Friends Forever There is so much Darkness Often times it comes along tied to The Vibrant and The Beautiful, Sometimes in such stark contrast That neither would be either Without the other. And pleasing to the eye, if and only All the colors bleed into the lonely shadows, they run away down rosy cheeks In hidden tears and hallows And like they say, it is shades of gray Between the likes of wishful thinking and Fears for tomorrow wasted on Today. Now Water falling down like silver beaded rosaries before they hit the ground, adorns a chain and forms a lace cascading from my lashes to my chin, and on my face he soon mistook my tears for the rain, and thought he saw a grin. And on his brow a rising doubt it came. He could not see the movement in my lips. My mouth was wet with broken letters, I was not prepared myself to let him in. and now the beads had turned to molten pellets forging branded scars on tender skin. Who is to say a Jealous Heart is Sin? Or is it merely Shame forgiving Agony within? An Inner Alchemy, the art of making Precious Metals out of tin. The Copper Stop for when emotion floods The circuit-box, A Heart of Gold for when The Ones We Love are down and desperate, Cold. If you would only listen, perhaps you’d see, We’re not so different, you and me. In fact we’re much the same. The Spirit of Companionship Needs not an image Nor a name.
Friends Forever (part 2), Perspective of the Individual The Deepest Love is Precious Metal It may not always look like gold but when it starts to settle in the ground, it bends it gives it Shines like sunlight laying down Look around! A different sky in every eye, a different story, different town in every humble sigh and every sound i make, is free to take and make of it what you might make. For heaven's sake, this Fate is mine, and by my Will is bound in space and time. but i can relate... The Fullest Faith is wishing on a star, and forgetting about an answer (and for the moment, who you are) and when it comes, you might have cancer or get hit by a car. And is there someone for whom you care? To have bedside, and when you stare into the mystery, abyss of Empty Space and on your face, i see you are only guessing. Concepts cant compare to thunders crashing in the air, tepid ocean waters coalescing. How hard is it to see? The star I wished upon is Me! Simply Free not bound by planetary gravity. Gravitas I have power on my own. but here without you, I have shown (myself), that none of this would have been in the first place. And when i see that look on her face, she says, Babe: Your a Cosmos with in a cosmos within a cosmos within a cosmos within a codsmouth within a codsmouth within a codsmouth within a Cod Codswollop! Its an infinite regression, but for everyone's protection I wont tell you that we all evolved from a fish. (but now I did, evolution is like a ressurection, a residue of Gods Erection) and now eat them as a dish and so did they they! (or was it we?) They chase their young and pr(e/a)y on them in the deep blue sea. Much the same, the mental games we play, we weed the week as food for thought and slowly we believe. And if our games should differ, can we invent a new one and pretend? It could turn out to shape us in the end. But now I'm getting sentimental (you know who you are) Friends aren't guaranteed to last forever.
I posted these three poems a year ago when i wrote them, but im posting them again. They are an abstract story about a year in my life and my loved ones that truly tested the strength of Will. Reading them again, the theme of life, death and rebirth came to mind. A common theme, but used metaphorically, the roles are often interchangeable.. Like most people, I tend to think of my life linearly, since its the only one I can be sure I have (and even that I question sometimes). All the while, the life cycle continues. In many ways, a metaphor is more to the point than a definite statement, since anything we express in language is conjecture. I feel these poems associate more with the cycle of seasons, the birth/death of the earth every year (although personally the first 2 poems remind me of the last weeks of winter) Clearly, finding a way to get ones own emotions and experience in touch with the rhythms of our natural environment can be profoundly healing. Poetry is one way to do that, to connect ones own memories with a larger cycle in which we all play a part, like it or not. Some of us just get by playing our part. Some take on a role. Others dance. Gentle Little Fears A brazen lamplit, Serene scene like herring swimming schools; and clouds upon clouds, billowing. A frenzied swarm. Take it now and shall we weep? Or clothes knit warm, Where closet keeps The memories torn and tattered, worn And glasses shattered by A cross blown horn, yes eardrums Trembling Behind slippery tears of moonlight; Milky, gentle little fears Of the night. Quiet Little Tears Quiet little tears, ain’t so quiet After-all They do fall upon fertile ground In the aftermath of tragedy, In the wake of despair When death has succumbed to decay, What remains? A soil so rich to grow the sweetest plantains! And so, quiet tears do not fall on deaf ears, But instead come to pass In the mourning’s Pouring Rain. Flowers of the Spring O flowers of the spring Please grace me with the song you sing! Wearing on your painted pedals, The promise of the sun in coming days. Write my wrongs in whisper'd song, Color me in Cherry bubble presence like a bottle of champagne And orange juice on a summer’s afternoon
Forlorn are drained shores alas, a loss for tides once built adrift, the boats that travel by morning shifts harboring a traitor one last lingering notion of vanity. divinely instructed favor, self conducted love of labor definition of the brow became his savior he sets a seperate sail for distant seas and empires the crimson birds of heavens wail their cries heard 'cross skies of snow swiftly brought by dragons-breast consumed within the fiery nest crevices and crags protecting tender serpent beds below, they bestow a land whose shapen shores in scope and scale for the massing hoards and man and beast alike will roam and listen for the raging lions distant roar.
Lost in thought on the dreamland planes I fly so helpless, alienated from the gate the gate to consciousness, so far away Soon the morning come, not far away I haven't much time to return to my form but when nightfall comes back, I'll see you once more. And I was Three Light Bodies. Beholding and Unfolding into Several Forms Once beheld, soon expelled, lost forgotten behind the door; beside the windowpane I've shattered so many times before. But i never did set fire to the curtains. because that would make my mama really angry I would never hear the end.
So many miles and the curvature of space I look around this darken'd place and stare for a while at the Sephelrode's face But the poor Sephel's road is all Winding and Binding The Devil's abode, well they say the stay be grinding. And finding a way thro' the twisted and tamarack; bramble and blazing the steeps of adirondacks The fields need be tilled for the bounty of Iron and Lumber To grow in the groves & the caves down below where the slaves lay their heads and their children on pillows of stone. Feather-light souls, with heavy blankets of bodies encumbered by the nagging of fear that their days may be numbered.
Hot Pain like the warm sticky ooze after a summer rain. downtown jazzy nightime blues and the sidewalk stained with a half-dead orange blooded painted like a man who was just murdered in cold and bitter taste. but for ending it all he calls you a saint. who knows? he could have been great or a flop, maybe not its a rock hard place between living and dying, a race to be the one left alone on a hot sticky summer night and the scream of the city sirens rustle of vehicles edging along their masters on tiptoe, faces hidden by tinted windows. Watching, Watching all around protecting their deepest desires from being found, be they discovered the fear they may drown in the shame of a gift such as living consumed in a compromise; such is the premise of pain.
I really like and agree with this statement "Poetry is one way to do that, to connect ones own memories with a larger cycle in which we all play a part, like it or not. Some of us just get by playing our part. Some take on a role. Others dance." Hot Pain was great, made me think of Memphis. But one thing stood out -- In my mind "rain" and "sticky ooze" don't fit, that kind of threw me off at the beginning. But the rest of the poem was interesting, I like your themes.
thanks for the compliment. yeah, i can see how that doesnt work for some people. the imagery i was going for was like the summer rain in the city, downtown, where it washes all the garbage and grime into the gutters, and theres just that muddy filth in every crevice. picture a disgruntled employee taking throwing away the leftovers from a restaurant, hauling out garbage bags in the rain. his face is a mix of sweat and rain and all the sudden one of the bag splits oben, and all the nasty juices run down the alley way into the street. everyone just walks around it but at the end of the day, theres that gooey, stinky black/brown ooze stuck in the grooves on the soles of his shoes. maybe a week old wad of already chewed gum too. i also was kind of going for the juxtaposition of an image of gentle beauty (summer rain) and one of gentle disgust(warm sticky ooze). perhaps i could have drawn a better association, but i'm satisfied. thats why its cool to have a forum to discuss and explain! glad i decided to do this, it can only help improve the craft
Haha actually reading THAT description made me cringe with disgust! Good job! Maybe you could try out doing some prose stuff, more description, more concrete.
I like the subtle rhyme. I see what you meant about the lions and roaring "he sets a seperate sail for distant seas and empires" -- real nice alliteration here.
Oh, i do write prose. i just can never stick to a plot line. mainly, i am a songwriter and poetry really helps my overall craft.. maybe i'll post some more stories or philosophy i've written but its all unfinished
