From time to time a poem

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

I sought, I found
But I did not find what I wanted.
Instead,
I find what they said I wanted.
I rebuked.
I hurled hard stones into the mirror.
Anger settled.
I started again.
And again.
Reincarnation of points of view.
The same story from a different author.
Re-lived, re-grieved, re-doubted my Self.

And then one day I spoke.

this pain will be mine in any and every reality that I have life
this world is cruel and unkind to those who are different and they will never know the endless quest for peace to be delivered from are darkness and only love will set us free that is my belief but I find myself forever alone with a sadness as vast as an eternal sea
-Trevor Mark Terry

Dont ever pretend to be my friend.
Loyalty i am glad to give but falseness I wont even lend.
A list of horrors is what my life can show.
Tragedy? Loss? The only wives I’ll ever know.
In the very few times
When the world was kind
I had a hopeful heart
And optimistic mind.
I still didnt delude myself, those days.
Life always returns to its wicked ways.
The very first goal to which i aspire
If you fck with me, youre fckng with fire.

As I stir my dirt.

There is a place, that we all find ourselves at times,
that never seems to be right when rhymed.
As I stir my dirt, some one will find rapture. The ground will quake and my heart aches as I begin to stir my dirt.
As I stir my dirt, some ones life has changed, this very night with all my might as I begin to fight- I stir my dirt right.
As I stir, some one will wear the earth, in a humble or non refundable way, as I slowly stir my dirt and turn it the other way.
Today, is a good day, I wonder what it will bring. A helpful tone or something that hurts? doesn't matter, it is today, so as I finish I'm reminded, stir the dirt.

Pastor Carlos

I wasn't really sure until now, Pastor Carlos. But yes sir, you are a real one. I still think youre too nice. But now i do believe that you werent always nice to everybody.

My face used to be so lovely back when i was youthful, innocent, full of faith

I was young and bold and adventurous and my confidence was near unshakable.

Time and time and time and loss they seem to have crept upon me like a wraith.

Am i more or less beautiful for having aged and having had to learn that i am breakable?

I dont despair of the loss of the child that i was for every child has got to grow.

Whether i have won or lost in love and life i have walked the road and earned my pains.

Im am now the keeper of insights and secrets that no little child could possibly know .

And it is a wizened adult who remains.

I have been wanting to post a couple poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on here, but thought it was more our poems on here. That was a good poem from Ehrmann. I've never heard of him, and will look into more of his works.

Wadsworth's Complete Works has been like a bible to me since my teens, and was inspiration to my own poems that I no longer write.

This one, "The Haunted Chamber" is a favorite.

Each heart has its haunted chamber,
Where the silent moonlight falls!
On the floor are mysterious footsteps,
There are whispers along the walls!

And mine at times is haunted
By phantoms of the Past
As motionless as shadows
By the silent moonlight cast.

A form sits by the window,
That is not seen by day,
For as soon as the dawn approaches
It vanishes away.

It sits there in the moonlight
Itself as pale and still,
And points with its airy finger
Across the window-sill.

Without before the window,
There stands a gloomy pine,
Whose boughs wave upward and downward
As wave these thoughts of mine.

And underneath its branches
Is the grave of a little child,
Who died upon life's threshold,
And never wept nor smiled.

What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
That haunt my troubled brain?
That vanish when day approaches,
And at night return again?

What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
But the statues without breath,
That stand on the bridge overarching
The silent river of death?

dwagoonie wrote: I have been wanting to post a couple poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on here, but thought it was more our poems on here. That was a good poem from Ehrmann. I've never heard of him, and will look into more of his works.

Wadsworth's Complete Works has been like a bible to me since my teens, and was inspiration to my own poems that I no longer write.

This one, "The Haunted Chamber" is a favorite.

Each heart has its haunted chamber,
Where the silent moonlight falls!
On the floor are mysterious footsteps,
There are whispers along the walls!

And mine at times is haunted
By phantoms of the Past
As motionless as shadows
By the silent moonlight cast.

A form sits by the window,
That is not seen by day,
For as soon as the dawn approaches
It vanishes away.

It sits there in the moonlight
Itself as pale and still,
And points with its airy finger
Across the window-sill.

Without before the window,
There stands a gloomy pine,
Whose boughs wave upward and downward
As wave these thoughts of mine.

And underneath its branches
Is the grave of a little child,
Who died upon life's threshold,
And never wept nor smiled.

What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
That haunt my troubled brain?
That vanish when day approaches,
And at night return again?

What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
But the statues without breath,
That stand on the bridge overarching
The silent river of death?

I wish i was so elegant. My writing is honest and i do have some skill but i still cant do that. I haven't read this one before, thank you for sharing.

Please forgive the language.


Momma’s dead and Daddys’ dead and im out here quite alone
Got no aunts and got no uncles got no place that counts as home
Does it come as a surprise
That theres some hate behind my eyes?
Been chewed on up and spit on out but Im still standing on my own.

If you think im just dramatic: fuck you, you wouldnt trade
All of yours for all my circumstances
And the choices we’ve both made
I am hurting and im hostile and I cant seem to bridge the distance
Between you and me
Who we each could be
And who we are in any given instance.

Im not evil but im angry - there’s still goodness in my heart.
But im so damned used to trouble i just expect trouble to start.
Friends?
You have friends?
You know what friends have been to me?
Friends are those who make you vulnerable to treachery.

Love?
Whats love?
Did you ever love a drug addicted whore?
No right to blame her for what she does but she sure does it, more and more and more and more.
Or what is love when your lousy love has broke your lover’s heart?
When the only love that you can give is love that tears your love apart?

Family?
What is family when it busts you in the eye?
When those supposed to protect you swat you down and stomp you where you lie?
But hey its kind of cool to get whopped and knocked on top your head.
When youve survived your shit split open knowing someone weaker might be dead.

I regret im not the easy going gentle soul Id like to be
Ive been kicked enough that being kicked has gnarled and twisted me.
Most of you cant understand - i didnt make me, I was made
From my very very early years
My nursemaid’s milk was spite and tears
And cruel assaults and injuries that will never be repaid.

I admit that yes, Ive gone too far - im now offended by lovely things
I can despise lovely women’s eyes and i can hate the sight of wedding rings
The last bit of love and hope I had i bet it all on red
Well that was pretty stupid - did you ever never really care if you woke up god-damned dead?