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 |   "Scattered leaved with poetic imprints." My new collection of poetry. |
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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. )) |
my life is an overflowing basket filled with pieces of scribbled paper flying about like fourth-of-july confetti I am not discontent with this littered splashing, its amazing table of contents contains sentiment, emotion and confusion like rain on a summer day that quickly thunders its impressiveness with added hailstones my words are memos for the next generations deciphering will be an unending endeavor greater than Penelope’s woven shroud an archaeological masterpiece like the China wall or colored hieroglyphs in unpillaged tombs recounting all the years when my secrets were merely hints penned on bright post-its, ideas decorating a weathered library of leather notebooks my dreams, your days gone by… scribbled paper confetti [2009.3.7…a] for Joy  |
subtle harmonies of sunset a slow adagio of wind between indigo and violets, suave lavender blues hint of spring rainfall after distant summer heat’s booming an icicle craving, humid air doesn’t cool like lovemaking whiteness electrifies the anthracite blooms towards midnight, heightens sensations of jubilation in pre-holiday splendor, under a miasma of falling stars a sudden swoosh, several heavy raindrops like coins falling into a deep well swollen with hopefulness of youth or secrets wise people wait for eternally such poetry for a sweet pause tints the silence between the mysteries imagined during a july sunset poetry for pause [2009.2.7…a] after NovaCatmando |
| forlorn and shipless exiled alone in the dark I watch the Pacific moonlight illuminate your gold framed picture in between moments the clouds send an unseen SOS from this island of solitude time moves on, sluggish, marked with chalk on salt-washed slate, I am nothing now, lost in the depth of our dreams I listen to my breath, a whisper of mourning… wayward and careworn, the soul-screaming hurricane-plane-crashed-in-coral-reefs nightmare is my faithful companion yet I have not forgotten — breathing still, damning myself, beseeching the stars to alter the pain of a thousand breathtaking sunsets — why did I hurry away that night when driving rain muffled our farewells and your ring waited between us, still wrapped in its golden box… I said I’d count forty-eight hours you promised to wait a lifetime not knowing destiny’s hand, still I cannot learn to live without your shadow the echo of your voice, I cannot brave losing the touch of your reality, I am insane prevented from gazing into the love greater than sunlight in your eyes… timeworn and grieving I remind myself to just continue breathing, I am cast away never to return to those places where I held you in my arms ghostlike moments which tantalize me nightly when your golden presence soothed eternity from my solitude now I am lost in the ocean’s invisibility where I escaped death’s jeer companionless, torn apart, my heart bleeds inexorably to extinction alone, without you torn apart [2009.28.6…a] |
| who cannot lament this sad end that happenings could not portend? this poet's ethereal path of threaded words, soft like pebbles, whispers woven hope for rebels who seek asylum from this wrath they too cast rhymes for death's lost loves who visit with angelic doves can peace not mend this aftermath? those who weep still, witnessed this death, stifle tears which tear his last breath from woes, uncountable by math… soulless, he counts life’s precious stones in labyrinths of iv’ry bones when grieving blooms fill trellis lath in silent versed soliloquy can carved bronze tears of eulogy bring “rest in peace” to this bypath? second eulogy: peace in the aftermath of pebbles [2009.27.6…a] Written in the Nove Otto form aacbbcddc eecffcggc now empty, his promise shattered had it ever really mattered? simple pleasures already gone all around me, in his shadow emotions tarry in limbo his love, now untimely withdrawn, was whispered “till death do us part” yet these words have destroyed my heart… broken glass of our love’s icon alone, opaque shadows chattered while solitude’s raindrops splattered I claim no future from this dawn his path now errs as I follow emotions tarry in limbo sustained by tears, a mere blind pawn I seek love’s truce, yet I rechart our life in visions of Descartes… dreaming verse, my true love, begone emotions tarry in limbo [2009.27.6…b] Written in the Nove Otto form aacbbcddc aacbbcddc Original WDC item "Invalid Item"  |
| Thank you once again Catherine for trying something that I haven't done (ever, this time.) I'd already written several Monchielle poems, and a few attempts at the Rondel's sister form, the Rondeau, but never a Keats Sonnet. I've chosen here a simple syllable count without meter. unhappy, the god of thunder roared once twice and thrice the skies electrified blue music ceased, except the din of flood rain grey streaked with crashing thuds made allegiance in skies where sunset forgot common hues below, servants pray, humbled, crazed, possessed alone I witness tempest bluster drain summertime from hot skies, cool clouds commence a descant of pounding hullabaloo songs of the heavens appease the refrain of lesser demi-gods, winds howl and crest northwesterly — at last silence surrounds silver eyes the storm: Chopin takes a zest of waltz and spins thunder into sweet sound duet [2009.25.6…c] A Sonnet in the Keats form Rhyme scheme : abc abd cab cde de Now an exciting new Static Item:
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in the quivering candlelight comes the banter of shadow-play will it end, this life-like display of lost souls that reflections slight? sleep overtakes hours of midnight blue dreams quake like soundtrack cliché in the quivering candlelight comes the banter of shadow-play I am the echoes you ignite an empty page of disarrayed verse left at a sidewalk café discarded, will you hold me tight in the quivering candlelight? in the quivering light [2009.25.6...b] A Rondel poem ABba abAB abbaA Eight syllables per line |
| More bitter love poetry. I said the hell with it you can come and go, plead that you’re truly in love my creed doesn’t define emotions caught above… (Oh, and the hell with it) … or below my torn heart as sincerity, merely the chattering of chaps convinced they speak clearly I said the hell with it you were blind to my soul leaving wilted roses to die on my doorstep like bitter promises I said the hell with it return to your sorry life of loveless nightmares let me dream of freedom — when I vanquish despair the hell with it! [2009.24.6…a] Written in the Monchielle form. |
| I meditate on an iridescent moment academia tires of heliotrope stimulation I long for distant fields of cattleya my mind eagerly abandons my weary members on the brink of a sabbatical scratched in lavender ink… pen nibs and reams of paper packed into cases ameythst twilight brings cheer to recurrent fatigue, a cold cloth of mulberry silk swathes migraine stained eyes swollen by temple bells resounding like rainfall on autumn nights my desire transcends leaving this thundering pain I would reap silence from the seeds of poetry and find relief for these deep lavender pages parched of their ideas by omnipresent reality violet dreams herald my departure a tribute of irises floating in a pond-like vase to wither into time where reason melts into liquid purple an incandescent escape from my life in monochrome everything retreat into other colors [2009.19.6…a] |
to do this within my imaginary lavender fields, notebook in hand pinpoint sweet names on the map so that I may calmly dream of exile months to write, to collect beauty to heal my soul of its temptations and show my ghosts that purple ink on faded pastel paper is my own power beyond the heavens and the gods lavender [2009.16.6...a] K.E. inspiration Final Version: to travel once again towards beloved Costa Rica and her memories a voyage still sketched within my imaginary fields of lavender orchids notebook in hand, impatient for a few things on a list: to pinpoint sweet names on the map, places where I may calmly dream of exile months between poet and muse places to wander flowering paths to collect all the beauty that will heal my soul of its earthly temptations, at last showing my ghosts that purple ink on faded pastel paper is my own power tethered by eyes and ears to a world far beyond the heavens and the gods lavender [2009.16.6...a] K.E. inspiration |
embarrassing distress this ethereally slinky silk scarf imported lovingly from a distant Chinese province, not quite yellowish, definitely a curious crimson tinted with visual distortion, like the metallic taste before our first morning kiss... it had to be orange... even silk stretches too far [2009.13.6...a] |
my heart still roams to places faraway, searching for a smile bearing warm welcome to remind me where my childhood souvenirs once let the sun shine on my grey moods... wandering aimlessly, I seek solace from my quests into vast unknown territories of love and living, I find only daunting enigmas proposed by quaint would-be princes knowing nothing about quiet fields of heather where I dreamed about wonders to be found... for my life has never yielded that special corner within a mossy red brick wall in a place I would dearly call home, but has never been the sanctuary filled with family, allowing my rose petals to bloom in a garden where a stranger seeking my love is unafraid of its thorns sanctuary [2009.11.6...a] |
you wait, eyes beckoning, approaching quickly sensing my presence — I think only of seduction, wishing to seek comfort deep in your arms although you cajole, squeezing into my personal space I have never learned to decipher your desire, other than to exist peacefully among your consort of well-wishers who bring you happiness… your smile invites me to a place I dare not follow and, misinterpreting, for my love is quickly ignited like dry rosewood, I dream of tumbling over the silky cliffs of love and excitement, knowing too well the height of their danger for to plunge willingly after your shadow is to succumb to the lust of love’s many follies… yet even now I would abandon myself to your sparkling eyes allowing your twinkling laughter to make me feel like a long lost prince especially bearing the gift love.... a jester’s dream [2009.7.6...a] |
| Eleven Twenty PM: A day of sketches plums, red-purple, forgotten, mummified, they drip no more no more soap bubbles either they sloop down the tub drain after I cool myself from Montana heat, a sensation so quickly forgotten since love and lust were left on my other doorstep swollen in regrets today's apples will remember, framed in discarded boxes and sushi wrappers "Ã la enga" [2009.6.6...a] so, I divulged secrets with the sunrise orange on gray, purple on bloodstained heartache I fell, like Alice, down a rabbit’s hole called love dreams formed on the midnight mist deformed my visions of lovable peace as the blackbird heralds the sky-turning-daylight in a variation of twitter-trill impossible to imitate even when my insomniac monologues continue to color the darkness with poetry mad-hatter in love [2009.6.6…b] a slight flutter of raindrops brushes against the birdsong in the background, a wetness escaping the clouds and painting the streets a shiny newness marries the cool june morning with april memories of iris and rose petals, romance perfect for the longing in hearts ready to be broken, slipping on the wet pavement of a carefree life sliding buoyantly for a few happy minutes for a short while [2009.6.6…c] abate, my heart! feast not upon his great ruby-colored plates, my blue blood stained sleeves cleave all sensation in the colors of dreams, yet I believe in his sweet love above these dove-like emotions making my heart double take, a quick intake of breath that wakes somehow its fickleness and caresses the promise of happiness furtive, captive, weightless and subsiding abiding the tides of destiny’s harmony abate and abide [2009.6.6…d] blue moon whistles jazz on the slight shadows of gray night birds show silent respect for the day’s end of smoke rings puffed out over the river’s bridge below the silent black depths are as calm as tomorrow’s current majestic spirals echo unseen clouds of soft whiskey bottles and dreams lovers share between dusk and dawn blue moon jazz [2009.6.6…e] |
| when the lark cries midnight sighing he tries to sing, I hear sadness midnight sighing, unfleeting tears, songs bring questions, wings contented he tries to sing, alluring bird spreads wings, aloft, stings memories I hear sadness, swift confessions suppress gray skies, bless tomorrow unfleeting tears, which endear him his sphere is not mere song, but joy songs bring questions: rich visions, new bastions of life — shun not these chords wings contented, find paths tread well outspread freedom threads liberty alluring bird, heaven’s words catch wizard’s lament, stir emotions spreads wings, aloft, whispers soft tears this scoffed madness, often far lost stings memories, will they squeeze tears? appease longing, breeze, take him high when cries the lark, his song, dark like Petrarch sonnets, sparks true sadness the lark's sadness Elaborate Than-Bauk linking couplets [2007.22.1...a] Catherine found this as a static item in my port: Please visit it there, and RRR if you've got a few minutes:
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drips of dirty ultramarine, unrainlike twisting around clouds of faint fushia stripes purple-grey umbrella stains and canary footprints all painted with the violence of a summer hurricane hastily streaking oranges and vermilion fruit trees dropping rotting corpses, electric white flashes zig-zag over virgin territory in the canvas-like sky mixed with foibles of artistic intention nature caught in the folly of creation, tinged with magma explosion radioactive x-ray drizzle and other turpentine droplets — I dare anyone to capture this late evening nightmare before the cavorting of last garish gongs highlights midnight when I become a simple house painter, with over-sized brushes dipped in pearl gray satin trim… the painter [2009.3.6...a] Thanks, Catherine, for the extra push |
| resounding solitude of my empty head my past rattles deliciously, now small beans instead of stuffy burnt marshmallows no one wants the day-to-day elsewhere is filled will firmament fleeting situations have yet to leave my palm prints while, stuck in limbo I try to invent a garish sunset to replace those turquoise beauties resembling joy I somehow only remember when my heart was heavy anything new… [2009.6.1…a] |
| when the hours slow and the ticking becomes invisible the seconds subside into years of memories, swollen like watermellon seeds in the sunlight and the moist ground — we do not forget our loves, our friends murmur still in our dreams, we do not forget the dazzling beauty of laughter-filled smiles, and when the end closes our eyes our tears will flow like those same vines carrying the melons we toast our dearly departed with honor and good spirit they have given us their lives, what we give in return is a gentleness in our voices as we say "remember when..." when we do not forget [2009.23.5...a] for Sarah |
| ...was to write a poem with few links between the lines, forcing the reader into a world only he/she can create from my suggestions. It started from the title, and my eyes resting here or there brought me the subject matter one line at a time. fluorescent sunsets blind my senses lizards whisper in foreign words escaping my dreams the ink works both ways, coloring and defining why organize my songs into projects only about holidays? your kisses float away with rain clouds promising salvation I have found the truth buried deep behind Etruscan city walls away from the moonlight, my homeland glows less silvery where is the wrath in fermented grapes that delight me so? many smooth paths wander through my bonsai forests even I am not small enough to lose myself in the shadowed branches tomorrow, or the next day, I will count the falling stars in your sky why do your queries always wait for my unevenly numbered keys? read what you may in my fantastic tales or romantic portraits Rembrant and Tolkien share secrets historians may uncover as for me, I sit in the semi-sunshine creating time from folly what will I discern under today’s mossy pebbles? nobody follows [2009.18.5…a] |
I know a secret place where badgers meditate with mud walls the waters there are murky before dawn when the night sighs into daylight they, protected in their airtight dwellings fear neither the sun nor the moon elsewhere there are no shadows we breath deeply of tomorrow's hope standing under the artificial spray we are cleansed in our mosaic cocoons moderns wombs offering calm healing where a hearth becomes life and daring brings heat to our hearts the earth yields stone and sand elements to awaken the silence within us soon we will take what is needed to nurture the enlightenment of a single breath bathed in the scent of the morning's dew "stilled breath...." [2009.15.5...a] Thank you, Catherine... fading, ever fading the colors have stopped swirling chiffon gowns accompanied by elegant human penguins fading still, the images of spotlighted parquet ballroom floors dulled into my memories, yet until my last breath, fading quickly now the blue danube, a persistent oom-pa-pa gently rocking my ears, fading the last faithful sounds before eternal solitude "la valse" [2009.15.5...b] for KÃ¥re |
so, gloom trickles from the clouds somewhere songs are sung for this miracle iPod glued to my ears, I think in emerald violets and ultramarine oranges, wishing the wind would make my balcony alive with brass chiming more real than the intimate music discreetly filtering through my thoughts and dreams imagination brings me wet overcastness, I thank the impervious elements for their low-hanging ceilings not yet ready to chant in illumination, not yet ready to admit that I remember all the words to those same hymns sung by my ancestors when the corn needed to touch the sky caressing rain clouds [2009.14.5...a] |
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