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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. )) |
never come to rest in a river's crest there, only badgers nest no surviver is blessed but left alone to guess in a flash, a memory test impossible to forget... your most clever jest paid a single sweet fiver and bought that first frothy pint of lager it messed up good your life fleshed out hunger from thirst quick became your worst ever faithful nightmare pest soon to press you to accept the drunk driver manifesto one day to collide with the caretaker of those permanent guests with a view of the wet banks proposed by eternal rest a calm resting spot [2011.20.11...a] Prompt: write a "best ever" poem. |
| A song, well, sort of. It's real rough, but I'm migraine-filled today after a bad time with my PT yesterday. no, I didn't always mind you weren't forever mine a simple gift of joss sticks lit our days in golden gloss we were two suspicious lovers, and you amazing, my sweet auspicious other delirious together the world surrounded us bound us in delicious times happiness brought nickels and dimes we were two suspicious lovers, and you amazing, my sweet auspicious other when you were mine, only mine you were my fabulous find we were a perfect pairing 'cause we never stopped caring though craving you drove me blind your kind grace saved my raving we were two suspicious lovers, and you amazing, my sweet auspicious other my auspicious other [2011.19.11...a] Prompt: use Elvis Presley's "Suspicious minds" as a starting point. |
for decades, words I might have spoken remained choked in my throat his, if he had them, were a well guarded secret a father invents many reasons to ignore his son, there are endless varieties of black sheep thrice in the last decade he returned from his deathbed I was never summoned before it's too late never bothered his waking hours and had he requested my visit I would have greeted him as a dull mirror of his own silence he is dead now I do not know from where he views eternity but I have never been a stopping place to rest his soul's erring he does not haunt my dreams much as I would have welcomed his otherworldly apparition I still choke on the unshared words I only wanted him as a father... he is dead now [2011.18.11...a] Prompt: write about "it's too late" |
| God had always been secretive his timing offset by a more lovely rubato, a gentle tug at my heart but it sought no revelation Sunday hymns wet my eyes but music already claimed my soul it overflowed, leaving no place for any other kind of love patiently I cultivated my pagan self delighted to belong to life’s offerings but still, a cathedral's stain glass or the reverence of its lofty construction always tore at my chaste sense of elation I have never believed with devotion one day destiny’s chase led me to a faraway city that beckoned to me differently content at this partnership I gladly wandered the streets until one afternoon my promenade led me to an ancient monastery, it's brick walls whispering a welcome so intense my feet would not allow me further discovery instantly, a deep forgotten part of me spun alive, remembering that I had once belonged within the wonder of this place and I wept freely as never before knowing that when my need becomes greatest I now knew where to come home a distant path [2011.17.11…a] Prompt: write a poem that reveals something |
once upon a bouquet of flowers young lovers stall on doorsteps butterflies aflutter before a declaration of emotion heartstrings aflame by fragrant breezes of red and pink timid as school children, they ring the bell hope illuminating their faces and fall into the sweet trap of moonlit sentiment and maybe, if destiny hides no starry shadows they will love, happily ever after once upon... [2011.16.11...a] Prompt: write a poem replacing the X in "once upon a X." |
at first all I wanted was to see them point tiny fingers with a shy laugh when red tourist boats snake along the shimmering river and later to see them hold daddy's hand hide their heads in mamma's skirts I watch them with my own smile when from the tower's summit the light in their tiny eyes is brighter than the golden autumn sun timidly they take the cookies I brought to stay our hunger before a late-programmed lunch slowly, in spite of my prickly beard I become their new friend and we all spend a perfect day... timid smiles [2011.13.11...a] For Fanny, Jérôme and their two sons Prompt: write a poem about kindness Written for the 2011 November PAD Chapbook Contest |
odd numbers multiply time divide people into clans of belief and sentiment like a metronome adding nimble fingers and musical frequencies to create an infinity of sound alarms measure noise by deadlines subtracting yesterday from tomorrow while even numbers queue on staircases skipping every second or third the others, counted by tens and twenties, hurry and scurry before the thousand-year destruction of a single-second explosion men playing at war. death indiscriminately adores millions while famine decimates innocent children hopeless to justify the multiplicity of his uniqueness a single man gives homage to the numbers that regent his life at noon or midnight, the twin magic hours more powerful than eleven eleven or twenty-three forty-five can he still believe — this single individual — in one god, indivisible life and death [2011.11.11...a] A text written for the 2011 PAD November Chapbook Challenge Prompt: Write a poem involving math or numbers |
sometime between sunset and sleepless hours a haggard man remembers bookish stories he inhales the day's last cigarette squatting comfortably under a tent flap in an impromptu camp along the Seine he's not alone, but their fellowship brands them as outsiders, bound in an inhumane condition where the odd notion of solidarity never conquered the ideals of men words to stifle, ignore and misuse he is bundled by their stupid gaggle they do no warm his soul nor comfort the growling in his stomach which prowls with thought of three meals daily he cannot ignore this ample loss nor his children’s plump arms or his soft wife, when love still united them or the wry stretching of his face at a friend's simple joke now the candlelight scatters the swarm of memories on the bank's brick wall that rouges deeply finally breaking the rough shadows with the dust of his life forgiveness has chilled his heart and he leaves innocent students behind desks to toy with love and trust as pertinent symbols like a well-heated house furnished in dreams while homeless resounds as a curse he begs to be able to forget words [2011.9.11...a] |
miles of chilly wind aggress a lifetime of grey skies, the morning hours whirl and crash into a list of undone things before this afternoon's fatal hours a cat paws at the window and I, still sipping tea, think only about the down comforter alone on the bed I have stopped counting days and nights there is no welcome in sleep my eyes battle memories of life the wind chimes clamor in a vacant urgency they no longer tumble into a gentle, favorite song but a distressing noise — its tones thrust out notes dirge-like and final much too final — chanting, like the dark knell of eternity and loneliness and still I cannot weep there is no rain, a small blessing insignificant beyond the unformed horizon the howling jousts today’s sadness against the dim-lit calm I fight to maintain just inside my doorstep there is no joy in the perfect white lilies that perfume my arms as I trudge alone against the wind through the alleys of marble and withered autumn oaks accompanied by human kindness nothing will ever brighten this day a cold red mark on my calendar when the cemetery was bleaker than the nightmare laying my father to rest the moment respite is lost [2010.6.11…a] For Scarlett, with love |
thick milk shake sky falls in a hint of mist or my fading heartbeat wrapped in a small cashmere notion of fog somewhere caressing the cosmos sunshine seeps through shooting stars under moonlit gauze I tire of courting raindrops silence resounds under this heavenly veil a mantra of immobile colorlessness I close the quiet window the air's shadow escapes my grasp what I cannot hold [2011.8.9...a] |
How long 'till we touch disaster's threads to be truly lost in endgame? Hope no longer lights our paths, prayer and love leave odd ends. Yet Sing not of death Oh lofty ones! Lady Earth reigns in tears... Earthly demise [2011.19.7...a] A poem written in the Nonet Form. |
Naturally, I appreciate comments in the form of Reviews if you've the time... On a prompt of "barenness." cool summer air surrounds me the streets are drying, following the path of my tears it matters not that the sky today is not blue, just for a while I feel like springtime on this July morn... the apartment is no longer as empty for three weeks ago I adopted a black and white kitten with bluish eyes, like mine as he curls up in my lap for hours in front of the television his warmth does not replace the strength of your arms but no matter you chose to flee and my life must continue, somehow yes, these summer days get mixed, Thursdays akin to Sundays i will not see Greece, nor did I see the fireworks we celebrated together for so many years… one day soon I may find the courage to sit alone in dark movie house or under an ornamental elm in the botanical gardens we never visited but I will learn not to bow to a barren heart without your love to sit alone [2011.16.7...a] 29 lines of free verse |
the fifth cord of rich and excellent silk For Pierre... and as much forgiveness as I can ask for because I wanted that third cord... For those interested in adding a few statistics to this poem's static item, here's the link:
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| I've decided to start writing again. In today's poetry newsletter, there is a new contest — new to me — of daily poetry writing. Here's my first attempt. For those of you with enough energy, please link-click and leave your RRR so my static item will receive some publicity.
The text is here: grey screeches mayhem thunder pounds angry and god-like prayer is useless streets wetted down eager municipal workers tempt dismal skies towards quick splatter in the sunless obscurity oil slicks glimmer like earthbound rainbows before cars collide in a miserable boom holiday departure warns against senseless rushing before cloudburst this death is useless rainfall cleans stains of blood human weeping rips at heartache shattering wounds with the earth at midnight fireworks strike no vacation celebrations the god’s electrifying anguish they too mourn what may have been once, the universe exploded useless [2011.13.7…a] |
suddenly, nothing your voice has disappeared into a void created by solitude and determination to accomplish more than to love another man the muse that so caressed my ears has dwindled into silent weeping and my emotional fireworks cannot rekindle the dying spark that held us together between us, words have vanished into darkness of the new moon shadowing the beauty of what was right spotlighting the grumbling we could not master between us grows a universe of two souls limping in opposite direction shattered into shards of light years that the stars above can no longer stitch together with silver rays of hope between us instead this sudden nothingness hovers covering us in timid stealth where we walk upon memories of a sandy beach abandoned to grow old alone watching an ocean where truths are forbidden and as the sun sets differently on the two places neither can call home we have forgotten to say I miss you… into a void [20114.10.7…a] |
I barely remember a scruffy farmyard a place with too many other animals I was a springtime runt that year and never got enough to drink tumbling too far from the others no one but you retrieved me, taught me to belong showed me love and affection let me discover companionship I became your shadow and you my sunlight I tried to sing for you, but your music was greater so I listened patiently until you remembered me laying at your feet when you did, I brought you my leash because it was time to romp in the park to roll in the grass and lap up green pond water afterwards, we wandered back home for dinner from a silver dish no one else ever touched I was happy that we grew old together and I trusted you that day when you took me to the odd smelling rooms you said I had to heal, and somehow I did I cannot tell you what happened in that bright place lit with strange white lamps except that you were not by my side when I woke I am somewhere else now, in a quiet morning light there is no sadness, the farmyard isn’t scruffy any more here wise ones know about love they remind me of your lessons in patience and tell me one day I will hear your music again and once again, soon afterwards you will scratch the ticklish spot behind my left ear the place where my heart touched my skin and made your hand warm Vladimir [2011.11.5...a] For Eric and Maritsa |
in the now before dawn the air from my balcony smells of heavy anticipation beyond the peppery wisteria, it is as if the soon-to-be blue planned to veer green, like the sadness I imagine in your eyes there were mornings when the first bird call never woke me, safe by your sleeping side there were afternoons when the air assailed us with brine, with odors of pine times when we were happy there were evenings when red wine flowed like words between us, now caught in this still unlighted silence that will only bring a state of sullen indifference to challenge the love that once reigned so surely in our eyes perhaps what I smell, sleepless and unmoved by the incessant early-morning bird song, is a strange unnamed odor I find in your loss when we were... [2011.10.5...] |
| This is the last poem in Katya's Dew Drop Inn April Poetry Writing Month series. words exploded in my head I said nothing, knowing their storm would have devastated you left you more upside down than you were when you walked out the door sorry is a word I never learned impotent against the internal rage destroying my heart I let you leave too proud to admit any fault was mine I did not get up from the chair to plead with you from the balcony I did not run to the station I thought you had taught me about loneliness I was wrong… reasons why [2011.5.1...a] Katya’s Dew Drop Inn prompts April 1—personal folly (something really stupid or silly you can admit to in a poem) |
for thirteen years we have tried to paint the sky blue each with a separate pot of color mine has always turned out grey you've never said how you perceive yours but together we should have created thirteen years of sunny tomorrows sitting side by side with our two paint brushes discussing the details excitedly, instead of occasionally making up for lost time in a rainy day fashion mourning a sky that I have always found less blue when you're not holding my hand trying to become the blue sky in my corner of the world not [2011.30.4...a] |
the afterwards moment: clouds have stopped their distant growling the sun tries to paint the sky blue too much grey prevails like on a dusty monday morning after two weeks of holiday at the sea rain loiters at low altitudes like swallows dip and swirl for bugs the waiting, rewarded just with a wet chill brought by a timid breeze, is heart-wrenching the land thirsts for even the left-over water from a thunderstorm, we too tire of the uniform dullness accompanying our comings and goings, we know when the crops can no longer be harvested our bellies may begin to cry, a response to our painful pocket books when did we stop believing in the simple rain dances of our ancestors ancient beliefs [2011.29.4…a] |
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