Because I'm a Poet - A Poetry Thread

glimpses

i get glimpses
of a faded button down shirt
soft from wear and comfortably rounded
around the casual hanging fit
edges having frayed just a bit
seems an even softer white one sits
just underneath next to the skin
that begins to show itself
in hues of light pink and gold
and truthful tan where the sun has come
and touched and done what it can
to liven the life within
i sense in glimpses, too
the familiar new calling
and the wondering when
i'll be falling all over again
all over myself trying to find the clarity
in the teeny tiny glimpses
all the while feeling him
in ways that do not seem just now fit
to write in symbols poetic.

The Feminine

Desire her
not
she lives only
in purity
possess her
not
she knows only
freedom
she is...
the garden
enter
through your open heart
she will
not
overwhelm you
make this garden
your home
fill
your lungs
with her essence
whisper "thank you"
with each exhale
give to her
all that you truly have
she will blossom
in response

-Janine

The Words You Choose


Words are indelible, once they are spoken,
Creating thought forms – alive and unbroken,
A dynamic medium, to create or destroy,
Be watchful of words, you select to employ.

Speak them or write them – you give them life,
With power to slice, through one’s heart like a knife,
To comfort or slay, a friend or a foe,
Your intention is the motive, that only you know.

A word is a tool, or a weapon you use,
To heal or to harm - whichever you choose,
Words once released, cannot be withdrawn,
So choose your words wisely – too late once they’re gone.

Misconception can cloud, one’s sincere intention,
As words are too often, a useless invention,
When trying to describe, the “things” of the heart,
Or weightier subjects, you need to impart.

And when words are used, for personal expression,
Remember they yield, a lasting impression,
You can’t take them back, once you set them free,
They’re mirrors of your heart - so choose carefully.



© 2009 - Rhonda - all rights reserved

This poem was published in my first collection - a book named "Pieces of One"

On the coattails of sheer madness
It was love, Love, LOVE...
No.
It was more than that, you dig?

I watch her once again -
Her voice so silver-smooth,
More porcelain than whispers,
These slithers of her breath
Were hot.
So very far from cool
And seeming to ignite the air around me.

Her face lit with the Florida Sun,
A laugh so delicate
It has made its way to Sacrament.

pounding
swelling
echoes in the thickness of our depths
feed me of the fire berry
the chalice do not upset
slowly
rising
mountains in the mouths of our souls
whisper me the secrets
nothing please withhold
freedom
circles
crashing way across the loom
tapestries of silk
embroidered in the moon
opening
blending
spiritual primal places
erase nothing let the tears flow
into the salty river love
it knows which way to go.

I am not a poet but please allow me to dedicate this poem to all of you, even though I didn't write it myself:


WHO AM I


Who am I to say that

the sky is less restless

when you smile

or that the stars flicker brighter

or that the moon

seems to dance

who am I to say such things

who am I to say

that the world is better for your spirit

just a friend

just a far away voice

but not so far away

not to notice such things.

~ Chris Boone


:luvkiss:

SHE MUST BE

My sweetheart must be a rose
because when i first saw her
she looked as if she had just blossomed
and like the sun when i come around
she opens up to show me her petals

My sweetheart must be a rose
just like on early summer mornings
everyone wants to be her butterfly
and when it rains on her garden
well every drop is glad it found her

My sweetheart must be a rose
when i smelled her wonderful fragrance
i knew; she had to be a rose
because her beauty skips on my mind
like a broken record that plays me

My sweetheart must be a rose
because just like a rose, she has thorns
if i hold her gentle then she'll be thieved
yet if i hold her close then i'll bleed
my sweetheart must be a rose

So far, it has not moved. I'm curious whether it will be affected by the full moon and all the solar activity.

44 degrees outside. Rock still feels warm from the sun today.

The Capybaras are cold, and huddled together next to my grill. Little do they know that one day the grill will be their enemy.

The rock seems to care not a whit about the Capybaras fate.

I'll report back later if anything changes with the rock.

....a kind word and gesture can do more than you may know...
for what seems a rote pleasantry can turn the grinding black ...roll back and shed its deadened skin....awake , arise and come to life again.........

Gosh you're amazing. We have very similar writing styles, for sure...

Kind gestures . . . yes they can go a long way.

A common theme
Developing
Within me meme
Upon waking

Early morning beset
By lack of work to do
Before full time of rest
And kitties come to mew

A dream, tail end caught
It seems, with wisdom fraught
Of how and why the rhyme of life
Is set in stride to pass the time

No visions seen, just
Understanding, must
Eventually pen
Them down, there and then

Bowl of herb
Toke of fag
Cup of joe
Whatever
Doesn't matter
Upon one, the thoughts
Always are lost

Begin again, then
To beg the question
Why must it so clear
Be, to see, in dream
Where I lead myself
Feeling like a whelp
While fallen in seam
Of conscious mirror
Reflecting to when
Myself I will send

Once more unto the breach
Knowing without recall
My higher self beseech
To whom, true friend, to call


Random muse, rusty mews, right or wrong, writing now, no clue how, what muse picks to poem will fit... :)


Ha! touché, muse, touché

Nearly gone now. Almost making that great escape
Into the guns & barbed-wire,
Knowing I can die. Ideas fly like cannon fire
Bursting in the stilted darkness,
Flashes of aggressive madness that explode and scatter
Scalding fragments
That hiss against me, fierce objectors
To this throttling for the gates.
As if I were Steve McQueen
On a stolen motorbike, in the last dash for ash –
Leaned inward as if I’d already made it
To the other side.

Kickin’ up a storm cloud
From the ground like an H-Bomb
Hoping it’ll break free
And lift the ground beneath me.
Explosions by the book.
Implications that run along
Eaten up in all the excitement
Of the nuclear winter.
Your spirit gives me radiation
Each cell on me crashes into its partner
Excited & in a planned rush
For the exit.

thank you for sharing this. it's very good.

Thanks for the boost of confidence. :) :)

When something grows
What is happening inside of it
As it explodes to life
Can it feel the cyclone building?
Can you
See the tightening climb
Inside
That somehow pulls you tighter
All its branches digging outward, bursting leaves
From your pores
Flowers punching their way out from your eyelids
Working their way from you furiously
Blanketed in lavender.
Your eyes remind me of the hills in Ireland
Hills covered in clovers
The valley pulls itself out from you finally
And the change occurs
Leaving you dancing on the hilltops

Many are culled,
But few then are chastened.
These moments are mulled,
Thus becoming hastened.
I awake into the daydream again.

___________________________


They said
"The only way to live, is to love something you hate. It's the suffering & discipline that makes a man great."
That's when I quit.