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Dan's Poetry Corner II
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Author | Message |
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Daniel Michel Send message Joined: 2 Feb 04 Posts: 14925 Credit: 1,378,607 RAC: 6 |
"After The Dance" my child is someone else who i will never know i know that he or she will never hear of me my child is just a dream 'cause i never took the chance i knew way too much i saw the future after the dance my child will never know because i never told i didn't want to share the pain i just wanted to move on my child is in my heart because i understand regret so i never i did grew up to live the future after the dance all the stories my imagination bought and sold the dreams that i have lived the stories i have told will not sustain me because they never were made real now the emptiness inside is the only thing i feel my child is someone else who i will never know i know that he or she will never hear of me my child is just a dream 'cause i never took the chance i knew way too much i saw the future after the dance (2012 db michel) PROUD TO BE TFFE! |
Julie Send message Joined: 28 Oct 09 Posts: 34041 Credit: 18,883,157 RAC: 18 |
Two years without you Now that the time comes closer to the hour you left this world two years ago. I feel numb, in sadness and lost, for all that I know We miss your shining light, the fact you always wanted to give more, even though you were hurt sometimes, even though through all you had to endure. I wish there were more people on this planet with a soul like yours, so loving, kind and forgiving. That would simply open doors. You had a heart for children and the child was inside of you, you said 'it's all for love' L.O.V.E, and that's what I'll do Seppe, I saw your true self, you showed more than a dance or a song. I thank you for everything you gave us now that you...no longer belong... Julie Detavernier (2013) 4 Feb will be 2 years... rOZZ Music Pictures |
Jim Martin Send message Joined: 21 Jun 03 Posts: 2473 Credit: 646,848 RAC: 0 |
Where Seppe belongs, Julie, is where you -- and all of us -- will belong, someday. |
Jim Martin Send message Joined: 21 Jun 03 Posts: 2473 Credit: 646,848 RAC: 0 |
This might stimulate some comments . . . Lesson Learned A nearby orchard found old trees with branches, low, with fruit. I plucked a honeyed gem, with ease -- and took a bite, with guilt. I did not see, on deck of house, an old man raise his gun. But, heard it roar, with load of salt -- and felt it sting my buns. When I got home, I told my pa about that cranky man. But, pa told me about the law -- with evidence, in hand. The moral of this tale is plain: Oft, gain is fraught with pain. * * * j. r. martin 18 January 2013 |
David S Send message Joined: 4 Oct 99 Posts: 18352 Credit: 27,761,924 RAC: 12 |
Here's a haiku I wrote several years ago. I'm kind of afraid to post it in the NFL season thread. Football. Men running. Smush his face into the ground. Then do it again. David Sitting on my butt while others boldly go, Waiting for a message from a small furry creature from Alpha Centauri. |
Julie Send message Joined: 28 Oct 09 Posts: 34041 Credit: 18,883,157 RAC: 18 |
Our Tree We are growing branches, spreading wide, blooming, rooted deep within the earth. Growing from east to west, always searching for the best soil to grow, to be our tree. Beginning with mom and dad, raising eight children here, letting the tree blossom, branches growing into the air, various colors always welcomed a melting pot, marked as our tree. More than seventy souls we are, the youngest born on new years day, living as a family, near, far, always in touch with all. Foreign names are added to ours, we blend in, assimilate, we must. And as our leafs will fall, our tree will grow further, making its own branches, adding names in our tree: blond, brown,black or red-headed, all part of our family tree. Julie Detavernier (2013) rOZZ Music Pictures |
Jim Martin Send message Joined: 21 Jun 03 Posts: 2473 Credit: 646,848 RAC: 0 |
Well, Julie -- Your extended family appears to be similar to the USA, but under one family roof. Good for you (all). |
Julie Send message Joined: 28 Oct 09 Posts: 34041 Credit: 18,883,157 RAC: 18 |
Soulmates Soulmates flattered down in green pastures Gazing at the illuminated sky Astonished by celestial magnificence What this splendor does imply. Feeling the grandeur of it all Energies flowing through their veins Souls entwined together Only unconditional love remains. No physical love, just heartfelt hugs In love with eachothers soul Inspired and in love with life itself They see the beauty of it all. Julie Detavernier (2013) rOZZ Music Pictures |
Jim Martin Send message Joined: 21 Jun 03 Posts: 2473 Credit: 646,848 RAC: 0 |
Cave Man Rock Blow some tunes on Red Elk bones. Sing of hunts, in glaciers' thrall. Silhouettes, on fire-lit walls, animating paintings' home. Shadows bending to the ground, then upright, and whirling 'round. Keeping Cave Bear far away, to their gods, did hunters pray. Reading signs in star-lit sky. Thrusting sticks in campfire coals, that would capture stories, bold. Embers freed, to heights, did fly. Adding meaning, to the day -- safely stored in night-time's sway. * * * j. r. martin 30 January 2013 |
Julie Send message Joined: 28 Oct 09 Posts: 34041 Credit: 18,883,157 RAC: 18 |
Darker of Better In every corner A shadow is cast In every shadow A crime has his past Death is coming Feel that it’s near Sometimes you even feel It soon will appear People will murder With knife, blade and gun They will even strangle Just for the fun The pit and the pendulum And the tell-tale heart Both goosefleshly good But it’s just the start The fall of the house of Usher Makes you want to squeal The cask of amontillado Feels so very real There is no Romantic At least none I know Who writes better or darker Than Edgar Allen Poe. Julie Detavernier (2013) rOZZ Music Pictures |
Jim Martin Send message Joined: 21 Jun 03 Posts: 2473 Credit: 646,848 RAC: 0 |
Quoth the raven . . . |
Julie Send message Joined: 28 Oct 09 Posts: 34041 Credit: 18,883,157 RAC: 18 |
Pink Shy Blush Pink shy blush, She is like the sweetest embrace. She is daylight inside your heart, bursting into a caleidoscope flame. Will she ever return? To see her smile, to watch her cry. To be with her, with all my heart. To her I’ll surrender with all that lies inside the deepest dungeons of my heart. Ah, will she ever return? My sweetest pink shy blush. Julie Detavernier (2013) rOZZ Music Pictures |
Julie Send message Joined: 28 Oct 09 Posts: 34041 Credit: 18,883,157 RAC: 18 |
It's you that I miss I used to take you for granted Never stopped to appreciate that you were there By now it’s too late And it just isn’t fair Every day that goes by I force myself not to think I can’t handle my emotions I’m just trying not to sink I can’t deal with the pain of missing you every day and it tears me apart how you’ve been taken away I wish I could trade places Your life was supposed to be longer than this How can I ever manage without you? When it’s you that I miss… Julie Detavernier '2013 rOZZ Music Pictures |
Jim Martin Send message Joined: 21 Jun 03 Posts: 2473 Credit: 646,848 RAC: 0 |
Tuesday, June 4th, 1991 (Billy Collins, 1941-) By the time I get myself out of bed, my wife has left the house to take her botany final and the painter has arrived in his van and is already painting the columns of the front porch white and the decking gray. It is early June, a breezy and sun-riddled Tuesday that would quickly be forgotten were it not for my writing these few things down as I sit here empty-headed at the typewriter with a cup of coffee, light and sweet. I feel like the secretary to the morning whose only responsibility is to take down its bright airy dictation until it's time to go to lunch with the other girls, all of us ordering the cottage cheese with half a pear. This is what stenographers do in courtrooms, alert at their dark contraptions catching every word. When there is a silence they sit still as I do, waiting and listening, fingers resting lightly on the keys. This is what Samuel Peyps did too, jotting down in private ciphers minor events that would have otherwise slipped into the heavy, amnesiac waters of the Thames. His vigilance paid off finally when London caught fire as mine does when the painter comes in for coffee and says how much he likes this slow, vocal rendition of "You Don't Know What Love Is" and I figure I will make him a tape when he goes back to his brushes and pails. Under the music I can hear the rush of cars and trucks on the highway and every so often the new kitten, Felix hops into my lap and watches my fingers drumming out a running record of this particular June Tuesday as it unrolls before my eyes, a long intricate carpet that I am waking on slowly with my head bowed knowing that it is leading me to the quiet shrine of the afternoon and the melancholy candles of evening. If I look up, I see out the window the white stars of clematis climbing a ladder of strings, a woodpile, a stack of faded bricks, a small green garden of herbs, things you would expect to find outside a window, all written down now and placed in the setting of a stanza as unalterably as they are seated in their chairs in the ontological rooms of the world. Yes, this is the kind of job I could succeed in, an unpaid but contented amanuensis whose hands are two birds fluttering on the lettered keys, whose eyes see sunlight splashing through the leaves, and the bright pink asterisks of honeysuckle and the piano at the other end of this room with its small vase of faded flowers and its empty bench. So convinced am I that I have found my vocation, tomorrow I will begin my chronicling earlier, at dawn, a time when hangmen and farmers are up and doing, when men holding pistols stand in a field back to back. It is the time the ancients imagined in robes, as Eos or Aurora, who would leave her sleeping husband in bed, not to take her botany final, but to pull the sun, her brother, over the horizon's brilliant rim, her four-horse chariot aimed at the zenith of the sky. But tomorrow, dawn will come the way I picture her, barefoot and disheveled, standing outside my window in one of the fragile cotton dresses of the poor. She will look in at me with her thin arms extended, offering a handful of birdsong and a small cup of light. * Included in "The Discovery of Poetry", by Frances Mayes |
Jim Martin Send message Joined: 21 Jun 03 Posts: 2473 Credit: 646,848 RAC: 0 |
Perchance, a cheery poem on cold, winter's day . . . Winter (William Shakespeare, 1564-1616) When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipped, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl: "To-who! Tu-whit, tu-who!" a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel* the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl: "To-who! Tu-whit, tu-who!" a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. *keel: to cool by stirring. from "The Discovery of Poeetry", by Frances Mayes. |
Julie Send message Joined: 28 Oct 09 Posts: 34041 Credit: 18,883,157 RAC: 18 |
Song for the road Last one standing, keep moving on until forever ends. Into oblivion, knowing the black and white will blend. Never ending road, I walk alone. Never ending road, will you take me home? Forward we march with heads held high. Under wavering clouds, darkening sky. We won’t back off, we won’t give in. Keep up hope, keep up that chin. We walk through the night. We push through the rubble. We follow the spark of light. Try winning the struggle. Rise again, we will not bend. Rise again, keep up the endeavor. Rise together, and we’ll make a stand. Rise against, we’ll go forever. Julie Detavernier (2013) rOZZ Music Pictures |
Jim Martin Send message Joined: 21 Jun 03 Posts: 2473 Credit: 646,848 RAC: 0 |
As We Wait I ponder, on occasion, as to what sort of intelligent life we shall, ultimately, discover in our galaxy -- if not, in the universe. Will it possess "free will"? Will it have addressed the concept of one, or more, creators of the universe? What might its attitude towards the Earth's variety of peoples, and cultures, be? Will its degree of social and technological evolution be welcome? Why should I ponder such issues? Why should anyone ponder such issues? The answer seems obvious. To survive. * * * j. r. martin 11 February 2013 |
Julie Send message Joined: 28 Oct 09 Posts: 34041 Credit: 18,883,157 RAC: 18 |
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Julie Send message Joined: 28 Oct 09 Posts: 34041 Credit: 18,883,157 RAC: 18 |
A circle of three A circle of three, holding hands The unbroken, on the land. In the snow, nobody knows. What they are thinking Where they will go. A circle of three, holding hands. They’re not moving, they just stand. They watch each other, not making a sound. Standing in silence, on the frozen ground. A secret they keep Wonderful and deep. Taking it everywhere, even in their sleep. And now I wonder, what it would be. They are a mystery, In a circle of three. Julie Detavernier (2013) rOZZ Music Pictures |
Jim Martin Send message Joined: 21 Jun 03 Posts: 2473 Credit: 646,848 RAC: 0 |
Follow-up . . . A Hypothetical Dream The news-media, today, was in a frenzy -- An alien race had landed on Mars. Their level of technology appeared vastly superior to ours. And, they appeared to be terra-forming, for permanent residency. Although, they appeared neither benevolent, nor malevolent, they showed little interet in contact with Earth. Their agenda was theirs, alone. What should Earth's response be? More importantly, how would we continue to conduct our daily lives? How would our self-esteem fair? I woke up, scratched my back with a cane, and set out for a cup of coffee. * * * j. r. martin 12 February |
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