From time to time a poem

 
 
Trees
 
Most die when you move them
i thrive
I need to return home
Knowing full well i shall lose everything
that we were and never will be
 
"Just love him"
The voice never fades
My roots slowly return to the soil
where i was planted
Leaves move in the wind as
voices try to persuade
But its the Silence
that is crushing the last hopes
 
"Just love him"
I shall as i disapear in the Forest
where i will remain
providing oxygen , serving nature
Unavailable to anything
that tries to cut me down
A voice whispers more pressing than ever
 
"Just love him"
As my leaves fall to the ground
 
Marta Lina Thomassen

I make my own path
Where none may follow
Because it is for my steps only
None may mirror
For I leave no sense of my passing
Yet the wind knows me
The sun bathes me
The trees greet me
The earth supports me
For I blend so truly with each element
That my passage is mistaken for life
Lifeforce binds us
No space between
We are one
I am alone
Yet never lonley
I am yet I am not
My beat is felt only throughout the universe
Recognised only in rhythm with the circle of life.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

BY ROBERT FROST

POEM, REVISED DRAFT, taken from "You Took The Last Bus Home: The Poems of Brian Bilston"

I had to write this poem again.
I left the first draft on the train
and now it doesn't look the same.

The original was a paean to Love,
to Truth, to Beauty. It soared above
the everyday and all that stuff.

It would have healed estranged lovers' rifts,
stilled the sands on which time shifts
and stopped the world before it drifts

further into quagmired crisis,
ended famine, toppled ISIS,
employed ingenious literary devices.

I tried my hardest to recall
its words and rhymes, the rise and fall
of the carefully cadenced crawl

through the English language.
But it caused me pain and anguish
for there was little I could salvage.

It certainly didn't end with a line like this.

WILD GEESE, by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Read carefully before you send angry internal mail please...
____

REFUGEES, by Brian Bilston

They have no need of our help
So do not tell me
These haggard faces could belong to you or me
Should life have dealt a different hand
We need to see them for who they really are
Chancers and scroungers
Layabouts and loungers
With bombs up their sleeves
Cut-throats and thieves
They are not
Welcome here
We should make them
Go back to where they came from
They cannot
Share our food
Share our homes
Share our countries
Instead let us
Build a wall to keep them out
It is not okay to say
These are people just like us
A place should only belong to those who are born there
Do not be so stupid to think that
The world can be looked at another way

(now read from bottom to top)

Haiku by Patricia Davis (from today's Haikuniverse):

low buzz
the bee's universe
hums through thyme

Art is pointless, Jasmine Kay Uy

Compare reading the left side, then the left and right together. Have a creative day, temple

Fatally Incompatible

He could not hold me
if it was all
he ever wanted

we never met
we never will

Worlds apart
and ever drifting
further and further

While i cling to the threads
of what i wanted us to be

~Serenity

The Simple Things
by Edgar A. Guest

I would not be too wise--so very wise
That I must sneer at simple songs and creeds,
And let the glare of wisdom blind my eyes
To humble people and their humble needs.

I would not care to climb so high that I
Could never hear the children at their play,
Could only see the people passing by,
And never hear the cheering words they say.

I would not know too much--too much to smile
At trivial errors of the heart and hand,
Nor be too proud to play the friend the while,
Nor cease to help and know and understand.

I would not care to sit upon a throne,
Or build my house upon a mountain-top,
Where I must dwell in glory all alone
And never friend come in or poor man stop.

God grant that I may live upon this earth
And face the tasks which every morning brings
And never lose the glory and the worth
Of humble service and the simple things.

Finished today from the draft of my novel: A Character Talks About Rationality at a Bar

People promote reasoning à la carte; for rationality is not the start.
From the non-rational we have feeling; emotions are facts, and they're revealing,
these we rationalise and justify; our feelings with reasoning do ally.
The want to rationalise is desire; they both, the non-and-rational, require,
one another, they arise mutually; they're distinct, two sides of the same coin, see?
Rationalising what's not rational; is the best way to be irrational.
Why do you want to drink?, because it's fun; that's feeling, we also get to know one,
another, this is a reason we use. The quickest way the rational will lose,
is when it grapples the non-rational; why some feeling?, this ideational,
decoding of our experience can't; with rational comprehension supplant,
our qualitative existence, in this; rational thinking falls in an abyss.
It's like taking and breaking a squiggle; with a net of squares, thus on this wiggle,
order is imposed onto chaos and; likewise the rational, though thinking grand, thinks it answers itself, but a model; always subtracts from the world we noddle

Prayer is like watching for the
Kingfisher. All you can do is
Be there where he is like to appear, and
Wait.
Often nothing much happens;
There is space, silence and
Expectancy.
No visible signs, only the
Knowledge that he’s been there
And may come again.
Seeing or not seeing cease to matter,
You have been prepared
But when you’ve almost stopped
Expecting it, a flash of brightness
Gives encouragement.

Ann Lewin - Waiting for the Kingfisher, Disclosure

Sinking beneath falling inside
A warm embrace, a familiar path,
Well travelled
Pain, its hot and bright
Striking bursts of light
Darkness seeps out
To splatter
It engulfs the moment
Shields your eyes
Colours the world.
And your heart stops.
A clock run down
A stalled train
A puff of smoke
A line
Chasing that dragon into the emptiness that is your mind, your heart, your soul
Craving
Emptiness
Craving
Nothingness
Craving
Eternal sleep
Just a little pain
Then no more...
No more

The Illustrated Girl
Fox1

The illustrated girl sat on the step,
as I was walking by my eyes fixed kept
staring wide open on two dice drawn
on her back, almost posing for me, gone
was my sense of time, dice began ticking
under the hand of a voluptuous blonde sitting
in glass, smiling at me, then winking,
avoiding a flirt with an artist rendition
of fantasy, I try to turn, but fixed intuition,
I must look further into the illustration.

Now all I see is this etching on the back,
of a beautiful girl, her back muscles track
with my steadfast eyes never twitching
away, moving the scenes as stories bewitching
unfold before me, pulling me in to her
tempting me, to the blonde in the glass stir
the dice, I fall into the story, casino sounds
and laughter seep into my mind, bounds
to Vegas fantasy drunken gamblers on
hot showgirls flaunting over money gone.

The blonde in the glass tells me to enter
into her world and let go of my center,
to embrace her body drenched in drinking,
as the dice rolls on the long table clicking.
She holds me tight, my breath strains
under her strong embrace, try to maintain
composure, try to escape, jolted tear
back to the steps at the park where I stare
at the girl's toned back, drawings of dice
now silent and still in the curious entice.
I walk to see the illustrated girl's face
warm smile greeting, my reluctant embrace.

Fox1

Goth Girl
by Fox1


She greeted me first, she sat alone,
in dark afternoon shadows atone
in her eyes, "Don't be afraid", she said,
Did it show?, I thought, caught, instead
of passing, I stopped and approached her...

She asked softly for me to sit
for a moment, Goth girls scare the wits
out of me, but subtle enticed to get closer,
my fear gave way to sensuality, chose her,
fantasies bloom in my head, can't think,
I need to run away, to clear my link
to reality, she spoke slowly,
I froze, not able to move wholly.

She asked to be taken to a bar,
I believe I responded, my mind afar,
"Just around the corner." she whispered,
in my silent ear, I nearly floated, secured
not within, as she removed the key
to the Gothic bar behind the first alley,
tucked between two gothic steeples.
She opened the door to darkened people...

She introduced me to her Goth girl friends,
I was polite and strained a smile bends,
They touched me and held me and gave me a drink,
but instead of affection, it seemed longing, think,
I need to leave, surrounded by manipulation,
I was held down to a chair, no comfort, compulsion
to fight, to get up and escape, her soft voice, "Relax,
and stay for a while", she laughed, english lacks,
in a small Romanian accent.... I deepen dread...

"Don't you remember, my darling?"
There was silence, like a wasp sting,
in my chest, I felt knots in my gut,
tighten, and fear in my throat, cut
my sense of reality to dark-light images,
"See, my sweet," old accent encourages,
Did I know them from a distant time?
How could I forget such a wondrous sign,
of dark friendship creamy soft luring sublime?

"Close your eyes and look into your deepest soul,
unmask your self in your darkest role,
for you are our Lord, our loving master
for we adore you... your heart beats faster,
I can hear it, breath my love, conceive your purpose,
control your desire, endure your hunger, your thirst does
drive you to settle your debts, your enemies bow
before you, we will fight for you and never allow
them to tread, to crush your kind nature."

I listened to her soothing voice, feelings
moving inside, I stood from the chair, reeling
with thoughts, I walked to the door,
the exit, my escape, freedom from goth lore,
My hand supported my weight against the frame
of the doorway, outside was my normal sane
reality, frozen, not moving, only thoughts streaming
in, I waited and saw, I breathed and knew, steaming
was my skin, moist hot, I turned and looked into
her eyes, and smiled, and came back in, to
the Goth bar where I sat and recalled old
times suppressed, undressed I felt, newly bold....

Alexandre Orion,
Mao Alpha is absolutely beautiful! Thank you for sharing.
- Cassiopeia

User22414 wrote:

Attachment fatalyincompatable.jpg not found

Fatally Incompatible

He could not hold me
if it was all
he ever wanted

we never met
we never will

Worlds apart
and ever drifting
further and further

While i cling to the threads
of what i wanted us to be

~Serenity

I came to this thread because i found a cool-ass poem that i wanted to share. But then i saw this post and i had to respond to it. I remember you, “User22414”, and this picture that you put here is exactly how i always imagined you. I don't know the specific details of why you left but what i do know is that i have a great deal of affection for you and that i miss you. I dont think you’ll ever see this but this is for you, inspired by your poem...

The curse of those of us who love
Is that loves’ so often unrequited
The curse of passion’s that its uncontrolled
and usually uninvited
The curse of hoping’s that it leaves
Hearts exposed to being slighted
The curse of being tender is
that we’re the one who’ll be ignited.

And burned

We’ve been here many times and yet
It seems the lessons’ are never learned
We’re angry at empty apologies
And sick of being spurned
The more we give the more we know
That through pain our rewards will eventually be earned
And that our failures have built up the credit
To cover the bonds for which we’ve yearned

Found this, recently. Thought it was a good fit...

The More Loving One

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

Whatever was meant to happen
Whatever was meant to be
In the end what really matters
is just you ...and me

If i could just find you
Id hold and remind you
How I once loved every inch of your skin
We cant change the past but the future? Alas -
If I had the chance to just love you again
There is no need to cling onto trivial things
I’ve released all but my memories of you
You may never know but wherever you go
A part of me will be going there, too