%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |   "Scattered leaved with poetic imprints." My new collection of poetry. |
|
P.(tree)Log ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Well, it's now mid- 2019 and this is still the only book I use to house part of my new poetry. I began using it years ago due to a lack of storage space in my over-700 item WDC portfolio. I really need to do some spring, summer, fall and winter cleaning. There are still lots of static items which have never received any mention by other members here. But that's part of the problem of being a writer ( musician, artist, actor ... ). I do not know how to network. Thanks for discovering this link. Please leave a comment. Bookmark it, please.... This is a writing site and not FarceBrook where it's so easy just to press the button "LIKE." (( And I am not a fan of the fact that WDC has added it. )) |
| Am trudging through his "The Waste Land" and not enjoying my lack of English Lit references. So, I'm not enjoying the masterpiece that is certainly this poem. But, I have taken the fourth section, "Death by Water" and used it to write a homage to a long lost lover of mine. Here is the original: Death by Water Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell And the profit and loss. A current under sea Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell He passes the stages of his age and youth Entering the whirlpool. Gentile or Jew O you who turn the wheel and look windward, Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you. I call after thee, Claus, dead these two decades, the spirit of Berlin still runs silently in my veins I forget neither the wall nor the rift that pried us apart my mourning is a tsunami of pain my whispering cannot caress your bones, they tell me not which oak tree shades your eternity and I, drowning in the last photo of your ageless beauty plunge into the whirlpool of the past and present of your life your death takes me across the River Styxx you are my helmsman, forever… do not forget this man named Claus he was more beautiful than them all “death by water” [2011.23.1…a] |
floating continents caress the sky a last homage to a horizon ablaze in sunset the chatter of the wind and rain comes and goes as gray paints the evening's darkening only the birds understand its melody answering quietly as they nest I, calmed by the serenity bathing my ears, doze off, my head lazy on the pillow my eyes graced by hazy waterfalls and vast african plains continents [2011.13.1...a] |
| ...but there was a message I needed to send. It's in a static of its own, and I'd appreciated RRR if you've got the time. Here's the text: they smile, decorated by the cloaks of angels the trees sway under merry whiteness and just for a perfect while, the mountains emerge a halcyon of glistening, as a ray of sunlight makes the holidays sparkle with their forgotten childhood joy; sadness disappears for they remember gay yesteryears filled with stocking-hung fireplaces, and they unwrap the heaviness of todays and tomorrows like snow-covered gifts; they are men and women with youthful souls caught in falling dreams of december — let them wake slowly to the quiet call of the snow their heartbeats drumming from the gifts of prayer “...and they have escaped the weight of darkness” [2010. 28.12...a] after the music of Ólafur Arnalds from his album of the same name http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QY4NZuOFebU&feature=player_embedded (Thank you Mandy) A poem written for "Invalid Item" 
|
sexy and unique, unctuous Dulsão do Brasil capsules for special moments of inebriation (exit the morning hangover) enter Arabica, Volluto, contented-ness... pressed, oh! under the grand piano! Star((even more popular)cappucci no))Bucks’ worldly brews like Lat(ter Day Saints tea-totaling) thé (à la menthe) morning-noon-night fix, overdose straight from the pot, café au lait — olé hombre (George, Saint Peter hallucination) what else? it’s not just black [2010.27.11…a] à la e.e.cummings |
An experiment with a Moiré form. I've written a Shakespearean Sonnet, abba, cddc, effe, gg and rearranged the lines so the poem has twelve and not fourteen lines. Thus the rhymes do not fall at the end of each line, but at the end of each group of five iambs. The colors will help see the original sonnet structure. a happenstance I dreamed of broken strings, upon Static Item: "Invalid Item" by A Guest Visitor Written for "Invalid Item" by A Guest Visitor |
sleep, that delicious state of nothingness where anything can bypass the rainy evening blues wind songs tempt the chimes of my heart I fall into the caress of midnight’s inky depth gladly partaking in the respite slumber grants later the wind will brew intimate news friends tell me in secret their smiles illuminating my unconscious memory later the chimes will resonate our laughter into peals of color trapped behind my eyes and their silent imagination when I wake, a new bittersweet day fills my patience with rain splattered window panes, where the fog of other dreams presents itself as the day's new companion a dream [2010.12.11...a] I posted the opening lines last night as a lyrical "good night" post on FarceBrook. Finished, this morning, originally as a RAOP for my blog. I decided no blogging today. So it's here! |
| Here's the latest poem for my new contest. I'll leave it here, as well as put in the static item link, for those curious enough to want to rate it for my statistics. The contest asked for a Janaku poem. One of these silly forms with three-line stanzas, and growing word counts for each line. Since the basic object of this contest is short poems of no more than twelve lines, we could only write four stanzas of these little Janaku poems. Thus only twenty-four words. I had an idea on waking this morning. (the form does NOT inspire me) How to take the word "time" and tranform it into "death." Well, after a lot of making my grey matter melt, here's what I came up with: time ultimately stills waltzing beyond hope memories hover quietly breaking endless days old tattered scrapbooks yellow and wither sunset’s irreverent prayers fade into death after the last sunset [2010.7.11...a] Written using the Janaku form (three lines of one, two and three words respectively) "Invalid Item" by A Guest Visitor |
You'll have to click on the link. I prefer comments in the Static Item in the form of reviews, as I've entered this in a new contest.
|
night has not yet imprinted darkness everywhere, a soft sleepy royal blue touches the horizon, the dreams yet to birth from footpaths crackling over dead oak leaves covering lawns abandoned to a slight drizzle sunset's revolution has colored the sky with its brief acquarelle apparition now, stars compete with lone street lights solitary sentinels for each block yet there are no shadows to capture fear though no one walks under umbrellas the wet fall evening allows us indoor pleasures behind gaily lit fireplaces, we seek warm human companionship, families and couples slowly, the sky blackens and cloud cover heightens the darkness midnight chimes and the lamp post guards the dreams that emboss a palette of hope upon the ordinary contentment of our lives the lamp post [2010.24.10…a] for Kåre |
my teardrops have no magic like those of the phoenix weakness agitates my heart beats my own extinction hovers, inevitable I have no dream of eternity wearily, I dry my eyes my descant drowned in bittersweet liquor or colored tablets swilled solemnly sedation never calms the ache which, at the next groggy dawn wakes with as much sorrow as the day I said farewell with the frozen grief of a single rose abandoned on your tombstone as much sorrow [2010.13.10...a] |
my love, let me become your ghost a frame more discreet than your warm shadow, let me follow you over continents deserted by human tears ah, to reach for this solitary happiness let me grow old agelessly within the lifetime of your images that decorate my bedside table there, in your eyes the past spins, forever, hesitant and in my undesired freedom I will sing of mourning the borders of love's embrace if tomorrow you stop loving me if tomorrow [2010.7.10...a] inspired by “si aujourd’hui” by Maurane Maurane is a fabulous singer from Belgium. Her song closes with the following text that inspired this poem: Et pourtant là tout de suite Si je cessais de vivre En buvant dans tes yeux Je suis sûr que je ferais Un fantôme très heureux And yet, here, right now if I stopped living As I drink in your eyes I'm sure to become the happiest ghost... This sad love song has an incredible refrain, which will probably inspire something else from my pen. Here's that text with a rough translation: Et si demain matin tu cessais de m’aimer Je n’peux pas dire que j’en mourrais, non Faut rien exagérer Je crois seulement que j’aurais l’air D’un casino désert, d’une chaise à l’envers Oubliée sur une table Je crois que j’aurais l’air assez minable And if tomorrow you stopped loving me I won't say I'd die, no No use exaggerating things I think only that I'd look like a deserted casino, a chair upside down forgotten on a table I think I'd look a bit, worthless... There are only two YouTubes of Maurane singing this song. The better is: {embed:youtube:http://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTGw0OLVqsI} |
quiet death bells resound bounce against the cardinal directions as unbalanced moments stamped from a whole when the north wind excites the dying leaves into turbulence a dance of resurrection I will stay, if it is permitted to see winter's snow-capped immobility bending under the season’s wait like the poplar whistles a sadness songs to be carried on the wind will they bring a new seeds from my heart to yours? if I may stay [2010.24.9...a] for Scarlett |
she bouquets ladies in waiting petals of bright hued lipstick smiles my heart soars farther than the ocean spraying hope and patience into a rainbow flutter the sound of a wooden flute follows her steps, she paves the future, my song is her verse our words conquer continents a utopia where no one need wait for anything more than the next breath... bouquets of hope [2010.19.9...a] A RandomActOfPoetry for Cat |
submerged in a mountain of kleenex comfortably curled under the eiderdown blotting myself against the solitude of upcoming chapters, my salty fingers turn two pages at a time and highlight the mythical passage of red-nosed magical animals and unreturnable gifts I blink at the non-connecting synopsis I am an infrequent flyer between my heart and yours depression drenches the pillow case hourly I change it nightly in an insomniac rite although I’m allergic to autumn breezes and sneeze like thunder between gulps of self pity and misery yes, I read too much romance my own tale sketched and destined as true love twisted awry and off-center buried ceremoniously under falling leaves I collect mulch for springtime’s courtship bouquets love and its cozy arms have deserted my hearth tears freeze under snow covered dreamscapes smeared onto my life like fingers sticky with jam its days are book-ended by summer sunsets at the beach the only moments that mattered — then came my emotional tsunami… the four seasons [2010.14.9...a] |
la vie en rose a glimpse of the otherwise life a salty swirl on the beach births starlight and wishing wells tuned words, artfully forgotten the humming waves gurgling their lost rhymes elsewhere, Paris clouds ignite sunset pure color, unmixed, photographs snapped remembered in that flash before we die meet me beyond the rainbow where droplets form on my glasses a blinding tapestry of life songs of spinning street tales I hope to hear your voice no more coins in my pockets the jukebox is silent empty pockets [2010.7.9...a] For Cat |
you left another trail of dust behind melodies without verse, chaste kisses desire we so carefully ignored the front door closed softly, but I was awake, and I imagined your path, like I have done now for a decade, from the landing to the street the train station claiming your quick shadow like the echo of bread crumbs a dying bird might follow till the rainfall left alone, I have no more tears to shed their dryness crunches like sand beneath my feet though I have no place to wander my heart aches with a dull emptiness to say what I have begun to forget you always leave too early.... trails after love [2010.6.9...a] |
sparks of collectable confetti sharpen the sparse dark air snared and speared from last year's marathon events birthdays and other plastic-covered celebrations colored litter sneaks into corners, fireworks stare into the shared glare of naked shadows, excited so… oh! the festive fast-forwarded folk in swank attire the happy-go-lucky, song-jammed partygoers crammed into rented discotheques with smart flashing lights sweat-drenched continents of overflowing tart banter hot wet kisses, chocolate covered figurines roll-playing until the devil dawn snaps a drum role from revelrie’s grasp after the party [2010.1.9…a] |
| The following poem was inspired by Cat's poem today. Why? Because I had to figure out why I didn't like it as much as others in her collection. So, what did I do? Took her frame and used it to compose my own poem. And after a few hours working within this difficult framework, I figured out what I didn't like. (I'll e-mail you, Cat.) Here's my poem. time has pried this tired crackling wood from its dwelling framed by parched and peeling colored layers, age-knotted yet seamless beyond the stoop, life’s paint has dried seamless memories seeping into supple wood its shiny veneer a brass bell’s pealing this reflection calls to faith appealing worn by candlelight, it does not seem less important than the warmth of burning wood why would my hearth, old and peeling, seem less? my hearth [2010.31.8…a] |
I was often talkative my words swelled, poured contained measured into strange hyperbolic recipes like when you tried to make apple pie crust it failed as did my crisp doubtful encouragement we both pouted for days experts in diversion your experiment never mentioned again we could never laugh about the culinary incident highlighting only futile subjects when separation hovered between us we sought a break before we crumbled hoping one day to round out our uneven edges like pie crust like apple pi(e) [2010.27.8…a] A poem in the Pi form |
| A response to my dear friend Cat's poem of today. Same music, same form. I hope this text is worthy of hers, which is superb... like a swift gazelle, her bare feet followed the river’s curves and current, on the grassy plains from the depths of the forest, she overcame the wind, she reformed white clouds and felt no fear for the blues abandoned behind her; the water murmured its invitation, its calmness a balm of grace, a wet glee of freedom, and there she plunged, to cleanse the wounds of her soul in the turquoise waters running east to west; transformed, she smiled at the sun, reflecting its power to heal, caressing its warmth of love, mocking solitude, she found peace in the arms of a great oak overlooking her life found deep in her soul is the sound of spring songbirds amazing secrets “amazing grace” [2010.26.8…a] A companion piece to Cat’s poem Invalid Entry from {sitem:} written in the haibun form {embed:youtube:http://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-WZ4WoZvPc&feature=related} |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
