Much love and peace .... many hugs ..... and blessings to you ... and to each your unique and unfailing Muse!!
...jeanne...
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Featured Page's Poets
March 2007 - Berlie (Kimberly Eddleman)
February 2007 - Amathir
December 2006 - Morgaine
Novermber 2006 - Moonflower (Valerie Vandegriff)
October 2006 - Drew Rush
Uncommon Words - PP Poets
Squawk
zero
Heinz
While Browsing
Elmaz Abi-Nader
David Whyte
Ted Kooser
Kenneth Rexroth
Bits and Pieces
. . . and this is dedicated to the one we love
A collection of quotes on the nature of .... and the writing of poetry
I said, There are 300 DIFFERENT WAYS TO SAY "SAID"
Ye Old English Sayings .... so that's where it came from!
Swear with a classic flare or how to insult with enthusiasm
WRITER'S BLOCK ... AND LIONS AND TIGERS AND BEARS ... OH MY!
MUSTERING THE MUSE...
*numerous humorous ludicrous poemious
__________________________________________________________
****************************************************
MONTHLY FEATURED PAGE'S POETS
Berlie.......Kimberly Eddleman
Member #1 and creator of PoetryPages.com.............What can I say .... without Berlie ... none of us would be here, enjoying the opportunity to express ourselves, poetically and otherwise among friends. Berlie created PoetryPages in 1999 and with so many poetry sites being created each and everyday, the continued success and growth of PP truly speaks of her creative and administrative talent and insight....
...... and lets not forget Self-Pub.Net, ShoppingAide.com. I am sure there are more websites that I'm not aware of ... right!
Berlie's most recent book of her own poetry is To Claim My Soul.
...when reading Berlie's poetry I am very aware of her passion, the strength of her voice, and her quest to understand the world that surrounds her.
I've posted a few of my favorites. You'll want to read more:
Berlie's Poems
<center>We must not think evil
"we must not think evil of this man"
the words of a grandfather
spoken over the body of a slain little girl
his own family, his own blood
offering his forgiveness
to this sick, bastard of a man
who took the lives of five of their own
I did not cry
when I heard of the shooting
or the day two more died
instead I cursed the killer
and shook my head in anger
today I read Grandpa's words,
felt his strength and courage
from the faith in his heart
and now I cry
with an ache in my soul
where the old hurt resides
this simple man can forgive a stranger
who caused so much pain
yet I lack the strength
to forgive even my own father</center>
***
<center>i walked away
You held me close
I gasped for air
placed me on a pedestal
and left me there
You nurtured me
we grew apart
gave me your soul
I broke your heart
You said you loved me
ten times a day
begged me...don't go
I walked away</center>
***
stained
stained
by a dark past
these marks
meant to last
scrub them
bloody and raw
they always heal
with a scar
hide them
no one can see
this shameful
part of me
forgive the past
let it be
accept yourself
you're loved by me
it's too late
the stain too deep
I cut it out
and now... I'm free
***
today i wrote poetry
today i wrote poetry
it wasn't written down
there were no words to speak
it will win no awards
that wasn't meant to be
it contained no rhymes
nor meters or lines
syllables were not accounted for
i don't do that anymore
today i wrote poetry
by simply being alive
every gesture, every smile
a bit of muse set free
...thats poetry enough for me
***
Runaway
street signs flicker past
city lights fall behind
peering out the darkened glass
my reflection looking back
the past I leave behind
the future lies ahead
not sure where this road will take me
not certain I should have fled
sighing I adjust the headphones
drowning out the noise with song
closing eyes to try to sleep
the greyhound bus rumbles on
February, 1999
***
Whispering Prayers
a child lays huddled
under the covers
hands pressed tight
against her ears
a shattering of glass
follows a slammed door
and she whispers prayers...
please God
a shouted curse chases her
everywhere she runs, it finds
so she learns to build a fortress
and cowers, deep within her mind
just make them stop
loving voices, raised in anger
left a mark on her tender heart
fears and tears she learned to bury
but the scars her soul still bears
I'll be good, I swear
a child lays huddled
under the covers
whispering prayers...
***
I Wonder
I wonder what lies over the hill
Beyond the stars after the kill
I wonder what tomorrow will bring
Which flower will bloom which bird will sing
I wonder what the future holds
Where will I be when life unfolds
I wonder what lies over the sea
Beyond the moon; inside of me
I wonder what makes me breathe
My heart beat; the spider weave
And I wonder if I will ever know
Before my last breath; before my last show
***
Daughter of Man
No one knows
Just who I am
Yet I am simply
The daughter of Man
Grasping my hands
Of Heaven's dirt
A touch of love
A touch of hurt
From Death I come
To Death I go
On whispering winds
To claim my soul
***
Haiku
gossiping
on the telephone wire
blue jays
---------
blue heron
treetop landing
not a quiver
---------
behind the dumpster
three legged dog, skin and bones
best friend, discarded
***
The Fence that Separates
* for Troy
a chain link fence, separates
the two backyards of
two houses and
two young children
a boy and a girl
who one day spy each other
and with the launching of a tomato
war is declared
and so begins the bombardment
of rotten vegetables and
after much laughter
and ruined gardens
peace is declared and
a young friendship is born
nimble hands and feet find their way
over the fence that separates
and they explore
each others yards and
their new friendship
the fathers, seeing this
converge on the fence and build a gate
so it no longer, separates
a path is worn through the gate
and in each others hearts
trees are climbed and
secrets are shared
and troubles are forgotten
left behind, for a time
as they pass through the gate
over the years the path grows deep
and the friendship grows strong
then one day the girl is gone,
her family moved on
and a padlock appears on the gate
weeds grow and choke the path
the hinges turn to rust and
the memory of the friendship fades
and the fence, once again, separates
____________________________________________________________
AMATHIR
FEATURED POET FEBRUARY 2007
Amathir joined Poetry Pages in November of 2003. I deeply admire and respect his poetry. An exceptional talent!! I have stayed true to Amathir's sometimes curious font size (bottom two poems) ... I tried posting it larger ... but then it just didn't say "Amathir" ...
If you don't know this Poetry Pages Poet ... stop and read awhile. You will leave richer for the experience.
***
Over Dinner
My senses are subdued, touched
By the gentle evening atmosphere;
The blue illumination of the moon,
And sweet taste of the cooling air.
The calamity of the street
Seems so far off,
As I cannot pull my mind away
From us, here. Immersed,
As in the devoted composition
Of a poem. Every word
Dwelt upon with utmost care,
As the rhythm of expression flows.
I cannot halt mid-passage,
Nor turn from intimate awareness
Of the metre of our interplay;
Banality cannot draw me out
Of this reverie over dinner.
The ambience we ourselves compose
By sitting across from one another,
Is punctuated by a genial duel of wits.
The appetite is only half-appeased
When dinner is done. Still more
To be consumed, even at this hour.
But that can be saved for a later date.
There is no rush to finish
***
When the Waters Cease Flowing
Light filters in through the crystals
Of the frosted glass; one determined
Stroke of white, the door ajar, slightly.
Enough for a solitary eye to peer
Through the rising steam.
She has forgotten to turn on the fan
To disperse the mists, and now
The mirror is fogged, reflection obscured,
Much like the glass door that conceals her.
Almost.
She bathes her face in the falling water,
Her mouth open, filling, closes,
Then opens again
As she pushes the water out
With her tongue.
Streaming down her throat, joining
The torrent falling from above, flowing
Between her wholesome breast,
A fountainhead, breaking off into rivers,
Coursing across her belly, caressing down.
She turns. Her eyes closed,
Still immersed by the heavenly rains
As she works the lather upon her body,
Long drawn-out strokes, both hands, her thighs up
To her face, across her breast, and down;
He cannot see, no matter the angles he tries,
Only the foam and bubbles that trickle
From her shoulders down,
The long lingering journey
Down the valley of her spine, settling
At the small, over-flowing down,
Splashing to the ground at her feet;
Pooling with yet more foam and bubbles,
The rest that she has washed from her skin
With her own hands.
He sighs. Suddenly stops.
He longs to be found out, but not now;
Trepidation sweltering with his tongue.
He shivers, even in these tropical climes,
He is beside himself in reverie watching on.
There is no satisfaction except to watch
As she turns once more, now facing him,
Her body in full, now in inches, distant;
Her navel but a kiss from his lips.
A bolder man might make himself known,
But he steals away as she turns the water off;
Bumping the towel loose and to the floor,
His haste and bashful hue lead him dizzy
To the door, out, and to safety.
A cool glass of water from the kitchen.
He sits, flicking through a magazine,
And then TV channels. She comes out,
Wrapped in her towel, barely concealing.
Breasts squeezed together in their bounty,
The least of her thighs covered.
If only she knew.
She closes the bedroom door, dresses,
Then re-emerges in a fine black dress,
Straightening, shifting, brushing.
He dutifully zips her up.
A car horn sounds. She leaves.
If only she knew.
***
Poem of the Week June 18, 2006
Last Poem of a Pirate
I closed my eyes and saw
The sky in the back of my ‘lids;
I breathed in the salty veil,
And the spray upon my cheek,
A welcome wetness, a kiss
From my mistress, and one
True love.
I have no feet for land these days;
The constant cutting of the waves,
The sturdy bough, and the whipping
Of an angry sail in the hazy tumult
Of the open sea, fill my senses
To the very brim of conscious holding.
Bound, alone, cold, I stand before
A gawking rabble, noosed
For their delight. All the whores
And drunkards of the taverns,
And the merchants and the soldiers;
I’d never slit their throats, till now.
All the bounty, buried beneath
My pants and the sands
Of a foreign island, now lost;
And I am condemned,
As they are, to lose my life
And take it all to my grave.
***
“Kess of Bacchia”
I
Roam the Woods of the Satyrs’ Endless Night
To catch a glimpse of Her. To see Her
Caress the waters’ of the lake.
An act mere mortals call swimming,
The routine of bathing by the moons’ light.
But She, wading the shallows,
Every wave about her supple flesh
Refusing to depart and ripple onward.
She does not bathe, for she is carried
By the water. Ever droplet yearning;
If only to caress Her once, from head to toe,
They would carry Her about across the lake.
Beneath the moon, that always seems to shine
Upon Her. Glistening off her curves as she glitters
On the lake like the stars above.
Even the trees sway toward Her,
And whisper with the winds, Her name.
Flowers like a lusting adolescent
Cannot but bloom too soon for Her
And burst in premature petals; their love.
And she, unaware or unconcerned
By it all. Perhaps used to it by now
That so many watch Her, adoring.
Or with fantasies of what can never be
Swelling their tongues and their loins.
Possessed of all the fullness of charm,
Mere seduction in her passing by;
A pleasure to all the senses.
She cannot but be desired by all in nature;
It is the justice of Her beauty.
II
You are but a flower in the forest.
You watch her emerge on the bank.
Sprites who spring from both woods and lake
Embrace her with a veil of silver
That clings to her still-moist body.
Enrapt as any eye, embracing every curve
And sacred grove. Every subtle arc of flesh
And flex of muscle, bestowed a silver lining,
Every shiver shimmering like the ripple on a pond.
Ever step a grace for eyes’ delight.
She dances around each and every tree,
And beneath each bough.
Her skin still drips with water
That splashes to the ground.
The earth seems to tremble
Wherever she treads. Shy from the touch
Of a beautiful woman, like a young boy.
Even the delicate lilacs, burgeon
As she nears. And wilt as she walks passed
Without a glance.
Fairies flitter about her brow,
Weaving, adorning her with laurels;
Her beauty, nature’s prize amongst all;
She casts them aside with simple gesture,
But smiles as she does.
III
The Satyrs gather behind her,
And play their music, and dance.
Gesturing and beckoning her to join.
Some tug at her arms, and abscond
As she shakes them away.
Unashamed and erect, they dance.
Pouring wine about her feet.
Lapping it from her footprints
As she keeps her pace, steady and fluid.
No notice of their offerings.
With fury they sing, and chant Her name,
And drink, and masturbate, those
Who can no longer contain their frenzy.
You watch as She smiles, mischievous,
At the debauched serenade.
She loosens the silver veil, tightly wound
About her body, and lets it drop to her feet.
There… in full glory, She is. Her own radiance
Lights the surrounding trees, as all nature
Lets out a collective sigh, and every Satyr
Groans in pleasure, and all and one soon
Become silent. Their breathing heavier;
Steadier; almost in unison. Even yours,
Rhythmic and deep, in the throes of satiety;
A symphony echoing…
IV
Drums sound. Horns blow.
The soft growl of every Satyr turns
Into a howl. Forced high in to their throats.
Their hands releasing all that they hold
As they pull at the hair upon their chests.
You hide behind a towering oak,
Though it wretched with age,
As the silhouette of a man, a True Man,
Steps out. A chalice in one hand,
His free hand, high into the night air.
His fingers click, and a purple light
Rises from the ground, coalescing
With the golden light from Her,
And the blue light from the moon,
Permeating through the canopy.
He stands naked, a more beautiful man
Envious eyes have yet to lay upon.
Even the floating faeries are in awe
Of His perfect form, well endowed
Of every muscle of His body.
His eyes meet Hers, and they linger.
He caresses the air before him
As he traces Her curves from afar;
As the woods’ themselves sigh,
And She quivers, though untouched.
V
He turns and She walks to his side,
Taking the chalice, she drinks.
The Satyr dance and sing
And thump their chests,
And bring themselves back to frenzy.
The music grows louder as they walk,
Hand to hand, down the path that seems
To clear away with every step they take.
How perfect they look, you think to yourself.
But you swell with a fury.
Your frenzy is not lost for her.
And you follow. Light from torches
Grow closer with every step,
As the music and the singing,
The moaning and chanting draw nearer.
An aroma of wine and sweat,
Mixing together, wafts and weaves
It’s way down the path to your nose.
The Satyrs have already caught scent
And raced out of sight, ahead and howling,
VI
Distortions of flesh, and fountains of wine,
In places mixed with blood,
As the light from torches dances with shadow
Upon the obscene and grotesque scene.
He, who is called Bacchus, with her hand
In his, steps upon body after body,
Guiding her across the writhing sea of flesh,
Effortlessly. She, still graceful as she kneels
To fill the chalice with the flowing wine.
With her finger, across a young girls back,
She takes a sample to her lips, and smiles.
He mounts his throne and claps his hands.
All and one stop, and rise to their feet.
Every eye upon the beautiful woman
Who wanders the throng of bacchic revellers.
Bacchus watches with intent, His eyes fixed
As every other eye. You see the look
Of anticipation in every face that follows her.
Hope. You know that look in your own reflection.
As if this scene has played out before. Many times.
You know what that smile is on her face.
He knows it too, as he rises from his throne,
Now erect, and calls to her, his arms out-stretched.
His Satyrs keeping the younger maidens who clamour
At bay. Some taking liberties with the young beauties.
VII
He sings with such a beautiful voice
As a chorus forms behind him:
Three satyrs; three men; three women.
Who sing accompaniment, as music
rises from the depths of the forest.
He sings a story of high romance,
Of a girl, who from birth was destined
To be His most glorious mate.
She, sprung from the fount of beauty,
The flowing waters where all nymphs bathe.
She, the most beautiful of them all.
No curve of her form lacking measure;
The envy even of Goddesses who watch;
But even they could not but adore her
As she rose, saturated and gleaming,
All present, held fixed, as if the rhythm
Of paradise had been disrupted
And replaced by something new: Her.
Each adjusting in Her presence
Like eyes to the glorious sun.
She is to be his, and only his.
The Queen of All Flesh, her title.
And they would rule all the forests,
Hand in hand, making love. His fidelity,
Secured for her, for the first time.
The envy of every Bacchante,
If only she would take it,
And don the mantle of his bride.
He offers her all Bacchia each night,
And each night waits on her reply.
VIII
She wanders where Her eye takes Her
While He sings in His rhapsody.
She greets the youthful onlookers;
A smile, and deep lustrous gaze;
The simple power that she wields.
All the throng surrounds Her,
To look upon, and be looked upon
By Her. The bestow of Her Grace
In Her presence; He would have it, too,
He would have it more,
He would offer more than any could.
And She knows it.
But Her virtue demands still more.
That prize, always out of reach,
Her will unbroken.
Hers’ is the greatest prize,
Sprung from that Womb of Beauty,
Where all nymphs bathe. Hers,
And Hers alone to decide. Beyond
The grasp and grope of destiny.
How he hates that he cannot take
What he desires. But he cannot
Relent in his pursuit. Endless Nights,
Revelled just for her, in her name.
He cannot recall how many now.
IX
She turns back toward the opening
And the path that leads here.
You watch as she passes all the faces,
Tinged with gloom, yet still with adore;
Bodies deflated, as if She
Had drawn the air from every mouth
And left them empty. It is one thing
To suffocate in the rarity of Her presence,
It is a bliss; but Her absence robs
The scene of all life.
Bacchus blushes, his lip curls.
You have never seen him look this way.
His head slumps but his eyes
Are attached to her form, now
Disappearing through forest.
The Satyrs cry out, and chase off
Down the path, no longer in joy.
They grovel; they lay at her feet;
Pluck flowers, hastily, and throw them
To her.
They share their masters’ pain,
But She will have none if it.
She will return to the waters,
The fount and abode of Beauty
Until the next Endless Night,
And avail Him, yet another chance
To woo her to his love.
But She is beyond the reach
Of any man, even Gods.
Her Beauty is untouchable.
***
What's in a Name, My Lonesome Friend?
I wandered from the bustling crowds
Of my countrymen, far from town,
Taking counsel from the clouds
And the falling leaves of brown.
So much is made of names there.
Not here; and I never let it slip.
I am never asked, to be fair,
No lure set to prise it from my lips.
For as it is, it is my lone domain
Left solely to my heart’s behest.
Unspoken, it shall remain
As I roam,
Clasped to, forever, at my breast.
***
A Photographer's Legacy
If I had not stopped to photograph
That child dancing in the fountain’s spray,
Throughout this hot mid-summer’s day
I would go on with much ill will.
If I had missed her play and laugh,
And take to the water with such a thrill;
Had I not been brought to a standstill
By her joyful ways,
I would be lost to this city heat;
Distanced from what my days may have
To offer me, and what I might save
From burning here, on one-way streets.
***
To Her Home
Is it not strange,
Never to have seen a Muse
In Her skin of inspiration?
More like a dream,
Woven in the borders
Of the mind and the gaze,
And the corners of the heart,
Where felt expression resides
With Her image, embracing.
Countless paths to Her terrace
And Her door, so readily trod,
But always passing, unheralded.
In the dark, passed by unnoticed,
Even in the light of day.
Fond feelings, thoughts left at Her sill,
Where a light flickers from within;
The unmistakable glow of life,
The buzz of activity and living.
What an abode to pass by
Without mention of its host:
Muse called Kess.
What luxury of persona
Those walls conceal,
And windows rarely reveal;
It is like a secret safely held,
Passed by, by the unsuspecting,
And even by we who know.
There is foreboding, silent
On the threshold to Her realm,
And this man standing idle,
Unsure to knock, or leave
Without a word uttered.
This home is not his,
Yet it holds sway over him,
Like the lure of a nymph;
Deeper into an unknown forest.
It is the rarest thing,
Drawn heedless, yet open-eyed
Through the streets
To Her door, locked, unlocked;
One cannot say for sure,
Nor surer that She resides within.
Or if She is alone inside,
Or if it is company She seeks,
Or if one is even worthy.
What fairy tale persists?
Or Myth, or Legend of Her,
The Unseen Muse,
That keeps Me at her door,
Yet my hands at bay,
Or toying with pen and paper.
Pleasurably stranded to brood
And ponder on Her step,
Sliding poems under her door.
Is it not a legitimate kind of love?
Strange that I see her face
And yet not, but so close;
It is in the orbit of the margins:
The doors, the windows,
The glimpses, the moments,
Where Her wholesome flesh
Is inscribed its wholeness;
Each poem bringing it nearer completion…
***
To the Girl and the Coffee Shop
Nectar of Modern God-likes,
That blessed brown bean,
The aroma dancing all about me
As I await my own chalice-full.
Of all those sweet mortals
Who tend the boiling ambrosia,
Call them angels, handmaidens,
Chosen, one outshines
Like the moon does the stars
When in full silver bloom.
And if I were a God, or like,
I would have called for her to sit
And sup on conversation
And a glorious potion, potent
On the palette, and while away
The afternoon as at a banquet.
Bless me twice, maiden;
Fulfil my senses in this temple
To the unhurried pleasures
Of simply being. A sanctuary,
Cherished by the few who find,
And take the time to sit.
If you would only take the time
To sit…
Who knows what’s there to find…
***
Poem of the Week: November 5, 2006
Encountering The Muses: The Phenomenology of The Poet
Part dreaming, part fantasy conjured;
Embodied in the senses, yet weightless.
Mystical reverie and direct intuition,
Active together
In Conscious and Unconscious frames.
The reality of it could not be more real,
But nothing like reality
In it’s apparent everydayness.
Indeed, she has her body-at-hand, and aspects
That draw the attention to its fine-most point;
The lucid horizon of the intentional gaze
Mapping the finitudes of a promising fate.
It is a pleasure,
But a pleasure on the threshold.
For there is always a ‘beyond’;
Just over the horizon,
Always more beyond.
And yet, to push back the horizon,
Back to its outer-most, only brings us back
To the point where one first catches sight.
The promise of that which lies beyond
Is always well beyond.
Our senses cannot penetrate the boundary,
For the boundary is the senses
And it lies in all directions.
It is the mind,
The original source and final destination,
The alpha and the omega of the senses;
The mind
Is always already beyond.
Through this Transcendental Gateway;
Through which
Muser and The Muse must pass;
Beyond which
Muser and The Muse float weightlessly;
The Poet irrupts into Being.
Where fragments,
Infinite shards of nuance
Reflect the light
From the gaze of angular consciousness.
Prismatic negation,
The attrition of mutual-cancellations,
Casting out blinding shadows.
Reminiscent of the darkest dark-spots
Of a once-glorious sun, now diminished
In it’s long, drawn-out throes of death.
But the collapse
Precedes the union (but not a reunion)
Of the fragments into total Concord.
It is a dawning
That dissolves the finite horizon
Resting upon the ocean of the senses.
As light fades
And gives way to Enlightenment,
And the ocean sinks away,
The Illusions,
Once the tools of navigation,
Unveil the potency of Being,
Its endless potential
Both realised and awaiting.
The Poet is revealed at once.
The becomingness of Muse and Muser;
Inspired Oneness
Moving towards the Infinite Mass
Of a wholly created universe.
The Unity of mutual origination,
A beautiful birth
That only I have known.
***
Delightful Reverie: Contemplation of Completion
I lay with Her,
In dreams;
Half-submerged in Her, coalescing.
A oneness where I can feel Her
From within, yet look upon Her
From without.
It is love-making, made free
Of restraints placed upon us
By a demanding physical universe.
Our embodiment,
Pure of sense,
Both bound and unbound at once;
The erotic consciousness awakening
In the dawn of Love’s limitless will.
Ours is the unity of the cosmos,
Its completeness,
Where the meaning of existence blooms
With the force of its first creation
To the Mind-in-Love;
(The Loving-Mind)
Aware, for the first time, of itself
Through Her.
____________________________________________________________
MORGAINE
FEATURED POET . . . DECEMBER 2006
Morgaine joined Poetry Pages in November of 2004. I remember reading Morgaine's poetry when she first joined and thinking her poetry sprang from a very strong inner voice. Morgaine's voice has grown even stronger .... and I admire her powerful and honest emotion. It was really a pleasure to rediscover her work. I will be looking forward to reading Morgaine's new work ... and poems that reflect the recent changes in her life.......
She has just recently started a archive... definitely read it!
~morgaine's poems~
A Love So Strong
this willing soul
calls me by name
understands my flaws
sees the beauty of who I am
forever, a love so strong
each day my heart intensifies
to see his adoring smile, his familiar laughter
us together living the hours in this city
oh how, this soul keeps me real
I am drowning in pure devotion
the obsession of comfort and touch
bleeds through my pores
stretching this manic heart
reveiling thunderous splendor in him
***
To my love,
I've found hope inside:
borne out of a divine peace of mind.
To my god,
I've found devotion in someone.
***
when is it going to be my time to rise
to let all i am completely surround me...when I am stable?
reassuring to the hands of the people who love me
its all cloudy now
the viewpoint of my righteous form
she is hidden from the world, from myself
she stands like my shadow pleading my body to take her fire
but the desire is gone
it has left me stranded at the edge of my life
teedering a lifetime of fuckups
til i make the right move
maybe i'll runaway like before
but it never is like it was before
so i drain this hideous watchman that makes me stay
til I find my way back home
***
Brokedown
first you stay
then weeks you fall
how far will this stand
to say we are want
you taste the confusion
and i know
you feel my eyes
the cost of reliving
and you feel the change
cause tonight, we are brokedown
our hell is one.
***
Waiting to Run
I hate waiting, you know that.
the impulsive need to run presides.
so here I am, in front of my house, looking at the cracked entrance.
now i find myself entering the boarder of disconjoining states,
knowing this is not what we wanted, not this way.
so i think i better not knock on your door, just stand there
hanging onto hope that maybe you'll hold me in your arms
and nothing of me distrurbs our moment.
but this is only a dream and
so I am willing to wait because I love you.
***
The Secrets My God Keeps
I've got a secret
implanted deep in marrow
that its so far gone
you'd have to crawl the atmosphere
to rearrange some kind of cryptic analog
anticipate the coming of two moons
layed out on the black surface of the sky
'cause my god carries little sharp knives
proding out diaries of my dimensions
wearing its toothless grin like those artless statues
I've tasted God
it was sexless
no defining marks
you'd have to swim lake upon lake to see even a scratch
suppose I wanted to send God a story
reciting the words of my suffering
God would surely answer my calling
I take it you don't look upon a God
I can see the bleeding of your hands, your own doing
the grotesque feeding of denial
Wake up, the bliss you so desperately wanted
ran away while you, with the bathroom light dimmed
tasted your bitter hate of the world
***
19 Prostitutions - January Challenge
cramped in that dark basement, rots
77 feet deep nitroglicerin vats
glossy red with black undertones
seeps through the floors
bacterial nemesis
contagious when airborne
seek your execution.
the 19 glazed voices
of initiated pain calling you
through the airduct
while hurdling the verges
of turquiose vermin
give me your contribution.
solitary priest in white dress
points a bitter satirical finger
down your spine
the only resolution is the
first day of the end of
your reign
uptairs in that bleak house, you
call a home
you find a box of matches
pure retribution strikes
the wall and
fairy nemesis
opens your head
of 1977 lies
***
The World Grows Around My Head
there is enrichness...I see it spiriling in dark places
I wonder if the world sees me
shaking the bittersweet comfort of Gods hand
the grotesque scars I carry fade
words of my truth painted in the sky
***
She Has My Eulogy
misery drags me down,
underneath its breath.
the backdrop of everything
I'm not comes fleeting excuses.
am i not the energy of all love,
in all this suspecting love?
God, she has my eulogy!
I repent my womanly desire.
my life is an apocalyptic crime scene,
feeding on the power of her aversion.
She is the little girl,
I condemened to be good.
when my heart is confused with hate,
she is my blame.
I am dying,
she is surviving, thriving in me.
***
Righteous Woman, How Beautful Your Existence! (For My Mother)
mother can't you see
this swarming devotion
planted at your feet
I speak of so much adoration
pouring out of me, onto you
how being my mother, this righteous woman
catapults the sky
I've found my beating heart
get brighter as you guide me
bursting like a prism
stretching for miles and miles
you keep me alive
feeling that drive of love
penetrate all that I know
how you believe in me
even in conflict of minds
constantly faithful to accept my flaws
I sit and breathe in your wonderful existence
____________________________________________________________
MOONFLOWER
FEATURED POET . . . NOVEMBER 2006
~ haiku waiting upon a gentle woman
moonflower daydream
seasons stirring mystery
valerie's haiku
Valerie Vandegriff ......
our moonflower, has been a member of Poetry Pages since March of 2002. She has been a moderator for the Tribute, Humorous and Briefs Forums for some time and her contributions to Poetry Pages over the years are beyond numerous. Her daughter, JellyBean, is also a member!
I admire Valerie's ability to so adeptly capture Nature's beauty. I also admire the gentle and very real way she touches the reader's heart in all her poetry. I think she is a "perfect haiku" .............
I hope you enjoy Moonflower's poems and please visit her Poet's Page.
~moonflower's poems~
***
<center>October
Earth wears Autumn's face
painted by October's hand
..Jack Frost waits in line..</center>
***
<center>November
Autumn's colors fade
sweaters reclaimed from moth balls
frosty November</center>
***
for Ravyn (Jennifer Sloan)
Living On...
The Raven flew among us
for a little while
She gave so freely of herself
Sometimes she cried,
Sometimes she smiled
Goodbye dear Raven
as you fly away
to rest in peaceful sleep
Though you had to go
you left each one of us
a piece of you to keep
Yes a part of her
still lingers here, even
though she may be gone
Its through her valiant spirit
her words and thoughts
and the memories she made,
that she will, in our hearts,
keep living on..
***
close enough..
she picks up her guitar
and twangs out some chords..
to her its anger-management,
a way to cope..and she says
it keeps her sane
when shes bored..
shes young and strong but
she thinks her life is going
nowhere, so she plays her pain
with a pick and some strings..
plunking out heartwrenching
notes and tunes of despair..
i wish i could ease her pain
while she lives her 'growing pains'
i wish i could make her see
that her dreams are not
just 'pie in the sky'
i wish she could see herself
through my eyes..
she has what it takes to live
her dreams..inborn determination
to be the best, combined with
learning skills razor-sharp..
but we only see what she
chooses to express..
she hides herself behind
her eyes..what is she afraid of?
why doesnt she want the world
to see and know her beautiful
but undiscovered soul?
music is her favorite world,
its a way of escaping..its her
place to go when things get tough..
she tunes life out, then strums
her feelings with her fingers..
its not perfect..but for her
its close enough..
***
<center>just when ...
just when i think i know..
thats when everything changes once again!
cannibal thoughts gobble my beliefs..yep,there they go!
just when i think i know..
my minds eye is dazed, (musing over 12th cup of 'Joe'!)
with trust in my own judgement gone, confusion reigns!
just when i think i know..
thats when everything changes once again!</center>
***
<center>snowflakes - cinquain
snowflakes
frosty visions
twirling spinning dancing
creating a white wonderland
magic</center>
***
<center>we danced
twilight advances softly
across the vacant beach
i follow her dancing shadows
to the edge of the playful sea
deepening blue horizens
far as my eyes can see
dark sea and dark sky melding
blending in perfect harmony
quiet thoughts meander
drifting in and out like the waves
seas rhythm dancing softly
to the tune Mother Nature plays
soothing aura surrounds us all
the sky the sea and me
it beckons me to dance along
inviting me to take the lead
so i skip across the crystal sand
waltzing with the teasing waves
i touch the sky with outstretched arms
welcoming her soft embrace
the mighty sea and the majestic sky
created their magic stage for me
and on this night we danced as one
the sky the sea and me</center>
***
<center>yellow
yellow is the color
of bright sunlight
taxi-cabs, smileys,
mustard and butterflies
its Big Bird's feathers
blond sunkissed hair
lemonade and schoolbuses
ripe juicy pears
its the golden eye of a pansy
road signs and canaries
daffodills and cheddar cheese
fuzzy, buzzing bumblebees
yellow is the color
that laughter would be
its warmth hugs the world
in perfect harmony!</center>
***
<center>sea mist
salty ocean spray
blowing wafting clinging
covering the seashore..and me</center>
***
everflowing
life seems like a river
timeless everflowing
tho its destiny is unknown
like a river it
keeps on going
surging continuous
everflowing
rivers endure
times and seasons
floods and drought the
same way life weathers
its storms..sometimes
by staying on course
sometimes by forging
brand new routes
the way a river flows
seems to be
the way life goes
moving pulsing ever on
always changing
always unpredictable
but...
boundless free and strong
___________________________________________________________
DREW RUSH
FEATURED POET ... OCTOBER 2006
Drew Rush...is a long time member. He joined in October of 2002. His contributions to Poetry Pages have been numerous and steadfast ... not just as a poet, but as a moderator as well.
Drew is an artist too...and the same intensity that is found in his poetry is also found in his art work.
Below are just a few of my favorites ... and please take the time to visit his archive..........
*Drew's Archive*
....I enjoy your work Drew ...on the page ... and on the canvas ... both!!
Time: The Power to Waste
To the advantage
Of wasting time
I ponder reality
And creation
As a species
What are we if
We are not alive
Dead I suppose
Rot and wither
Easily enough
But what more
Are we something
Beyond our life
More than just man
Or is that all there is
Birth life death
As a blink in time
If we are even that lucky
But what of spirits
And the heavenly hosts
Or devilish domains
Are they just thoughts
Made to make us
Patient enough to live
Perhaps just ravings
The one bad part of our
Otherwise better half
And then they could be
The one truth we have
The very last thread
On our line of hope
But I do not know so
It is impossible to
Without faith these
Are just questions
You cannot answer
But then with faith
You are throwing
A stone into water
Hoping it will float
And that you have
Picked the right rock
For otherwise you sink
To the deepest bottom
Forever in wonder
Of how you went wrong
So this is a battle
That I cannot take sides
I’ll wait in the middle
And ponder your moves
Along with the idea
Of faith and religion
The good and the evil
I will move for none
Other than my insanity
For now, I am content
With the wandering
And wondering of life
Until I have no more
Time to kill away
***
Change
My fear is that you do not understand
That this is not about the crescent moon
That these tears of fire and bodies of ash
That our sword of ignorance is the spear in our side
To kill human or humane ideals
The greatest sin is to believe this is justice
Justification for absolutes is null
The war on terror, evil begets evil
My fear is that you do not get it
That the god cares not for names or titles
That the end begins with our ego
That fear is the crux of our world
To refuse the acknowledgement of mistakes
Responsibility lies in the hands of the living
Justice is void when we cannot effect change
Wisdom is worthless to unforgiving beings
My fear is that you just do not understand
That you will walk away without true thought
That you will just tell me how wise I am
That you will hear me, but not understand
***
Crossing the Crescent
Looking into the past
It reflects the present
Looking into the past
We see we have no future
Toy soldier boy
Toy soldier boy
King George is playing war
The righteous battle
Against the heathen nation
Barbarians in the East
Suffer into damnation
Heroes marching Eastward
To satisfy our godly need
To purify the pagan terror
Just cause to obscure our greed
Crossing the Crescent
The war to claim God
At the sacrifice of humanity
We will win the spoils of the East
The righteous battle
Against the heathen nation
Invaders from the West
Crusaders of damnation
Heroes creeping Westward
To drop our phallic towers
And purify corrupted design
Justice executed by cowards
The Crescent fights the Cross
The war to keep the holy land
At the sacrifice of humanity
Saving sacred oils of the East
Looking into the past
I see we’ve made no progress
Learning from the past
This will not be the last Crusade
Little King George and all of his men
Couldn’t put this world together again
Little King George and all of his men
Will rip this world apart again
***
What Cannot Be
What’s this?
A dark mist flowing,
coming forth from beneath the door
It’s getting closer, moving strangely,
It seems to live,
There it dances in the wind,
Yet, no air moves in this room
Strange swirls distracting me
I do not notice as it creeps around, behind my sight
Entranced, I cannot move
Closer still
Up my chair then up my chest
Around my neck and through my hair
I breath it in, then out, and again
What I do not know is that I am unaware
Its thick yet sweet
And most disturbing
Where from, how did, and what is, and what could - all these questions
Yet not one answer
It moves and touches…nothing is sacred
So thick is this fog now, I cannot see a thing around me
I should be frightened but I am gone,
My mind I mean,
And I have no control
I see only through the eyes of a lifeless body
I grow faint and soon lose consciousness
Have I died, I do not know
Have I awakened, it is beyond me
I am in the void it seems
Dreams and imaginations could not comprehend such a thing
Here, lost, in a thing that, itself, is lost
***
Untitled
I admire those gargoyle statues
The ones perched upon the tallest buildings
Up where no one else can reach
I admire their stamina of time
The way they laugh at the pouring rain
And smirk at the blazing sun
I admire the way they stand
How it seems they are always thinking
And always watching those below
I admire them for all they are
For their strength and fragility - so exposed
Their grace and wisdom upon their mighty thrones
I admire them as they admire man
***
Come, My Evil Angel
Come with me
My little angel
Come with me
Beyond the world
Into the sky
Beyond Heaven
We’ll go where everyone else only dreams to be
If your afraid, I’ll hold you
In the shadows, in the sun
All others will envy our love
Or fear the darkness in our passion
Come with me
My dark angel
Come with me
Beyond the day
Through the night
Beyond Hell
We’ll go where their nightmares are our fantasies
If it’s too bright, I’ll kill the sun
In the shadows, I’ll hold you
All others will envy our passion
Or fear that such dark creatures can love
Come with me
My pure angel
Come with me
Beyond this life
Into eternity
Beyond the heavens
We’ll go where others can only hope to someday be
If you want everything I’ll give even more
Under the black sky of night and the blue sky of day
All others will be captives of their own envy
Or be paralyzed by the fear of our blackened eyes
Come with me
My demon angel
Come with me
Beyond all death
Into the night
Beyond the stars
We’ll go where others have never even imaged to be
If you want the night, I’ll kill the day
In the dim light of the moon, I’ll love you
And all others will envy our mutual lust
Or hate us for our blasphemous kisses
***
Coma
Deep within the thick forest of the mind
Where thoughts tangle and twist like vines
A fire, a flash, a mere ray of light breaks through
It draws my attention and leads me away
My thoughts of before seem to slip and fade
Why am I guided by something so small
Something so insignificant
Something so different from the darkness in which I dwell
As I crawl through the leaves and branches
Where the thoughts try to block the way
To the light, the brightness, I must have it
It gains my every obsession and it grows
Easier and easier it becomes to follow
As my life and thoughts just slip away
I am beyond all captivation
I am enthralled by this magic and how it dances so near
The forest is now a clearing, I see only light
My thoughts are concentrated on this one entity
This fire, this warmth, this godly and eternal brightness
It has taken my life and I am the willing servant
But I cannot awaken from this self-induced coma
For I have followed blindly into my despair
This something that was so small
This something that has turned my darkness into a light-filled hell
***
Like Children
Like a child
wide-eyed and excited
but its a slap in the face
yet, that itself is a new sensation
a new experience
something from which to learn
it hurts, if only i knew pain
heartbreak, could that be it
or bodily dismemberment maybe
strange there are many possibilities
and what of love
what is this supposed magical thing
something like family i can only guess
ah yes, that special someone
the mystery of life and of death
what are these things
a passing moment or landmark in time
the mystery of love and of hate
why do we feel such vulnerable emotions
maybe we are ignorant entities
something like children
***
Where? (My Fear)
Where could she have gone?
My sister of the darkness
We used to meet right here
In the darkest of back alleys
But for some time she has not shown
And now in the shadows I hold my fear
The wind is cold and loud
As it is the only sound I hear
Her voice, her words – no more
It chills even my heart of stone
For she has not shown in quite some time
And in the depth of the darkness, I fear
I’ve looked for any signs
That show she’s still alive
And searched every grave
To make sure she’s not there
But nothing has been found
Not the faintest of whispers
And as I stand here alone I begin to wonder
Was she ever there or was it mere loneliness
My fear
Where is she?
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