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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. )) |
| upon altars of crumbling time we are burning choking on red hot peppers of what we call life the spring water wells are dry leaving us parched, breathless we whisper threats and prayers that make our gods laugh for even they no longer believe instead they invent insipid theories cloaked in ineptitudes to lure us into zones of quiet our souls are nearly consumed, as empty as the wisps of air between ashes we have become shadows courting death surviving on ten watts of energy we pay our minimum-wage dues for the right to claim our humanity though we seek eternity without the serenity of our grandfathers whose dignity caught each raindrop in supple uplifted hands and refused to turn them to tears we have sold our freedom to the highest bidders framed in a black and white photograph of childish innocence temples of sacrifice [2013.5.6...b] |
his soft voice is like rainfall a flower slowly opening breathing in dawn its promise, free of sorrow to listen to the universe's soul as it unfolds in magical scenes reminding us as we contemplate all this beauty surrounding us that although we are unique we are not truly alone "all is well" [2013.22.5…b] |
thick turbulence covers the world in oily black rain, perhaps the collapse of time fueled by human spoilage, perhaps the eternal battle between those seeking redemption and those having lost it forever has finally begun to destroy their mortal playground what is good to evil eyes is but a continuous plunge darker and darker an unquenchable thirst for blood, pain and intolerance silver lightning cannot break their memories, for each creature was born of it so many fell, lost their horizon, lost their homing pigeon compass and created the first patterns of living hell that repeat unendingly since the world's dawn alive and so quickly damned damned to be alive, they grapple with creation and destitution, turning blind eyes to their birth, roaming, spitting hurled curses against light's freedom of choice does not the day veer to darkness, sun to moonlight, clear skies to threatening storms, more powerful than mere renewal of the earth? they have buried the light, exhumed it from the poisoned entrails of earth and buried it again, generation after generation whether the guilty be the creatures born of it or their human offspring still seeking godliness older than the heavens not yet lit by the struggle for light this choice to exist gathers strength fueled on hatred because love partnered with jealous rage and non-timelessness cannot endure its pure stance in any heart those words banish themselves in hot-cheeked reflections of each unworthy self and when man or godlike creatures lose these verbs enlivening the soul their opposite snarls into existence roaring against simple naive emotions which totter the soul into blackness above and below it reigns the tumultuous power of thick, sick cloud cover abnegates life-giving light, and where death whispers louder than shadows none of the fallen remember the hours before peace was broken and twisted into a labyrinth so intricate that only a new god could extract himself from the torment of searching for the unfindable the forgotten, the unknown fallen [2013.12.5…a] for Adriana Noir after her book "Requiem: The Book of the Fallen" N.B. This is a day's work and I am not satisfied with it yet. I don't think I will ever be, but Adriana Noir  's book has me thinking about quite a lot since I read it this week-end and these subjects are ones I usually hint at instead of explore.Her book can be found here: http://www.amazon.com/Requiem-Book-Fallen-ebook/dp/B009QE6CTE |
this has become scary, in the rain you have been crying again despair stains the humid air but I look at the last glimmer of sun reflecting in your eyes and only see our fear, our love was like broken glass burning red hot never artificial and I don't know my way I cannot scream for help on the covered porch next to the river our twin rocking chairs creak like the old forest beyond our view wool blankets protect our knees bread in the basket, wine in glasses the four winds blow on our past where sunset is also hidden behind the clouds we bring with us a change is upon us, keeping our hearts from ourselves it's been too many years now and it's all too loud, my heart throbbing I thought we were special after six thousand nights, I cannot breathe and it's killing me, this prison of silence broken by quaint questions like more wine, are you warm enough and the ones we never ask any more can you still feel me will you give me all your hours talk to me [2013.11.5…b] |
| no one hears my pain tears blend with the earliest dew drops the lake is quiet, as are the woods my hands are invisible before me, what they touch leaves them bloody, I feel deep scars, seared upon me by a million stars indifferent to my existence I seek shadows behind the tallest trees, their rough bark enlivens my body's pain and I cry out despair befriends my voice, solitude glues my feet to mossy stones and my path ends in this welcome silence, I drown in it, refusing to let go of the oxygen that keeps me from hell, but I have not come to this dark place to meet death, not yet, so I gasp while clouds mask the last glimmer of starlight, I sink to my knees invisible to even my own soul, wretched turbulence no, the moon will illuminate nothing this night, its blackness is welcome like a prayer, like a revelation and bathes me in conquest and stark pain until wolves bay, and the trees stop swaying from invisible forces that keep everything aligned in hideous patterns of opposites light and dark, night and terror pain and death nyctophilia [2013.9.5…c] This was a free write, done in very few minutes, as I tried to imagine someone completely at ease in the night's darkness and what that might do to help a somber nature overtake a human soul. |
candles burn low, my eyes close to sleep prayers mix with dreams, both unfulfilled slates they dug the well until water seeped all will drink and celebrate this date starlight holds secrets for those who look rainfall is pure mystery, a wise word under lone city lights told by books no one heeds the cries of two night birds I came to this island a poor man to discover unsuspected wealth weaving palm fronds gave me calloused hands death bartered with me, I won new health a faraway tale [2013.7.5...b] The Pantum is the original version from Malasia of the more popular Pantoum form. Normally they are single stanza poems, of abab rhyme where the first two lines treat a single subject and the second two lines treat another; good Pantun should have some kind of link between the two halves. |
Yesterday, NOVAcatmando   posted her version of a rewriting of another Hicok poem. Realizing the need to learn something from trying to imitate poets whose work has been recognized, I propose this following poem. A scarecrow with blond pigtails tiptoes on a high-backed wicker chair.  The field is a cemetery, everywhere ashen, withered, barren, not having survived the human heat stroke. In the collateral, the chair is an ornate pulpit and sitting atop it a child holds a thousand blue pink balloons. Dreams rarely alight on strings floating to meet heaven, they are called prayers, and only children believe, truly believe. A Pierrot bows to the child, laughter mixes with crow caws over fields that bubble in the aftermath of rainfall. Their joy can't meet heaven, neither their wings nor their dreams will take them far enough, high enough. No matter.  The farmers died like soldiers trying to grow corn, or tulips, anything to take to market. Life, dead now in the dusty fields, pairs itself with dollars. Few get lucky. Their dreams withered too. Their vows remain steadfast in the wake of nature unchecked. A Marxist statue painted in bright street art images cries to the horizon. Color everywhere. Even pigeons refuse to alight nearby. They are paired with the refuse, satiated. The fields will regenerate after the freeze. New men will come with their dreams firmly attached to their shoelaces. They will bring their children who will marry clowns and scarecrows. "Epithalamium" [2013.8.5...a] The original Hicok poem can be found here: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/epithalamium-15/ An Epithalamium is a poem written in honor of a newlywed couple. I have followed Hicok's loose interpretation; both texts have little to do with the institution of marriage. |
| fields of electrified rape seed under turbulent backlit clouds forests of young poplar trees and everywhere flooded plains the earth has drunk deeply it is saturated to bedrock and reflects yesterday’s rains heavenward, evaporating day by day the golden grains are ripe for harvest floods [2013.6.5…e] she sits gazing out the window dressed in a thick orange sweater it is new a single leaf of quartered writing paper waits for words written one at a time it is jade green and not ordinary a new recipe? a poem? a letter of final resignation? a prayer she pulls its words from the air before her, magic visionary orange and green [2013.6.5…f] in his burnt orange jacket he is last to leave the train car basking in the final seconds of this place passing through his emotional no-man’s-land from a world of wonder to his place called home hiatus [2013.6.5…g] |
| Alternate prompt: write a poem in the form of a personal add desirous of under-worked handyman task description adept at assembling pipes and spiggots manual dexterity for wall-to-wall bookcases easily ignitable, electrically speaking green thumbs, and strong massaging hands an irreproachable physical presentation unattached, evening working hours preferred working attire furnished after testing the home jacuzzi remuneration ( how lovely this sounds ) to be established once we resume perusing your résumé possibility on-site lodging, 24/7 ( I furnish the gourmet meals, included as further compensation ) apply quickly round-the-clock auditions at the local gymnasium ( bibliophiles welcome also ) after-thought: impeccable bedside manners are non negotiable homme-à -tout-faire [2013.20.4...b] |
| between any cracks, weeds add gay green ruddy brick or dull gray dandelions reach skyward on flexible stems their bright yellow manes don't roar nor hunt lady bugs climb with red spots and ivy spreads its pointed leaves everywhere timid sun rays offset dullness of winter's lingering a cat stretches on a window sill umbrellas unfold and disappear beyond garden walls in dawn mist a snail travels as snails do always at home in snug cocoons butterflies wait to open fragile wings pollinating to survive a single full moon eggs hatch perched high in budding trees safe until the summer storms bring that season's torment now rain and sunlight battle neither win, they are equally matched the land shape-shifts beneath their reign life in all forms smiles as longer hours beguile roses, bougainvillea and glycine climb wherever they can a fox or deer visits carefully sniffing the air lizards find warm rocks mice scatter under eagle shadows vegetables grow to nourish the compost pile and feed the dry soil with moist loam and rain falls again as it should be, all is well balancing hymns and prayers [2013.22.4...d] |
| You just won a compact car. Overweight? The truck give-a-way was last year. All-you-can-eat restaurants? You'll pay for it sooner than you think. The nightmare will stop, once you fall asleep. Insomniac? Do drugs and fly high. Who cares about sleep? Fear of falling? Get off the ladder. Life is a roller coaster ride. With no mechanic for repairs. A cat purrs when he wants to, not when you do. You missed the alarm? Go back to sleep. Your boss will yell anyway. Just around the corner is the house you can't afford to buy. Life is like a novel. With the pages out of order. Out of focus? You forgot your glasses. Or the smog is really nuclear fall out. After the earthquake we're all equal. Everyone has lost everything. You can never have too many batteries. But do you have a flashlight? Sunlight without dark glasses? Squint and avoid bumping into strangers. We can't all be secret agents no one recognizes. Why be famous if you don't like journalists? Life is meant to be private. Do you want Big Brother in your bathroom? Money does not grow on trees. But neither does hard work. Fortune Cookie break-out [2013.22.4...b] Alternate prompt: write a fortune cookie poem based on Frank O'Hara http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lines-for-the-fortune-cookies/ |
| dietary artillery, mercurial, miraculous salted seaweed salad, svelte willowy silhouettes they curl their egos around clove and truffle soufflés former selves ripened as elusive ghosts, fat dunderheads with a cyclop's peripheral vision of visual pleasure a resounding noise echoes off their morning mirrors why squander money for a new reflection in the neighbor's aluminium gutter when no stranger's eyes can ever behold my beauty? generating pleasure [2013.21.4...a] Prompt words: owl, generator, abscond, upwind, squander, clove, miraculous, dunderhead, cyclops,  willowy, mercurial, seaweed, gutter, non-pareil, artillery, salt, curl, ego, rodomontade, elusive, twice, ghost, cheese, cowbird, truffle, svelte, quahog, bilious |
in this faraway moment time is not erased each grain of every wooden plank calls out to and from centuries of worship, the chipped paint a hymn to solitary prayer, over green fields winds blow with secrets common to each faithful soul, forgotten yet remembered each year springtime does not touch this sanctity and winter cannot destroy its promise summer has parched temple lips leaving words fragile on autumn's changes of humor, yet nothing has dimmed such beauty nor reasons that made it live untitled prayer [2013.24.3...c] The photo can be seen at the following link. http://www.loc.gov/pictures/resource/ppmsc.04420/?co=prok |
| The Sijo is a Korean poetic form made up of three lines having between 14-16 syllables each, and frequently the second line is longer. A pause breaks each line midway dividing each line into two parts. "The sijo may tell a story (as the ballad does), examine an idea (as the sonnet does), or express an emotion (as the lyric does). Whatever the purpose may be, the structure is the same: line 1 of the 3-line pattern introduces a situation or problem; line 2 develops or "turns" the idea in a different direction; and line 3 provides climax and closure." Information taken from: http://www.sijopoetry.com/resources/sijoforum/sijo_primer01.html true harmonies, his tender voice engulfs me in love's void he does not see his own beauty reflecting in my dreamlike gaze music soars while we kiss, his song and my eyes become one falling [2013.16.3...b] thunder resounds, my heart groans in turbulent solitude when the horizon fills with calm pastels, a breeze chills my anguish and colors life once more in so much gray intensity heart storms [2013.17.3...b] |
| waves flow against time erode remnants of its path from boulders home to wind song while ships pass unseen one beacon calls in silence old guardians and soft cat paws remnants of time [2013.14.3...a] under last snowfall trees retreat in silent prayer branches whisper to the wind like song on marble moss engraves time's passing hand in a hushed cry, death appears last season [2013.14.3...c] |
| 2 poems of 5/7/7, called a Katauta, combined to produce a Sekoda. A statement of nature expressed in the first three lines followed by a reaction in the second half. The third and fourth lines act as bridge. For more complete information: http://allpoetry.com/column/8927011-Introduction_to_the_sedoka_and_mondo.-by-And... silent falling snow incessant white covering of still dead muffled landscapes these four walls are warm I fear no lingering cold wrapped in sleep's soft lullaby midnight's call [2013.12.3...c] night's white reflecting brighter than full moonlit skies sows quiet meditation soft songs of snowfall memories and hopes gather sewn from boundaries of dreams winter quiet [2013.13.3...a] |
| The Snám Suad is written with the defining features of ancient Celtic poetic patterns poems:  cywddydd (harmony of sound) meaning alliteration, consonance and assonance, and dunadh (to begin and end the poem with the same word, syllable, phrase or meaning). In its defined form, Snám Suad is: an octave, each line measured 3 syllables; rhymed aabcdddc; anchored at L4 and L8 with 3 syllabic words; written in cywddydd and dunadh. darkening bold wailing in death's hold relentless breathless fright cold black night losing sight shadowless no return [2013.12.3...b] Thanks to NOVAcatmando for the technical explanations. |
not under moonlight our hands search, or not we meet, whisper of raindrops and rainbows you become my sun's orbit time's heart ************* a single budding cherry tree my bouquet rather than roses in this serenity our moment unfolds will you love me till winter's end? ************* Cupid’s arrow rings he sings not gentle wind chimes whisper silent rhymes love strikes deep in my heart only your voice resounds ************* midnight’s noon, star shadows dusk turned dawn confused without you yet beside me, the tides roar stars fill my hands I am a king ************* one hearth, one garden we find love, we choose its light, its peace, its end and then, with a child's smile our eternal destiny a knot [2013.9.2...d] Author's note: The object of this poem is that each stanza must contain no more than 125 characters and be independent, while at the same time contributing to the overall flow of the poem. The subject matter for this contest is Love me, love me not... Please take a look at the second take on this theme and tell me which you prefer (and why...) "Invalid Entry"  |
paths tread through the dim city caught between dawn and dusk weary steps echo all the empty silence grows like promises on ivy-mantled walls sharing their shadows lovers whisper cry poignant farewells candles flutter as do their hearts cherry blossoms have not yet returned to perfume afternoon promenades in the lengthening labyrinth of daylight and death grasps night darkness its chill a harsh reminder the grace of human warmth treads only a short while ( untitled... ) [2013.18.2...c] |
| empty beach, driftwood calm waves, not my heartbeat no gulls dance the air no earth songs porcelain blue skies dim wandering souls ~~~~~ ~~~~~ his green eyes stare at nothing but a dream he does not share lost and invisible I wait to follow his smile my beacon ~~~~~ ~~~~~ hide from grey clouds seek them, they are my future you are a quiet library my laughter must explode yet your shadows... ~~~~~ ~~~~~~ our words caress the wind placate night fears, choose kisses and fiery warmth hand in hand hours tarry my heart beat quickens ~~~~~ ~~~~~~ dawn calls quietly love appears in timid pastels will you stay beside me, the tides roar stars fill my hands I am a king by the fireside [2013.10.2…b] ~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~~ Author's Note: Five independent poems, of no longer than 125 characters, on the theme "Love me, love me not." This is my second take, the first has two stanzas over the character count. |
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