%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |   "Scattered leaved with poetic imprints." My new collection of poetry. |
|
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. )) |
| catch it now before brandy erases the ping improvise the harmonies dark evening sky surrounds my soul's fledging need for the sting of drama prepare tonight's bedtime stories to be shared with the cat's purring everything even this minute is a prélude to dreams casting songs on banana split carnaval floats wind chimes tame midnight's approach do not chastise my hunger for novelty it is encased in words no one will remember even this minute [2012.18.3...a] |
alone on a mountain top incandescent beauty surrounds silence a moment with eternity to contemplate the miracle of life and why I have my place in it 3:55 a.m. [2012.22.2...a] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ no sound, no music disturbs the heights White Eagle, keeper of my spirit seeks quiet meditation here alone on a mountain top incandescent beauty surrounds this silence, a moment with eternity to contemplate the miracle of life, why I have my place in it zenith illuminates the lands below us we are two specks, twin shadows among a myriad of others I awake from introspection's charm and soar to embrace myself where White Eagle left my upright reflection in the lake below my place is two-fold: to be the horizon to observe life's paths towards the heavens in the flash of a dream [2012.22.2...b] |
| she insisted I follow behind, retracing her delicate footsteps her adult shadow let the child-me bathe only in dim left-over light never knowing if I faltered, she rarely glanced over her shoulder her pace remained unbearably quick, steady and forward my ten-year-old self tried to imitate an old man, careful and wise to please her need to see me as a perfect reflection In the pool of light she cast ahead... she told me often how much I failed I never imagined my own ill-timed flight would bind me in fright now, I attempt to cast my own shadows on my passing path to learn from the emptiness of lonely, ill-spent youth but I will not allow anyone to walk in the shade behind me instead insist on an equal footing as we advance side by side although I have become that old man -- careful and wise -- I do not yet know if I am a worthy guide for my own life nor if any gentle souls will desire a place to accompany me into my future but today, as I reflect on her heaven-bound flight, I am free to try free to try [2012.8.1...a] |
behind these tears is a lost love I only dream one that leaves my heart bleeding, pierced and broken by a chagrin I have never held close I am still a frog waiting for a soul who sees a prince in my eyes and allows my heart to blossom beyond these tears touching fairy tales [2012.8.2...b] |
my eye catches white mosaics of ice patches glitter on a sea of asphalt puffs of white smoke from chimney tops create silent, modern ballet winter movements [2012.7.2...a] |
| our conversation ends slowly his voice has become like mellow wine our words flow like a river I feel the inebriation of his sparks but desire only sounds of wisdom that is what united us when I was a boy now I reach out and let my suffering caress the decades between us love is a word I rarely utter death has pounced on my life and I grieve for understanding that is what united us when I was a boy when I was a boy [2012.5.2...b] |
| I waited in yesterday's sunlight for snow break this morning it falls patiently, calmly transforming bleak winter landscapes into a miracle of purity first fall [2012.5.2...a] |
| in an hour the wild bird grapevine will tweet that on the top floor balcony where the sun does not shine the feeders are filled... at the same moment, watching their feathered displays I will enjoy my noon-time meal mealtime [2012.3.2...a] |
sparrows and tits fight for a place at the feeder in a complicated aerial ballet behind the window, one cat keeps time with a swishing tail movement [2012.2.2...a] |
| This small stone writing is not easy. I waited all day, a rainy cold one out shopping, to find an image that could lead to poetry. One day soon I'll take more time with my small stone and turn it into a more elaborate poem instead of a simple line or two of prose... on a dark gloomy night, yellow and white city lights shimmer behind rainfall replacing stars wrapped in fog colored lights [2011.30.12...a] |
sleep captures me as I drown in a sea of soft round pebbles valiantly I have plunged in their midst searching for a tiny grand piano I discarded months ago I can neither surface, nor find ivory and ebony a strong blue arm retrieves me in time for a last breath in the fresh air I remember two things: I am a fool without music my favorite color is blue who I am [2011.28.12...a] (small stones, 10) |
| holiday crowds don't stop and enjoy the water play of the indoor fountain rose, blue, purple, green and red ribbons of light, cascades worthy of Niagra Falls, the musical splashing seems unheard in the hustle and bustle of hurried conversations -- a single man, mischievous eyes hidden behind a camera, captures a fleeting pleasure ... indoor fountain at Christmas [2011.22.12....a] (small stone, 5) |
welcome winter glare pierces cotton balls on pale blue skies, shining warmly like the eyes of the refugee... my two-euro coin is his sunlight sunlight [2011.20.12...b] This is a small stone as outlined on a new site I've discovered, writingourwayhome.ning.com |
I sit under rain drenched and curious, waiting for a resting place no graveyard shadows ancestral belief patterns like clouds and lightning reincarnation I am no longer alone spring always returns love too beckons like cherry blossoms or orchid buds rose petals anniversary of loss so much love indoors and out cool rain, hot sun, seasons sprout beginnings eggs hatched yesterday under terrarium heat rare speckled lizards until the full moon they are safe from eagle eyes that soar from my dreams the storming thickens I scamper in muddy boots befriending raindrops thoughts of wetness [2011.3.12…a] Chain Haiku, traditional and modern |
| a slow trodding pace breathing deep gusts of cool evening air, return trip home under a light mist, I notice my eye-glasses fog up greedy for wetness and the new street lamps illuminate evening's stark into a pseudo-day glare to dissuade vandals who rarely visit my corner of suburbia... neighbors beneath my fourth floor haven create an unhealthy din for contemplating aloneness candlelight replaces absent moonbeams, and meditation will be less restful than a dream now, sleep will come early tucked under the eiderdown with a black and white cat who purrs incessantly while at midnight, stars shine brightly, somewhere else before sleep returns [2011.29.11...b] |
we read avidly anything, everything no TV, no board games books were our love’s cement discussions took hours curled up in bed, we were young not yet restless for sleep then our tales would begin alternating our voices I was master on the odd nights we invented modern fairy tales plans to murder the evil neighbor who killed our cat just because she stole food from window ledges and like grown-up children that we still were finally we grew sleepy one of us would yawn and put out the first light for after stories the last light was our intimacy nestling close, sometimes we made love, mostly our entwined bodies just fell asleep in the morning, our dreams became the day’s new ideas to be shared once again at evening’s darkness, after biographies poems and other tall tales after stories [2011.28.11…a] Prompt: (another strange one...) Write a poem replacing the blank in "Blank Story." Toy Story, Cars Story, Love Story. You get the idea. Mine is pure fiction. For once. |
| I have survived another year as my own founding father of a dynasty to end at my death, no children will note my passing I am thankful for a food-filled pantry pleasant work gives me a roof and my old-fashioned notion of love frequently fills the hearth of my heart to the bursting point such is the stuffing of my existence and I, cooked to a crisp by its warmth, will not complain should someone nibble tenderly to satisfy their hunger for companionship old man’s prayer 2011.22.11…a |
I have never wandered, though my destination, always precise has led me farther than a hundred seasons or ten thousand tomorrows perched at the summit of any dream imaginable my road was paved in a lofty foreignness that wrapped me -- willingly I admit – in the silence of a book long closed for I sought to lose myself in sounds and odors contrasting with my childhood customs I desired the charms of this distant place to reinvent my spirit songs and let them nourish on the tides of my tears now my eyes are dry and time, my faithful shadow has hidden me so well that I can no longer find the return path to the place my weary bones once called home to lose myself [2011.23.11...a] |
still, the weathered oak and wicker rocker sits forlorn on the porch's north corner her favorite place to watch life unfold beyond, the orchard spread majestically to the east and west, perfuming the entire domain today, only the first tree remains, a gnarled grandfather twice her age children of her children would come not for her patient stories of the golden years but to pluck the ripe red spheres at the right moment hoping she'd set aside a double dozen or so for an evening of special desserts when a fire always crackled in the hearth... nights are still cool in her valley Granny Smith [2011.22.11...b] Prompt: write a poem about a fruit or a vegetable and make that your title. OK. I cheated. STUPID idea calling a poem "apple." |
whenever I'm blue never is only one answer not to hate starry nights that govern my loneliness not to extinguish the candles and allow their light to help me wander through chaos where my emotions romp in free anarchy while in the darkness of midnight ponderous shadows would scare love from its pedestal and crash illusions into shards of black never is the wrong answer for whenever I'm blue you're far away and tempted by the rest of your life and my thumbs revolving in lazy circles cannot catch the smiles in your heart my answer is whenever you're blue, I'll be waiting somewhere beyond the horizon hoping you'll follow the north star to find the path of oneness that brings us together again whenever... [2011.21.11...a] Prompt: write a poem using the phrase "whenever XXX." |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
