There was a story behind them...... It was a lost love.
Do we have a poetry corner or something similar here?
- Thread starter Gingerbread Demon
- Start date
There was a story behind them...... It was a lost love.
Fine. Have at thee!
Chrome Heart
Chrome Heart!
Order yours today
Burnished gilt
Warranty included
Ready to wear
No polish necessary
Durable, and so
Quiet,
Your friends won't know
It's not real.
Chrome Heart
Chrome Heart!
Order yours today
Burnished gilt
Warranty included
Ready to wear
No polish necessary
Durable, and so
Quiet,
Your friends won't know
It's not real.
Dance
If I tangoed
Up to you
Would you waltz
In my company
Would we trip
The light fantastic
Or would you stand
Against the wall
Afraid to join
In the symphony -
Doesn't matter
Because
I can't
Dance.
If I tangoed
Up to you
Would you waltz
In my company
Would we trip
The light fantastic
Or would you stand
Against the wall
Afraid to join
In the symphony -
Doesn't matter
Because
I can't
Dance.
Late
I stay up late
With dripping rain for company
In a shrinking square box
While others sleep
Dreaming of things
That aren't there
And I read
And I read
The Book of Night
With Moon.
I stay up late
With dripping rain for company
In a shrinking square box
While others sleep
Dreaming of things
That aren't there
And I read
And I read
The Book of Night
With Moon.
Touch
I can’t touch you without wondering if you’ll scream
This time.
I’m too timid, now, to reach for you at night.
Knowing what can happen
The wrong word
An accidental sound
The simplest positioning
Of bodies
And you’re off
And running
Running away from me
Crawling back inside yourself
Again
Until you remember where you are
– Not there –
You remember who you’re with
– Not them –
You’re safe again
Sane again
Sorry
Again
Until the next time.
I can’t touch you without wondering if you’ll scream
This time.
I’m too timid, now, to reach for you at night.
Knowing what can happen
The wrong word
An accidental sound
The simplest positioning
Of bodies
And you’re off
And running
Running away from me
Crawling back inside yourself
Again
Until you remember where you are
– Not there –
You remember who you’re with
– Not them –
You’re safe again
Sane again
Sorry
Again
Until the next time.
I recently entered a poetry competition, and put together four old poems into a quartet because they have similar themes about time and life. Some are 25 years old.
Time & Dreams - A Quartet
In Recent Dreams
The Shores of Days
The Dreaming King
The Museum of Light
In Recent Dreams
In recent dreams I’ve walked ancient streets,
Rough cobbled and so rain worn,
Stood to one side for modern wheels
That throw old dust so high.
In recent dreams I’ve stood on a lost palace floor
And smoked a Cuban cigar,
Still tasting its deep strong flavour
When I woke in new daylight.
I’m not lost in the past, it’s just a new place,
Seeking streets and homes and faces
That are old beyond my experience,
That bring flesh and blood to the shape of words:
A breath of God animates the glyphs.
In recent dreams I rode Boreas to Crete,
And watched Ariadne dance again,
While the Minotaur hid in his maze,
Lusting for the next moon’s victim.
In recent dreams I borrowed Icarus-wings
And overflew lost Thera,
Saw Minos dragged down with his Atlantis,
Leaving Hellenes on high.
Time’s endless shoals have no clear maps,
Or cameras to capture the myriad ways.
Revelations bared in the levels of Troy,
Each one different, burnt colour change
In subtle shades of weary soil.
In recent dreams I’ve crossed the later Med,
Heard sailors sing the ‘Odyssey’,
Talk in awe of ancestors’ swords and oars,
And where the winds had driven them.
In recent dreams I’ve seen the might-have-beens,
If wise men had not fallen for the trap
Of a bountiful island, surrounded by bright sea,
And white hot stone poison in its heart.
The Shores of Other Days
The shores of other days
The cliffs of other years
Chasing dreams that never stop,
The horizon never nears
Lost on some dark journey
And memory has blurred,
Maps now have their own agenda
Only distant voices heard.
Monkey ever on my back,
Bad habits hard to shake
Holding broken icons to my heart,
Leaving wrecked hopes in my wake.
All this youth stone-drops away
Wasted on lost, gone causes
Time's in motion, faster,
The rushing future never pauses.
Mind locked, inarticulate.
Muffled, whispered lines
Losing all the messages
Paying all the fines.
Silenced and deserted,
Bleeding and alone,
And love's poverty is ever close,
And cutting to the bone.
One more turn upon the wheel,
One more breath to draw,
Until the next time, the next life,
When I knock upon your door.
Until then, old friend, roads part now,
And I head to different lands,
We'll meet there, far-somewhere-else,
Higher mountains, and warmer sands.
The Dreaming King
He sleeps, and knows he sleeps,
His dreams about dreams.
His arms are sheathed, his armour gone,
The world moved on, a longer peace.
He said to call him, in greatest need,
But they never did, they never did,
And he did not mind, he never did,
Because it allowed him to dream.
And he dreams he dreams
Of better days, of endless summer light
When brief peace then went ever on
No need for drawn swords.
He is silent, there’s nothing left
No armour, no rictus smile
The grave forgotten, the castle razed,
And the nation something new.
But he lives in the hearts of everyone,
They know he can be called.
And in his peace, he dreams he dreams,
And in his dreams there's peace.
The Museum of Light
From then to now, those moments caught,
From then to now, the pose forever held,
Now pinned and mounted in this space,
Different walls and different worlds.
The photos of the ever-present,
Of all the different, shifting pasts,
And on the moving screen, bright lit
At twenty two frames a second.
The dreams of the world as it was,
Captured in stiff faces, tight clothes,
The world they thought was unchanging,
Now fades in sepia tones.
And fantastic steam-driven engines,
Long rust, still glow as new,
Proud makers stand beside them,
Grandchildren their true remembrance.
A million images captured
And locked in the Museum of Light.
We cruise the dusty spaces,
Never knowing all their stories.
Through the skylights, floors above,
Bars of pure sun fill the room;
The dust flares and swirls and sparkles
And makes these prisoners real.
From then to now, and that was there,
From then to now, and we are here,
Life captured, though the years long gone,
Kept safe in the Museum of Light.
Time & Dreams - A Quartet
In Recent Dreams
The Shores of Days
The Dreaming King
The Museum of Light
In Recent Dreams
In recent dreams I’ve walked ancient streets,
Rough cobbled and so rain worn,
Stood to one side for modern wheels
That throw old dust so high.
In recent dreams I’ve stood on a lost palace floor
And smoked a Cuban cigar,
Still tasting its deep strong flavour
When I woke in new daylight.
I’m not lost in the past, it’s just a new place,
Seeking streets and homes and faces
That are old beyond my experience,
That bring flesh and blood to the shape of words:
A breath of God animates the glyphs.
In recent dreams I rode Boreas to Crete,
And watched Ariadne dance again,
While the Minotaur hid in his maze,
Lusting for the next moon’s victim.
In recent dreams I borrowed Icarus-wings
And overflew lost Thera,
Saw Minos dragged down with his Atlantis,
Leaving Hellenes on high.
Time’s endless shoals have no clear maps,
Or cameras to capture the myriad ways.
Revelations bared in the levels of Troy,
Each one different, burnt colour change
In subtle shades of weary soil.
In recent dreams I’ve crossed the later Med,
Heard sailors sing the ‘Odyssey’,
Talk in awe of ancestors’ swords and oars,
And where the winds had driven them.
In recent dreams I’ve seen the might-have-beens,
If wise men had not fallen for the trap
Of a bountiful island, surrounded by bright sea,
And white hot stone poison in its heart.
The Shores of Other Days
The shores of other days
The cliffs of other years
Chasing dreams that never stop,
The horizon never nears
Lost on some dark journey
And memory has blurred,
Maps now have their own agenda
Only distant voices heard.
Monkey ever on my back,
Bad habits hard to shake
Holding broken icons to my heart,
Leaving wrecked hopes in my wake.
All this youth stone-drops away
Wasted on lost, gone causes
Time's in motion, faster,
The rushing future never pauses.
Mind locked, inarticulate.
Muffled, whispered lines
Losing all the messages
Paying all the fines.
Silenced and deserted,
Bleeding and alone,
And love's poverty is ever close,
And cutting to the bone.
One more turn upon the wheel,
One more breath to draw,
Until the next time, the next life,
When I knock upon your door.
Until then, old friend, roads part now,
And I head to different lands,
We'll meet there, far-somewhere-else,
Higher mountains, and warmer sands.
The Dreaming King
He sleeps, and knows he sleeps,
His dreams about dreams.
His arms are sheathed, his armour gone,
The world moved on, a longer peace.
He said to call him, in greatest need,
But they never did, they never did,
And he did not mind, he never did,
Because it allowed him to dream.
And he dreams he dreams
Of better days, of endless summer light
When brief peace then went ever on
No need for drawn swords.
He is silent, there’s nothing left
No armour, no rictus smile
The grave forgotten, the castle razed,
And the nation something new.
But he lives in the hearts of everyone,
They know he can be called.
And in his peace, he dreams he dreams,
And in his dreams there's peace.
The Museum of Light
From then to now, those moments caught,
From then to now, the pose forever held,
Now pinned and mounted in this space,
Different walls and different worlds.
The photos of the ever-present,
Of all the different, shifting pasts,
And on the moving screen, bright lit
At twenty two frames a second.
The dreams of the world as it was,
Captured in stiff faces, tight clothes,
The world they thought was unchanging,
Now fades in sepia tones.
And fantastic steam-driven engines,
Long rust, still glow as new,
Proud makers stand beside them,
Grandchildren their true remembrance.
A million images captured
And locked in the Museum of Light.
We cruise the dusty spaces,
Never knowing all their stories.
Through the skylights, floors above,
Bars of pure sun fill the room;
The dust flares and swirls and sparkles
And makes these prisoners real.
From then to now, and that was there,
From then to now, and we are here,
Life captured, though the years long gone,
Kept safe in the Museum of Light.
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Q.E.D. #47
The problem with poetry threads is that they often degenerate into battles between the people actually trying to share art, and those determined to demonstrate their wit, in the mistaken belief that they have some.
The problem with poetry threads is that they often degenerate into battles between the people actually trying to share art, and those determined to demonstrate their wit, in the mistaken belief that they have some.
Not in my experience. I've participated in all kinds of poetry threads on this BBS, haiku ones, spontaneous ones, Star Trek poetry thread which was a hoot. I've never seen what you describe.
So did you like my poem or not?
I know that it did not have snot.
Maybe you just don't care,
Or you're not self-aware,
But this kind of doggerel's rot.
I know that it did not have snot.
Maybe you just don't care,
Or you're not self-aware,
But this kind of doggerel's rot.
I finally get to be an Art Snob. I may have to buy a turtleneck.
Not sure what you're getting at here?
I'm not reviewing every single poem, I'm reading them and chatting
Had something to say to @Australis about some line in his but the phone rang and now I've lost my place.
Also where the heck is @Mr. Laser Beam with the puns
I'm not reviewing every single poem, I'm reading them and chatting
Had something to say to @Australis about some line in his but the phone rang and now I've lost my place.Also where the heck is @Mr. Laser Beam with the puns
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But that makes them fun.........
Stars
For we are made of stuff
The same stuff as made of stars
That arises a magical spark
That gives us life and breath
For the stars are the stuff we are
And we return to them at our last breath
And are reborn as new life to fill the world anew
And grow old and repeat the cycle
(c)2018
For we are made of stuff
The same stuff as made of stars
That arises a magical spark
That gives us life and breath
For the stars are the stuff we are
And we return to them at our last breath
And are reborn as new life to fill the world anew
And grow old and repeat the cycle
(c)2018
Which like was i-- SQUIRREL!
You'd totally squirrel if you saw a squirrel
You'd totally squirrel if you saw a squirrel
I thought you'd go nuts if you saw a squirrel
It would be a very serious ecological situation..
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