"Scattered leaved with poetic imprints." My new collection of poetry.
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. ))
there is nothing but gray here, fifty shades of it, its turmoil its délicatesse, its unexpected flourishes after sunset and before night owls hoot when cats and mice get mixed with gray, it's a favorite for sex therapists studying human downfall, psychologists and philosophers studying the roots of evil and so many certitudes, meteorologists predicting the patterns of rainfall and explaining its rare happenings on sunny days against happier whitewashes, gray, it's the color of death’s hearth, its ashes, its tombstones, the color of odes, sonnets and epitaphs and every important thing remembered before we forgot why we had the blues
through crumpled sheets
hints of morning shine brightly
|a few five-lined poems:
it’s a color that escapes
from naked trees and dusty fields,
like a doctor’s discharge
drying a wet sky
neon flashing over a mossy pond
last summer’s fishing hole
drying, waiting for lightning
to settle an old score
with fireflies and arsonists
without it spring has no backdrop
no resilient trampoline from which springs
a painter’s palette of life promise
and every other cliché from Valentine’s
to the season of mistletoe
I remember we searched all summer
for a four-leaf clover, lucky in love
we still have this plan to get rich
in a sea-side casino
luck has stayed in one place
|…where the heart is
we build fortresses of stone, steel and glass around us. they are not all called
home, but all test our skills at climbing the ladder of life. war pierces most of
these perimeters, as does death. cancer is a vicious foe, it slithers like a snake
without a rattle and its poison submerges us before we know we need to fight
a tsunami. after the final crashes dim we awake buttressed in bodies of frozen
tundra. we thaw ourselves into a walled Eden to protect our new cardinal points
and force ourselves into beacons, first shining outwards and then inwards.
to watch and warn. to illuminate the shattering of thick icebergs as survival’s
heat melts just enough so tears do not freeze again.
by rose thorns…
happy, I bleed
|what weeps for life
I see shadows more often. they are the new aphorisms of the twenty-first century.
save the daylight, twist the clocks. back and forth, like wringing water from the sky
in an arid climate where dust infiltrates even the space between one’s bones. it evaporates
even tears, which used to flow freely to ward off sadness and fright. there is a moment
for death. death. it happens in more unexpected ways and its grip is tighter and more
vicious than when old age appeared like a quiet shadow after a good life. a good life
has nothing to mourn. like a well-tended garden, not everything will grow in any climate.
roses do not begrudge their thorns.
grow to touch the ground
|I think flowers pray
at wedding and funerals
they can do nothing else but sing
lux aeternam for our long lives
theirs are so short
I discovered this form yesterday in this forum, thank you Novacatmando.
Briefly, the most frequent information I found on the internet is:
Gogyohka is a new form of poetry which has been developed in Japan. Gogyohka simply means verse which is written in five lines, but each line generally represents one phrase and has a different feel to five-line verse commonly found in Western poetry. This new form of verse was developed by a poet called Enta Kusakabe, who first came up with the concept in 1957
I am having a hard time understanding the limits of this form as compared to the tanka. That's the research I'll be doing in the next few days.
|Swept beyond the seasons
I watch them pass by, unseasonable city snowfall, blossoms to cherries, human statues on the beach, the painful cringes of fallen leaves magnified by hearing aids. And finally, the irrevocable emotions of death. The fast-forward button reprogrammed into pause, years and months exhale abstractness. Individual days last only a week, until the rescue of my journal-become-superhero. And still those memories lack the clarity of a vision test. All their faces disappear. I accept this with furrowed brows and continue to laugh at myself. The paring down of my core identity, my inner and outer circles. Lovers, those of us who remade the world, the same strangers waiting for buses. Almost an afterthought, I wander from youth.
how to love moonlight
more than cherry blossoms?
old man’s koan