Poet Laureate Heinzs: April 2005 - September 2005

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Poet Laureate Heinzs: April 2005 - September 2005

Post by heinzs » Sun May 22, 2005 11:04 pm

Laureate Heinzs Table of Contents:

<a name="#top">Table of Contents</a>

Featured Poets:
<a href="#001">May 2: Vivaldifall</a>
<a href="#002">May 9: Ellenmp</a>
<a href="#003">May 16: Miyu</a>
<a href="#004">May 22: Aschmutt and Jhanke</a>
<a href="#005">May 29: jeannerene</a>
<a href="#006">Eclectic poet: Eternum1</a>
<a href="#007">"New Poet": the poet T</a>
<a href="#008">"New Poet": Someonelost</a>
<a href="#009">"New Poet": Quillspeak</a>
<a href="#010">"Old Poet": MJPease</a>
<a href="#013">"Old Poet": Winsome</a>
<a href="#014">"New Poet": Cass</a>
<a href="#015">"New Poets": Ninian and Chthon</a>

Classic Poets:
<a href="#011">Omar Khayyam</a>
<a href="#012">Rudyard Kipling</a>

Poetry by HeinzS
<a href="#h01">A Question of Existence</a>
<a href="#h02">October Madness, 2001</a>
<a href="#h03">Anima (2002)</a>
<a href="#h04">Shadows of the Night: (1) The Child and the Gun</a>
<a href="#h05">Shadows of the Night: (2) Mother in the Headlines</a>
<a href="#h06">Shadows of the Night: (3) Whitechapel, 1888</a>
<a href="#h07">Lost</a>
<a href="#h08">Riding the Pale Horse</a>
<a href="#h09">Storyteller</a>
<a href="#h10">Santorini</a>
<a href="#h11">Silent Gulls</a>
<a href="#h12">Under the Tree</a>
<a href="#h13">Automatic Writing</a>
<a href="#h14">Ebb</a>

Poetry Pages History: The Early Years
<a href="#016">Early Years (1)</a>

Links to items of extreme interest
Cyber Friends by moongem
Incredible Men by moongem
Blackbird... Fly by moongem
A Small Tribute to the Poetry Pages by Someonelost
Last edited by heinzs on Thu Apr 12, 2007 9:03 am, edited 12 times in total.
An' it harm none, do what ye will. Blessed Be.
My Poet's Page Archive | Topics I've started

User avatar
The Fat Cat
Posts: 8419
Joined: Tue Dec 18, 2001 12:01 am
Tag line: Do no harm
Location: Novato, CA

Post by heinzs » Tue Sep 13, 2005 11:14 pm

Featured Poet Topic:

<a name="#001">Featured Poet for the week of May 2: Vivaldifall</a>

For this week I'd like to feature a wonderful poem that has received little recognition. It is in the Romance forum.


To a Woman the Author has not Seen in Four Years
by Vivaldifall

One day I'll see her passing by,
Gracefully strolling down the street,
Her eyes will meet mine with a sigh,
She'll walk without missing a beat;
No thoughts; No cares; just empty eyes.

With no remembrance of past times,
Our cheerful hearts on pallid nights,
With gazes lost in the sublime,
Soft first kisses in the twilight;
Dancing in Byron's cloudless climes.

No love lost between us my dear,
For it was fun while it lasted,
Indeed for I shall shed no tears,
For the way our sad love ended;
But thinking about you brings cheer.

To my empty and vacant heart.
<a href="#top">Return to Table of Contents :arrow: </a>

<a name="#002">Featured Poet for the week of May 9: Ellenmp</a>

For this week I've chosen a new member's poem:


The Cask of Amontillado (A Rat's Perspective)
by Ellenmp

For those who love Poe.

I am just a mere rat, but could I tell you
a story if I could do such a thing. Last
night I saw the most outrageous thing, but
considering I have been here a long time,
I have seen other such things happen.
I had gone up out of the caverns for a bit
of fresh air. Yes, we like fresh air too.
I had been sitting there for quite some
time for I felt a bit full since, I had
finished off Montresor’s meal when he got
up and ran out of the dining room.
He had been drinking quite a fine wine
also. I believe I heard him call it
Amontillado. Well I had finished my meal
and I wobbled out to the front of the caverns.
There was much merriment going on and the
show was free. After a little while I heard
bells jingling and coming down the street
was Montresor, with his enemy Fortunato.
I knew he hated the man, because for the
last 6 months, it was all he talked about.
Even in his sleep he riled about getting
even with him for some imagined slight.
I put it down to his ridiculous ego.
They were both headed my way, toward the
door to the caverns so I scurried myself
out of sight.
There was no need for a nice fat rat
to get damaged in all this nonsense.
I decided to follow them, even though it was
very uncomfortable having had too much to eat.
Fortunato was as drunk as he could be
and it was obvious that he couldn’t wait to
get his hands on a new barrel of wine that
Montresor had told him about.
Well, I knew it was a lie,
because Montresor had not added a new barrel
of wine to the caverns in at least a year.
I knew he was up to no good and when we
finally got down to the bottom I could see
that Fortunato was in very big trouble.
The man could barely hold himself up,
as he was very drunk and coughing
like an old smoke stack.
You would have thought the fellow would have
gotten a clue when he saw all the rotting
bones of men piled into the corners of the
large cavern.
Well, I couldn’t believe my eyes when
Montresor put the irons on Fortunato’s wrist
and chained him to the wall and then began
applying bricks and mortar. Fortunato was
very distressed, even though at first he
thought it was a joke. I heard the silly
jingling bells till he was sealed up.
When Montresor had finished the job, after
denying the begs, from Fortunato, he ran out
as if possessed by demons. I sat there for
a long time listening to the coughing and
jingling of the infernal bells. I tried to
think of some way to save the man, but alas,
a rat is hardly a saviour for a man behind a
mortared wall.
So I left eventually with the same words
on my lips as Montresor had declared.
“In pace requiescat!”

by Ellenmp

Author's Comments:
"I wrote this for a class in literature. I had a lot of fun with it. The teacher seemed to like it pretty good. I hope you do."
Copyright @November 19, 2004
Ellen M. Parsons
<a href="#top">Return to Table of Contents :arrow: </a>

<a name="#003">Featured Poet for the week of May 16: Miyu</a>


California 8:57 PM
by Miyu

Girls at the age of eleven and between
Practice narcissism in an empty lot
Smoking cigarettes and wasting daylight
Denying the aroma from their breath
Boredom would be another explanation
For misdirection and such

Over population squirm with intentions
Multiple conversations are not to vilify
Only to deafen our distant ears

Thirty minutes from miscommunication
And being afraid of getting even
To leave fingers caught on barb wire
Especially on a Sunday morning

Nothing is nothing
But anything is everything

Girls at the age of confusion and between
Practice drama in front of public mirrors
In appearance and whatsoever
Applied self-esteem to their peer-pressure
Misunderstanding the definition of:
“It’ll get better”

Heartbeats gather outside graffiti walls
But sometimes youth belongs to California
And mildly in distant it was well mistaken
It doesn’t bother to shine

So, are you dead or not fully awakened?
<a href="#top">Return to Table of Contents :arrow: </a>

<a name="#004">Featured Poet(s) for the week of May 22: Aschmutt and Jhanke</a>

Mind Games
by Aschmutt


Alone in the corner
sits the little girl,
demons gnawing at her heart
tearing at her soul.
She is belittled
by her best friend
"He hurt me," she cries
her voice lost in the pits of despair,
inaudible, unheard, dismissed.
His conniving grin etched in her mind,
his convincing voice ringing in her ears,
assuring her this is what all boy and girl friends do.
Her stomach turns sommersaults in fear,
her mind frozen,
unable to think, unable to move,
unable to escape his powerful grasp,
his entrancing mind game
mixed with guilt and pleasure,
anticipation and hurt.
She has given up,
"Let him take of me what he will."
He takes,
She cries,
He takes,
She numbs herself,
He takes,
She builds her wall,
He takes,
and she forgets.
She buries herself in self-loathing,
this little girl,
she lives in a sea of guilt,
among those who have been deceived,
those who die a little each day,
this young woman.

Gripping Reality
by jhanke


arms open
on this cliff
inches away
from forgotten
suddenly realizing
that every bandage
covering my arm
is worthless
jumping off this cliff
isn't me..
it's how they want
me to be
Stepping back
I can finally breathe
<a href="#top">Return to Table of Contents :arrow: </a>

<a name="#005">Featured Poet for the week of May 29: Jeannerene</a>

Here's her newest:

~~I left a kiss upon your lips
so soft you thought I was only a dream~~

by Jeannerene

Lofty amber globes highlighted the parking lot.
Caught in a saffron ambiance, the night drizzle
looked like fairy sparkle falling down above our heads.
Inside, among the paperbacks,
the cup of coffee and intelligent conversation
had placated the evening,
pacified the emptiness,
but the fulfillment quickly waned.
The twilight’s rain
spattered my face and impassioned again
each of my impatient senses.

Stepping down to the curb, I smiled goodnight.
The corners of my mouth ached for words
held back by civil salutations.
Words kept silent from fear that you would love me
if I let go a singe sound
or unguarded gesture born of my infatuation.
If I had spoken “don’t go”
you might have held me too closely
and kissed my lips too hard I would have cried in pain

. . . if I had spoken.

We closed the door behind
and joined the recital of disjointed exchanges
and kinetic promenade of the bourgeois in motion.
I inhaled exhaust fumes wafting through the bouquet of dampness,
and startled at blinking turn signals,
glimpsed at the watch dial that said time to go home,
felt my hair slapping a cold cheek,
but I was mindless to all, except your silly turned-up collar.
I suffered, longing to reach and straighten it,
and slip my hand across the warmth of your neck.
. . . longing to pull your mouth down to mine,
entrap you with permission
to devour the moment’s vulnerability
and let you love me.

We walked easy,
as if strolling through clover on a gracious afternoon
through the rain . . .
Under the street light we stood
no umbrella,
but shielded just the same
from the enchantment
and yet I swore our hearts were pounding
to the rhythm
rhyme of each gentle raindrop
we didn’t see in each other’s eyes
our reflection

each goodbye’s hesitation

jeanne rené 5.05
<a href="#top">Return to Table of Contents :arrow: </a>

<a name="#006">Featured eclectic Poet: Eternum 1</a>

Definitely an eclectic!

Smiling Buddah Lips
by Eternum1

Standing on your rain swept porch
is a wind blown meadow lark
Like a piece of jigsaw puzzle
in a pic of Noah's ark

Just another bit of magic
with no remote control
I just found the program
that looks into my soul

You know I love you darlin
show me what you feel
Maybe a slice of heaven
in the cards that you deal

You got the power lady
to read my astral stars
Should I head down the highway
a pilgrim in the bars

I need some soul guidance,
to get me on my knees
We could do a seance
where granny shoots the breeze

Maybe I'm just crazy
because I believe in you
I'd put you in my sticker book
Like a page at Sunday school

You cant say I have no faith
because I believe in you
You could be my savior
my palm line says its true

Give me some religion
set up the fiery hoop
Let me sign on the dotted line
for your transcendental group

You could be my idol
with those smiling Buddah lips
I could walk on water
when I see you move those hips

You can make miracles
turn your lipstick into wine
Love thy neighbor as thy self
sounds like a real good time

You got the power
lay your hands on and heal
A commandment to each other
my heart thou shalt steal

Sweet angel
get me off the hook
don't say I should look within
Or read another book

Give me some fast food religion
with a side of halo rings
and a choir of busboys tapping time
while Lenny Cohen sings

Come be my cathedral
invite me inside
I'm standing outside in the rain
forget your foolish pride

Aloha Mele
by Eternum1

Aloha!, means hello and goodbye
a greeting islanders knew
Long before a wave of love
enfolded me and you

The songbird sings Aloha!
to the sunrise every day
Still the night awaits patiently
to send the light away.

Cats then purr aloha
like green eyed mouseketeers
To prowl the ebon darkness
til dawns light reappears

Even stars know of Aloha
as galaxies spin and weave
As one day they will Nova
Aloha for all to see

Aloha does not seduce you
it only offers time
To embrace the rushing moment
as lovers intertwine

Should I breath you in
and kiss you hard upon the lips
We may transcend Aloha
through hula rhythmed hips

If you let laughter grow
til crinkles surround your eyes
Timeless love will ever flow
with Aloha as your prize

Take my heart, take my name
they are freely given
Beyond the shores of day and night
they fly with you when bidden

If ever you are lost
on land or stormy sea
Simply call out Aloha!
my darling come to me.

Let the wheel turn for mortals
as they feel their twilight hour
While you and I find eternity
In Alohas magic power

Take now my heart strings
as we play anew
a song of Aloha
to the completion found in you.

Eros Moon
by Eternum1

Lighter than light
Beyond the sea the styx runs to
A tall masted corsair
Etches a journey divine

Eros moon is a compass
drawing the heart like Mercator
Aphrodite become mortal
for a moment in time.

Musky warm harbor
a temple, a flower
soul is a sailor
immortality is love

As I lay beside thee
the curve of your body
reveals in the moonlight
my own Taj Mahal

For this blessed night
with soulful connection
the mortal world is enough

Silence of the Spheres
by Eternum1

I gazed upon the heavens
The silence of the spheres
Hints of the last pure celestial note
The moment after crescendo
When the conducter exits the stage
To walk in the garden of his creation

Hiding in Plain Sight (the four elements)
by Eternum1

The love of the soul
is sweeter than honey
The depth of which
is unmeasured
The strength of which
is unsurpassed
The proof of which
is indisputable
The promise of which
is unconditional
The source of which
is universal

From earth we cloak
to dust we invoke
Love ever ascending
self comprehending

From water life burst
to unquenchable thirst
Love ever expanding
diverse yet undemanding

From air the words soar
go forth evermore
Love meets understanding
depths ever transcending

From fire the ancient source
man lights the darker course
Love from the beginning
yet the beginning has no ending

Eat drink and breathe
deeply the elexir of life
Love is within and around us
hiding in plain sight
<a href="#top">Return to Table of Contents :arrow: </a>

<a name="#007">Featured "New Poet": the poet T</a>

Here's an example of his fine work:

Doctor Death
by the poet T

The silent curtain draws around me
how still the faceless
seem today
begin their new rounds
of oppression
starch white coat
and blank expression
A tiny nod
the merest gesture
muttered voices
seem to say
We really haven't got fucking a clue
just whats really wrong with you
We thought it might be a....
But now it seems more like a ...
However the scans seem to indicate
its a possible a ...
well er 10%
er maybe er
Better come back
Visit us again
Well give you more shit
and raddle your brain
More prehap's and maybes
and fears for the worst
only we have the keys
to remove this curse
Take this perscription
it will help with pain
and if you ring back well tell you the same
We really haven't got a fucking clue
just whats really wrong with you
Haven't got the faintest idea
trust in us and give us your fear
<a href="#top">Return to Table of Contents :arrow: </a>

<a name="#008">Featured "New Poet": Someonelost</a>

A Thousand Wars
by Someonelost

The fading moon rides
a crimson sky
Filled with the blood
of wars gone by
And above the mountains
a vulture soars
Over the land
of a thousand wars

The souls of the dead
are all thats left
In the barren remains
of the forgotten west
Denied by the light for
fighting a war
Destroying the land
with a thousand wars

Carrying the screams
Of the lost and damned
The cold wind blows
Across shattered lands
And over the graves
Of the soldiers of yore
Thier names forgotten
In a thousand wars
<a href="#top">Return to Table of Contents :arrow: </a>

<a name="#009">Featured "New Poet": Quillspeak</a>

I've been impressed by his postings, so have decided to feature Quillspeak in the Poet Laureate forum.

A Poet's Place
by Quillspeak

A gift of expression, on page life unfolds
Of style and elegance, pagentry, bold
Visions explored, reminiscent within
Life's song in verse, words poetic begin

Tears from tragedy, sadness from loss
Two lovers quarrel, words in haste cross
Splendours of nature, beloved sounds
Places of wonder, true friendship found

Emotions poured out, our true feelings shared
Touching accounts, our heart and soul bared
For love of the poem, words crafted with grace
A beloved journey, this poet's place

Copyright 2004 by Don MacIver


Eau de Cologne
by Quillspeak

A lasting sonata, three-quarter time
Horns undulating, faint violins swoon
Harmonic ecstacy, heartbeat cascade
Complex and weaving, eros transcends

Weaving enchantment, two lovers entwine
Enraptured, oblivious, rhythmic sway
Movements suggestive, unbroken their gaze
Crescendo to climax, fire within

Now drawing close, his essence cologne
Sweet musk of desire exploding within
Moistened flesh burning, perspire of the dance
Romantic interlude, fleeting exchange

His scent stirring passions welling inside
Strength and endurance, in unison glide
Masculine opulence, yet gentle touch
Fragrant, inviting, he swept me away

Copyright 2005 by Don MacIver

http://www.poetrypages.com/phpBB2/viewt ... ht=#232545

What do You See?
by Quillspeak

I close my eyes, these things I see
Mighty sprawling limbs of the Sitka tree
The amber-rose hue of a setting sun
Surging waters’ battle of a salmon run

Sculptured landscape beneath a moonlit night
Majestic snow-peaked mountains, a pristine sight
A mountain goat grazes on sheer terrain
A bird in flight founders in torrential rain

In a distant land lies an urban place
Noise, crime and pollution meet the human race
A despondent sole takes another’s life away
While very close by children laugh and play

Sirens, fighting and aimless strife
The struggle to survive a way of life
Natural disasters run their course
Flooding, fires, winds of hurricane force

In a hospital room a child is born
While a floor above, death is mourned
Still we cherish wonders of this land
Despite those things we don’t understand

Nations explore space, the final frontier
Human evolution throughout the years
What a complex world for you and me
Now close your eyes, tell me what you see

Copyright 2004 by Don MacIver

http://www.poetrypages.com/phpBB2/viewt ... ht=#232543

Let Go
by Quillspeak

Gripped by an endless hurt deep inside
Confused and frustrated, moments pass by
Torn by feelings dispersed in a storm
A cloudburst of anger, tears shed as rain

Silent, two loved ones drifting apart
Searching for answers distant at times
A curtain half drawn, the door left ajar
A glimmer of hope, a chance to forgive

An outstretched hand offered in peace
A jesture of kindness, please let me in
A way to find room for two broken hearts
Fragile and damaged, let harsh words go

Grasp what we had before hope fades away
I long to embrace your closeness again
So much I cherish, what once we had
Our love and friendship, this you must know

Copyright 2004 by Don MacIver


A Veil Between
by Quillspeak

Awkward moments paralyze
Veil of silence, tears oft fall
Languish ever, lost embrace
Laughter stilled ungraciously

A lover spurned, tempestuous
Disdainful words in anger cast
Open wounds in festered bleed
Disaffection, saddening

Longing tenderness ensues
Distant memories prevail
Tender kisses, gentleness
Dissipate in painful haste

Divisive glances, eyes avert
Avoidance by a curtain drawn
Parting without reconcile
Forever closed once open door

Past open window curtain sways
Obscure, beyond a vacant room
Unanswered questions long persist
What could have been...forever lost

Copyright 2005 by Don MacIver


By Candle's Light
by Quillspeak

Gentle breeze past window flows
Curtain swayed by wind's caress
Scent of musk perfumes night air
Stirred desires, heart quickening

Candle flicker, silhouettes
Skin perspired in movement haste
Teardrops shed in ecstasy
Rapture caught in symphony

Yearning tender, sweet release
Heated movement lovingly
Emotion's waterfall, cascade
Passion's torrent, long embrace

Copyright 2005 by Don MacIver

<a href="#top">Return to Table of Contents :arrow: </a>

<a name="#010">Featured "Old Poet": MJPease</a>

I'm going to pick on my old friend Michael to start a "featured Old Poet" topic.


I thought I might like to fish
so fish I did with four great-
friends, we traveled not so far,
were the fish are said to run

Fished more for words, than
fish,had a few laughs, and a sigh
the fish ignored the calendar
damn shrewd for fish, said I

In return I ignored the fish, as I
cast out my line, as I observed and
reflected, I thought about time
the past, careful I choose to carry

Present day, is easy, wiser now
not so distant future, does it matter?
a Chameleon the young said, was I
analogy meant for flattery, I doubt

A dreamer also implied, far too
much seen from a young boys eyes
out of the mouths of babes, how true,
tipped off while elders set the scene

Dreamer that's me, I dare you to dream
never surrendering your dreams to reality
it's the key, the permanent defeat of life
the opposite you see, a chameleon, lets see

Though in deed, changing ones colors at-
the drop of a hat, Hmmm! a question of trust,
a couple of days older, a little wiser, hopefully
selecting memories I'll carry, not much room

I thought I might like to fish, I did
each days catch, worth much more than fish
who weren't fooled by my hooked bait, the
wise carefully choose the weight they carry



Present time devoured by an anchored past
could love surpass such a task, we'll never know
you forbid the future as you speak with the dead
thirty years to mourn, enough time I've heard said

More to the problem, than a horrid past
children won't grow no matter how much time passed
time does not stand still, have you not heard
living in the past, such a classic excuse

You wouldn't know a knight in shinning armor
if the knights lance hit you in the head
as you whimper and tell me you talk to the dead
I hope their listening, I can no longer hear

Go ahead now drink it's your god given right
self pity a bitter pill, so take your fill
turned your back on love, bad faith or your will
without trust, prepare for flood, take to the hill



The quick dummies how to write of poetry
Oh No! my boy, life is not a quick read
you live the material before you write
if your lucky you make it through the night

Develop imagination then dare to dream
build strong wings then learn to fly
don't look so hard for what you see
you may burn the soul irreparably

All said and done hope you have some fun
tragically few seem to bank much fun
fast minds, seeing the forest for the trees feeling the blues, recording lifes ups and downs

The carnival of life, so many sad clowns
what becomes of the poets mind, the slide of life
time diligently spent writing his way deep with in
never finding the right words for the way out.



Crossed cold rapids by foot on one spring morn
sharing natures serenity, I called out to God
much has changed since last traveled this way
no signs of life on this particular day.

Even the birds seem to have all gone away
much to my horrid dismay, I stood in the stream
as a large oil slick ventured my way,
how could this be, three hours away from any city.

That's when I felt God was not listening to me
prodigal man on Earth a self consuming prophecy
our actions pave the way to what we deserve
Gods no longer listening to my pathetic words.


Freedoms Declivity

Freedom now doused in selfish dishonest greed
a man stands before a tank, we do not dare
threaten the price of oil and we do or die
the price of etyl glycol must not rise

Oh my the existance of plastic patio furniture
with out panty hose, how would we ever survive
what price paid for the toys, for girls and boys
ignore human rights, the whole world can see

Please let us get a couple of things straight
as our leaders tell the Israelites to hesitate
their civilians died as they shopped and ate
did Sadhams threat to oil, create such debate

Such irrogance for us to choose Israels fate
a declaration I must make, for I have a choice
Americans fought and died for my freedom
refusing death for the want of a full gas tank

Die for those willing to take a stand in life
free the world of hunger, demanding human rights
the man who stands eye ball to a turret of armor
tiger in the square, he did so dare at Tiananmen

Our President admits the future is getting short
it's so clear with the new lines on his face
the most powerful job in the whole human race
my thoughts are with him, as he enters this race

News so often appears so dark, without hope
the state that Catholicism is in, such catechism
societies analysis of confession more than sin
Enron, corporate america and the trouble it's in

Just turn on the tube, it keeps getting worse
so why should I ever finish this verse
never know it may carry on to a new universe
declivity of freedom can never be for we are free.

<a href="#top">Return to Table of Contents :arrow: </a>
Last edited by heinzs on Sat Sep 17, 2005 7:52 pm, edited 1 time in total.
An' it harm none, do what ye will. Blessed Be.
My Poet's Page Archive | Topics I've started

User avatar
The Fat Cat
Posts: 8419
Joined: Tue Dec 18, 2001 12:01 am
Tag line: Do no harm
Location: Novato, CA

Post by heinzs » Tue Sep 13, 2005 11:19 pm

<a name="#013">Featured Poet: Winsome</a>

I'd like to feature an old friend this week, winsome (aka D. Berk)

Paper Cuts
by winsome

Perhaps it is a sickness, a disease,
a destiny or simply just a need
This act of self mutilation
each time that I open myself up
Exposed ~
in each and every little paper cut
Such a desperate act
just to bring you closer
A perverse desire of wanting you
to examine me from the inside out,
to touch what is left, to bring me back
from the dead
Wanting to be found
all the while pretending to hide
But I want you to see,
hear my penned confessions,
explore the flesh of my scars
the only real evidence of my truth
And can you...
hear me
Screaming out
for acceptance, to be validated,
to simply know that I exist somewhere
outside of myself, somewhere
that is important to you...Somewhere
beyond the words that describe
the burden of this lonely Hell
that leaves me dying to live
in the blood soaked pages
of your understanding, your
forgiveness of the human in me
to be more than just another passing
shadow of invisible ink
Hoping to leave you just a little
and yet permanently stained
with these torn pieces of me

D.Berk copyright 2005 D.Berk

<a name="#014">This week's featured "New Poet" (new to the Pages, that is) is Cass:</a>


Only the Strings Remain Forever

We gather copper shadings
from within the rain,
each design, a wayward lover.

On the night wind, the perfumes
of Paris drift peacefully,
invade my secret places.

Outwardly, gardens and vines
give scent and the soil
breathes under linen sun.
We play a melody.

Chambers open, chords
spiral through chimes,
and our blood
becames a runaway child--
through veins
a murmuring tributary--

Now, a shadow rests over your lyre-
and only the strings remain forever.

<a name="#015">I'd like to feature these two relatively new additions to the Poetry Pages familia:</a>

The Art of Syncopation
When We Were Dancing
Dinner for Two
Cognac on Coral
Running Between the Raindrops

Soulmate and Lover
She Glanced at Me
Tell Me Please
That was Then
No Tincture for a Broken Heart
Last edited by heinzs on Sat Sep 17, 2005 8:02 pm, edited 1 time in total.
An' it harm none, do what ye will. Blessed Be.
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Post by heinzs » Tue Sep 13, 2005 11:30 pm

<a name="#h04">Shadows of the Night: (1) The Child and the Gun</a>


Darkness instills fear
yet attracts
moths to the flame
willingly step into the shadows
embracing the chill
adrenalin rush.
Late night caffeine delays Morpheus' visit
heightened thoughts regress
repressed memory slips forward...
or is it imagined?
Stark clarity defies dismissal
as the vision unfolds.

The Child and the Gun

Chamber clicks
no clip
but one shell remains
for innocent hands to play
or cops and thugs.
Aim the discovered toy
and squeeze
then scream in fear
while a best friend dies...
more blood
than ever seen
at the age of nine
leaves a scar
never to heal.


<a name="#h05">Shadows of the Night: (2) Mother in the headlines</a>

a fleeting thought
or an image
drenched in gore
perhaps a scene of war
Mi Lai aftermath
Bergen Belsen
CSI Miami or Private Ryan
merging of reality and fiction
creates a devilish gray area
where the walls whisper
in Hannibal Lechter's voice
enthralling, enticing
the weakened will
to succumb to obscene urges
the axe, the knife
a feather pillow silencer
all tools for the deed
the mind possessed
body does its bidding
visit her in prison
number 53607
butchered her three children
as they slept in their beds


<a name="#h06">Shadows of the Night: (3) Whitechapel, 1888</a>

Silken sash drapes gently on smooth skin
ruby lips glisten in the gaslight
sparkling with droplets of dew
cobblestone pillow cushions golden locks
her sleep nevermore to be disturbed.
Earlier these lips sang and laughed
tasting the sweetness of the rum.
His eyes met hers in still accord
and she followed willingly to her fate
as the Ripper's 7th victim.


From the Way-Back Machine:

<a name="#h02">October Madness</a>
(being an almost daily collection of
stream-of-consciousness free verse)

Shadows cast obscurity
playing light and dark alike.

The brighter it seems to be,
the darker are the shadows...
deep black holes
sucking in all emotion.

Channel surfing out of ennui,
jumping from relationship
to relationship with a click
of the internal remote.
Refuting stability - demanding change
unable to commit emotionally.

Shucking rocks at the beach,
standing in the rain,
tears disguised and unseen -
trying not to feel the pain.

I cry out the inner pain
bereft of gentler senses.
Heart-lock'd, grief stricken...
the fires of anguish char my soul.
Am I forlorn or forsaken to grieve thus?
Nay... none but my own ineptitude
causes such tortuous moment.

My sensibilities, chained though
they may be to dark and dire bodings,
attest my will to foment change.
Step by precious step progress
until, at last, the goal
at least comes into view...
the more attainable it might be!

Pride goads me relentlessly on...
though pitfalls loom across my path.
Dark holes I have fallen into before,
escaping from which has cost me dear.
Threatening not only my life,
but what I value even more...
companion's trust and tender mood.

Sleep... sweet respite from
the dreary throng of day -
how it can refresh at once
while yet draining even more
the will's energy's resolve.

Dreaming takes its toll...
for in that twilight state
we act in heroic conviction,
or cower in abject fear...
confusion reigns o'er totality.

Desperate moments of peace
punctuate predominant conflict.
Too short the respite - once again
immersed in Chaos' dark vortex.
The path narrows but leads ever down.
The Stygian damp permeates the air -
only glowworm's faint light illuminates all.
Musty, smelling of decay and moisture,
I breathe in Death's exhalations.

My mind inhabits a fantastic land...
where unicorns play in green fields
and griffins and dragons speckle the sky.
A land of beauty and magic... and peace.
No armies vie for conquest here.
Terror's minions yet shun this place.

On faery wings I traverse the realm -
a partnered denizen full at home.
Contentment fuels me and lulls me.
Anon the sky darkens - what have I missed?
An open portal exists... a two-way door...
letting evil find a foothold within.

I am aware, but worry not.
What must pass shall do so,
despite all I may seek to gainsay.
Testimonial to my determined will,
or just dyed-in-the-wool stubbornness?
Whatever... the final epiphany
is the same - no different!

Even so, thought must continue.
From death to life and back again
our energies traverse Being's realm.
Are we, or are we not?
The answer lies not on the FAQ page.
Even Jeeves stands impotently stumped.

Prazosin for the prostate,
prinivyl for pressure
paxil and prozac for de-pression...
now what was the pravastatin for?
Oh yeah! cholesterol!
Somehow the preponderance of 'p's
perplexes my pessimistic psyche!
Possibly a plot by some pernicious power?

We over-medicate our bodies and minds,
Nature's remedies cast off and forgotten.
In a chemical world, how can we survive?
We worship Dow and Bayer.
We pay tribute to Squibb and Upjohn.
Pharmaceuticals govern our lives
in ways we cannot imagine...
of course, I am suffering from paranoia!

Bodies and brains laden with drugs,
minds duped by a constant barrage
of meaningless drivel from the box
in the living room, we falter -
unable to cope with naked reality.

But then - must we actually cope?
Can't we just coast along
and live off the labors of others?
Life's lessons can only be learned
by opening the book and
participating wholly in the experience.

Every day we revisit futility.
Doomed to repeat all that's past.
We make the same mistakes
our parents made, then add our own.
Bury your head in religion's sand.
What you can't see can kill you.

Knowledge is the weapon against darkness.
Logic and reason can prevail,
but ignorance is hereditary
and a difficult foe to overcome.

They wallow in stupidity,
elect C-minus presidents
and watch television soap-operas.
Reality contained in a 23-inch box
and fed to them 24 hours a day.
Cram it down their gullets!
If you repeat it often enough,
they will believe it, no matter
how outrageously wrong!

Terror grips them now,
more terrifying due to lack
of a tangible enemy.
Blame it all on "the evil one",
whoever he may be... today.

In the end, October madness
takes its pound of flesh.
Life resumes after the pause
and stumbles along as before.
The blind are still blind,
but now also lame.
The speakers have become mute,
but this matters not
since all about seem quite deaf.

Carrying her heart in her hand,
Justice weeps.

October, 2001

<a name="#h09">Storyteller</a>

sparks fly
as stone strikes on stone
carefully gathered
given the breath of life
in a bundle of dry moss
slowly smoke rises
and the infant flame flickers
licking hungrily at twigs
set round to feed it
the firestarter
performs his magic
and the children gather round
to hear him breathe life
into the evening's tales
keeper of the lore
purveyor of the ages' wisdom
with a spot of exaggeration
for good measure
to keep the story interesting
spin the ancient yarn
and as intrigue weaves
observe the sparkle in their eyes
or is it just a reflection
of the flame?


Here's one from 2004:

<a name="#h07"><center>Lost </a>

virgin margarita
señorita de los angeles
on the sidelines
she’ll sell it all
to buy a meal
and a warm night
not a bad girl
her momma knows
from stepfather’s lust
now nothing left
but more of the same


<a name="#h015">Awareness</a>

Amoeba's single cell responds to cold and heat
engulfs its food, knows what to eat...
but does it seek its maker's face
like members of the human race?

The worm burrows deep within the soil
responds to pain with quick recoil
but as to God, I'd hardly think
that it would ever give a wink.

My cat knows that it is a cat...
its actionis clearly tell me that..
but I can't tell if it's aware
that God is present everywhere.

We speed with haste through outer space
aboard this planet Earth, and face
the question asked by every man...
the need to know just who I am.


<a name="#h08">Riding the Pale Horse</a>

Memories of you from afar
are always painfully near.
I feel the warmth of your smile
knowing that your lips are cold.
You come riding the pale horse
to spread your message of gloom.
I don't want to hear, to be told…
I already know the words.
You sing a melancholy dirge
and I am transported to your side.
Together at last, you and I
astride the pale horse will ride.


<a name="#h03">Anima</a>

The dark visions,
having made their presence felt,
vanish like mist
at the approach of light.
Deep wounds festering
without a way to heal
become chronic and ever-present
burdens on the scarred soul.

In a cage of its own making
spirit struggles for release -
memories of free flying
haunt the sequestered self.
Emotions run deep
and the spark of hope glimmers
that love and peace may yet prevail
amidst sordid nature.

Flesh pays for flesh
as conscience withers
in the earthly hellfire.
Ruled by commerce,
life itself
takes on secondary stature -
the golden priority
superceding prime directive.

Languish not the soul,
for it alone is truly free -
only unaware
of its innate liberty.


<a name="#h10">Santorini</a>

Sunlight reflects
from white boxes on the hill.
Olive and garlic
flavor the Mediterranean air.
Music in sevens and nines
syncopates walking feet.
The blue sea pounds the rocks
and gulls screech in flight.
An aura of antiquity
weighs upon me
like a well-worn mantle.
Santorini, isle of mystery -
Atlantis calling me.


There is some discussion that the caldera remnants of Santorini may be the physical location of the mythical Atlantis.

<a name="#h11">Silent Gulls</a>

Daylight through glass
mixes with neon’s rays
to brighten the filtered air.
Soft, invisible breeze
moves leaves and fronds
but cannot caress
my sequestered face.
Yearning for simplicity
and past innocence
time’s burden gains weight
bowing shoulders even more.

Gentle waves reach out
to touch my flesh
rinsing away grains of sand
not sticky enough to resist.
The wonder of blue vastness
thunders between gulls’ cries
warm and cool at the same time.
The red speck tethered
to the long end of the string
responds to tugging
with graceful dips and swirls.
On the blanket, skin browns
where brastraps would meet –
temporarily cast aside
for the solar massage.

Reverie breaks –
"Code blue! Code blue!"
The turmoil of bustle
reaffirms its control,
rushing to a bedside
of frenzied activity –
an effort to prolong life
of one resigned to fate.
"D.N.R." I say to the attending,
and the chaos subsides.
Your peaceful smile is the reward,
reflecting that long-ago sun
as your eyes darken
to mimic that sea.
The breath of your passing
cools my moist cheek
and I can almost hear
the crying of the gulls.


<a name="#h16">Night Terror</a>

Still of night bodes ill
The lurker in the shadows
Waits patiently for prey
Sleep comes with promise
Not to be fulfilled this eve
The innattentive soul is snatched
And whisked away to Darkness' realm
Say hello to the things of your nightmares
For they are the new reality
If you fear Hell, then tremble
And quake ... welcome home!


<a name="#h14">Ebb</a>

Ride the tide's crest
encroach upon the strand
rivulets flow
between the grains of sand
succeeding waves
erode away the land
crumbling the cliffs
that make Earth's final stand.


(may not be complete)

<a name="#h12">Under the Tree</a>

Naked and alone I sit,
waiting for the forbidden fruit
to fall from the tree of life,
the leaves rustling above me.
Waiting for gravity
for fear of the consequences
taking the initiative
into my own hands might bring.
My mind a fertile blank,
for I have not yet tasted
of the wisdom and the knowledge
that awaits my eager palate.
Oh, I have had a glimpse
into that enlightenment,
but only briefly...
until the drugs wore off.
Once more isolated
within my own limitations,
I ponder the meaning of it all
and question my sanity.

Will the fruit be bitter or sweet?
Succulent and tender,
or dry and hard?

It smells of rotting flesh,
for it brings with it
the realization that life
must eventually end.
And yet I eagerly anticipate
biting into the bloody pulp
and savoring each drop
of rancid ichor.
I thirst for the mind-bending
awareness contained within...
although I already know
the ultimate truth.
Mankind sits at the brink
of self-destruction...
as it has for millennia
long since past and forgotten.

Will the end be fast or slow?
Painlessly drifting off to sleep
or agonizingly tortuous and cruel?

The tree of life remains silent,
withholding its gift...
letting only the aroma of the fruit
bring momentary understanding.
What will be, will be,
not the will of you or me.

My first post as your officially chosen Poet Laureate:

<a name="#h01">A Question of Existence</a>

Time is malleable...
compressed and dried
between book covers
Remembered during bouts of guilt
forgotten in the day's dream
undiscovered eternities
twitch in the continuum
not a pebble's ripple seen
yet the tsunami felt
in all it's wrath
A tiny grain of sand
larger than the sun
...love and war
...hate and peace
A universe
smaller than a microbe
Billions alive
...even more dead
Sweet colors and bright tastes
it's all in the mind anyway
so the clock ticks
and ink flows
my eyes close
chaos reigns
without my intervention
leaving me to ponder
my next move
before announcing


<a name="#h13">Automatic Writing</a>

What lines are these
that appear upon the page
in early morning's dark
while even Time sleeps?
Spirit moves the pen
to form the nascent words -
the poet's hand
belongs to someone else
for this moment.

What muse is this
that hides in secret shadows
yet makes its presence known
revealing no name?
Take the quill, my friend,
and write your heart's content -
my willing hand
shall serve to be your scribe
to pen your thoughts.


Author's notes:

What at first glance appears to be strictly "free verse" is in reality a structured poem with fixed internal syllable and line counts designed to be numerologically significant.

Syllables: 4,7,6,5,5,6,4,6,4 to make 3 couplets of 11 and a triplet of 14, total 47 per stanza. Total syllable count is 94 (13) and there are 9 lines per stanza.

<a name="#h17">Mi alma vuela </a>

Bese me, mi querida,
con sus labios dulces
más rojos que rosas en el jardín
y suave como piel de un bebé.
La fuerza de sus ojos
refleja el calor de su espiritu.
Dígame las palabras que deseo oír.
Hágame amor todo el dia
y la noche reina suprema.
Te amo más que vida.
Moriría en su abrazo.
Mi alma vuela en las alas de su voz
y estoy en paradiso.

Kiss me, my dear,
with your sweet lips
redder than the roses of the garden
and soft as a baby’s skin.
The force of your eyes
reflects the heat of your spirit.
Tell me the words I want to hear.
Make love to me all day
and the night reigns supreme.
I love you more than life.
I would die in your embrace.
My soul flies on the wings of your voice
and I am in paradise.


<a name="#h18">Sleepwalking in Gaza
- seeking the word
that will express the mood
the ennui
- tedium of days
- weeks
slippery time
the illusion of progress
- regress
"there's nothing new under the sun".
It's almost like anguish
- languish
burnt out

the shopping cart man
becomes invisible
in the sea
of GI boots

- sorrow
a dull ache
somewhere in the heart
a thirst for more
than the CRT reveals

the rats have won the race
by default
- they've eaten all the prizes

- sad to think
what potential has been denied
- indolence
the ruling force
so the muse also sits
to watch armaggedon
from our comfortable sofa
where the children's cries
cannot be heard
above the headset static.

- mindless
sleepwalking (in Gaza)
with eyes closed
while all around
the inferno rages
Last edited by heinzs on Sat Sep 17, 2005 8:49 pm, edited 4 times in total.
An' it harm none, do what ye will. Blessed Be.
My Poet's Page Archive | Topics I've started

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Posts: 8419
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Post by heinzs » Tue Sep 13, 2005 11:32 pm

<a name="#012">Here's a relatively unfamiliar poem by Rudyard Kipling:</a>

http://www.poetryloverspage.com/poets/k ... g_ind.html

As the Bell Clinks

As I left the Halls at Lumley, rose the vision of a comely
Maid last season worshipped dumbly, watched with fervor from afar;
And I wondered idly, blindly, if the maid would greet me kindly.
That was all -- the rest was settled by the clinking tonga-bar.
Yea, my life and hers were coupled by the tonga coupling-bar.

For my misty meditation, at the second changing-station,
Suffered sudden dislocation, fled before the tuneless jar
Of a Wagner obbligato, scherzo, doublehand staccato,
Played on either pony's saddle by the clacking tonga-bar --
Played with human speech, I fancied, by the jigging, jolting bar.

"She was sweet," thought I, "last season, but 'twere surely wild unreason
Such tiny hope to freeze on as was offered by my Star,
When she whispered, something sadly: 'I -- we feel your going badly!'"
"And you let the chance escape you?" rapped the rattling tonga-bar.
"What a chance and what an idiot!" clicked the vicious tonga-bar.

Heart of man -- O heart of putty! Had I gone by Kakahutti,
On the old Hill-road and rutty, I had 'scaped that fatal car.
But his fortune each must bide by, so I watched the milestones slide by,
To "You call on Her to-morrow!" -- no fugue with cymbals by the bar --
You must call on Her to-morrow!" -- post-horn gallop by the bar.

Yet a further stage my goal on -- we were whirling down to Solon,
With a double lurch and roll on, best foot foremost, ganz und gar --
"She was very sweet," I hinted. "If a kiss had been imprinted?" --
"'Would ha' saved a world of trouble!" clashed the busy tonga-bar.
"'Been accepted or rejected!" banged and clanged the tonga-bar.

Then a notion wild and daring, 'spite the income tax's paring,
And a hasty thought of sharing -- less than many incomes are,
Made me put a question private, you can guess what I would drive at.
"You must work the sum to prove it," clanked the careless tonga-bar.
"Simple Rule of Two will prove it," lilted back the tonga-bar.

It was under Khyraghaut I mused. "Suppose the maid be haughty --
There are lovers rich -- and forty -- wait some wealthy Avatar?
Answer, monitor untiring, 'twixt the ponies twain perspiring!"
"Faint heart never won fair lady," creaked the straining tonga-bar.
"Can I tell you ere you ask Her?" pounded slow the tonga-bar.

Last, the Tara Devi turning showed the lights of Simla burning,
Lit my little lazy yearning to a fiercer flame by far.
As below the Mall we jingled, through my very heart it tingled --
Did the iterated order of the threshing tonga-bar --
Try your luck -- you can't do better!" twanged the loosened tonga-bar.

<a name="#011">Omar Khayyam</a>


The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to IT for help--for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.
Last edited by heinzs on Sat Sep 17, 2005 8:05 pm, edited 1 time in total.
An' it harm none, do what ye will. Blessed Be.
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Post by heinzs » Tue Sep 13, 2005 11:34 pm

<a name="#016">I have a few archives from the first years of Poetry Pages I will try to locate and post some material from. In addition, I'll post some pieces by "early" member poets.

Poetry Pages Poet #1: Berlie

Here's the oldest surviving post by Berlie:
http://www.poetrypages.com/phpBB2/viewt ... ght=#28540

Her oldest surving poem in the forums:
http://www.poetrypages.com/phpBB2/viewt ... ght=#11407

Poetry Pages Poet #2: Delsol

Here is the oldest surviving post by our dear Shannon:
http://www.poetrypages.com/phpBB2/viewt ... ht=#103409

There are older pieces in her archive:
http://www.poetrypages.com/phpBB2/viewt ... ht=#103409

Poetry Pages Poet #3: Janmew

Janmew's Member Archive:

First Ever Add-a-Line poem:

This was started by Raw2B on October 25, 2000. It was compiled one line at a time by different "authors".

Freeing the Spirit
by the poetry pages poets

Tomorrow, today, and yesterday
I long for your kiss
I'm spinning, needle and thread intertwine
Predisposing of all earthly ways
My spirit sets sail with the solar wind
And I take flight
to reach higher just for a moment
A moment that seems to last forever
Yeah yeah yeah
Tomorrow, today and yesterday
needle and thread entangle
And I no longer long for your kiss
For my spirit has reached its completion.
My aged body, withered by the years of futile wishing.
And I have yet, one simple request
Yeah,yeah,let the spirit run free
Free into a world of emotion
A world of dreams swirling with vibrant colors
But yet do we have the right to complain?
No. For we are lost in The Dreaming.
Where the strings of time cannot reach
but the memory of our kiss is sown into my heart forever
So goodnight for now - Let this be over
Tomorrow, today, and yesterday
My eyes (shall) drop tears for you (no longer).
And yet the fibers of my soul reach out in desperate longing
For tommorrow, today, and yesterday
An' it harm none, do what ye will. Blessed Be.
My Poet's Page Archive | Topics I've started

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