna wipe their feet

watch a little daytime t.v
you'll see

don't give 'em a doormat
shine the tiles
make 'em take off
their shoes

just you watch
how more careful-like
they tread

damn but I can be passive agressive... do you ever feel like, i guess i feel like
the person i'm most likely to make wipe their feet is customer service reps on the telephone. heaven help you if you're one of those:eek:

dear F.C

time to raise the bar, sweetie
it's all very well being loving and giving
but it's a recognised fact
life's all about balance

too much loving and giving
empties one so

time for a little taking in return
just a little
something to balance the books

Aw shit... is that really true?
That explains some shit that I did last weekend :(

not everyone's a shapeshifter

nobody's fault
some people simply don't fit

no matter how hard they try
to adapt
adopt
accommodate
they remain
the wrong shape

maybe fault lies
in the trying to be
something other

These last two really speak to me Chipbutty. I'm glad you put them here :)
 
I like flat stone your tongue... i didn't really try to imagine what that would feel like until i compared it to the mouth full of broken glass.
I've never put them side by side in my head that way. It makes for a surprising experience!


this is another one of your poems where i keep trying to figure out why it sounds like it's rhyming! part expectation, part near rhyme?

it's a combination of the 4 beats per line plus the reps of the hard A sounds throughout, plus other sound-links like 'wheeze of slow breathing'. I prefer this more subtle form of rhyming, rather than end-rhymes since (when I effect them) they often come out sounding too chanty and cheesy!

awww, this is what i TRIED to tell them in college LOL. I'm much better at speaking to those people now.. if I'm forced to speak to them at all LOL

all models change, as input increases so our models become more refined - or chaotic, as the case may be ;)


black care, that's a beautiful image, if image is the right word for it...
I like it...

thanks. it's the english translation of a latin expression that i 'borrowed'. wish i could claim originality
:)



i was just saying on another thread...
do you think it's the poet who has the hardest time speaking?
outside their writing? often.
sometimes there are times i'd choose not to speak for an extended period of time if i could get away with it. maybe it's because we want our words to count. maybe we need to organise our thoughts best on paper/screen first to say best what we want to say.
however, most my day to day involvement with others means paying lip-service to shallow words


I like the image of the dry throat
and the book shelves ... i do like to think of books on shelves as so much intellectual and emotional vomit spewed from the insides of humanity... ugh.
ah - i see them as a wealth of yet to be discovered treasures, even though those treasures need to be dug for amongst the dross. pages and pages of information, dreams, images, thoughts - though caught up and bound in a dry format. it's like the words inside the books are waiting for liquid minds in order to reconstitute :D



the rhythm of the waves and the sky changing weather and night and day
very beautiful

thanks

damn but I can be passive agressive... do you ever feel like, i guess i feel like
the person i'm most likely to make wipe their feet is customer service reps on the telephone. heaven help you if you're one of those:eek:

:D

Aw shit... is that really true?
That explains some shit that I did last weekend :(
i dunno. it's the poem's truth, though


These last two really speak to me Chipbutty. I'm glad you put them here :)
thanks once again for taking the time to read and comment on these. :rose:
 
Chipbutty, in Kerb Appeal you write:

i'm not saying you're to blame
entirely
but you know guys
no? time you up-wised
give 'em a doormat
they're gonna wipe their feet

---

And I was curious why you chose 'up-wised'? Is it a simple twist as to avoid simple language, or is there something else that it's playing off of that I missed?
 
Chipbutty, in Kerb Appeal you write:

i'm not saying you're to blame
entirely
but you know guys
no? time you up-wised
give 'em a doormat
they're gonna wipe their feet

---

And I was curious why you chose 'up-wised'? Is it a simple twist as to avoid simple language, or is there something else that it's playing off of that I missed?

ah, hmmm - well, looking back i see i probably need to remove some more letters and add apostrophes, since the voice is meant to be kinda brooklyn actress 50's (i'd been watching dr who :eek:).

i'm sort of collecting these here in case my hard drive ever goes kaput again - and some still need attention, as you can tell. now whether or not they'll ever receive that's another matter.

some of these are from a collection i've put together (that will very likely change, it was something to do one day when i needed to try and get some kind of order out of all the things written) called Friday's Child and Other Letters. It works its way through various stages/feelings about a relationship and ends up with these sorts of 'letters from well-wishers'

dunno how it'll pan out. it was an idea.





well dammit: having just been looking up the quote from bflagsst's post below, seems Friday's child is 'full of woe' rather than 'loving and giving'

shit. that'd mean renaming the collection Wednesday's Child.

poop. :rolleyes:
 
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Chipbutty, in Kerb Appeal you write:

i'm not saying you're to blame
entirely
but you know guys
no? time you up-wised
give 'em a doormat
they're gonna wipe their feet

---

And I was curious why you chose 'up-wised'? Is it a simple twist as to avoid simple language, or is there something else that it's playing off of that I missed?

Hallowed be thy frigid core,
mind the map and mat the floor,
"I am sent with broom before,
to sweep the dust behind the door."
 
Hallowed be thy frigid core,
mind the map and mat the floor,
"I am sent with broom before,
to sweep the dust behind the door."

ooh! I like this - i ought to recognise it, oughtn't i?


i did a quick search and find it's to be found quoted in The Monthly Packet but the link doesn't take me to the piece but rather straight to the start of the site - long scrolling through and gave up. maybe you can link me or fill in the gaps better. i do like it, though!
 
damn - i KNEW it sounded familiar! last time i read that i was 15 - so maybe i can be excused for not instantly recognising it for what it was. bloody hell - that's 36 years ago!

British should know every inch of their Shakespeare, the Russians know their Pushkin!
 
British should know every inch of their Shakespeare, the Russians know their Pushkin!

we should, but apart from the few plays of his i studied in school for O-levels back then, all the shakespeare I'm familiar with has been read much later in life. There are plenty who've never read a thing by him, seen a play, or even watched Shakespeare in Love on the telly.
 
we should, but apart from the few plays of his i studied in school for O-levels back then, all the shakespeare I'm familiar with has been read much later in life. There are plenty who've never read a thing by him, seen a play, or even watched Shakespeare in Love on the telly.

I haven't read every writer in every language, but Shakey probably makes them all look like amateur hour. That guy who wrote Gilgamesh down is an idiot, the Mahabharata is a hot mess. It's easy forgetting that bald-headed, earring wearing pinnacle of human creativity.
 
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