User Poetry

[Joebill]

Originally Posted by GeoffC

nice ending ....

Thanks !

[GeoffC]

With tongue firmly in cheek ....


Airlines Lament....

open up the skies,
we, not you, are wise,
we care not about the ash,
safety, yes; but more the cash !

you've had a look,
we've had a look,
you're using the guide
from the wrong book !

no more the trains, cars and boats,
no more your worries about missing votes (!).
open up our skies
and loosen our ties
let's get the whole world
spinning again.

[kennyc]

Money makes the world go 'round a they say.

[kennyc]

Mother's Day

Mother Earth
Father Sun
We together
are but One.

Kenny A. Chaffin - Earth Day 4/22/10

[kennyc]

The Question

and so then what do I write
what do I create
what do I leave behind
where is my reason
where is my light
Is it demons that possess me
or angels of the night.


Kenny A. Chaffin – 4/23/2010

[GeoffC]

[kennyc]

Thanks Geoff!

[Nate the great]

This is my very first poem:

The shoe in the ceiling fan

The storm was raining, raining, raining,
The boys were fighting, fighting, fighting,
The dogs were crying, crying, crying,
The bird was screaming, screaming, screaming,
When my mother threw the shoe.

[kennyc]

I like it Nate!

[Patricia]

So do I.
I hope that you keep on writing.

[dreams]

Originally Posted by Nate the great

This is my very first poem:

The shoe in the ceiling fan

The storm was raining, raining, raining,
The boys were fighting, fighting, fighting,
The dogs were crying, crying, crying,
The bird was screaming, screaming, screaming,
When my mother threw the shoe.

Thanks, Nate. As a mom, I laughed out loud, as I pictured this. In fact, I vividly pictured a kid's tennis shoe stuck on a fan blade and spinning around and around afterwards.

Great first poem!

[GeoffC]

Thanks Nate, Sir P. of E. , that's a wonderful image you've created. The words cause you to read each line faster than the previous one - and then comes to an abrupt stop !....

more more more more more ....

[Dusty Bottoms]

One Good Morning Lasts

Frail bird woman peck thought
Plant
The ungrown seed in the barren garden


Empty church mind
Pray
For the unknown and forever known dead


Morning is night is morning
Count
The unkept time through a never open window


Night is morning is night
Ask
The unbearable heavens for light


The morning is morning is morning
Wish
It would last

[beppe]

Hello everybody,
You will excuse me for jumping into this thread, maybe interrupting the appreciation of Dusty Bottoms' poem.
Yesterday I found this tread and many contributes of people that I admire. To day I thought about it, decided to give it a try and worked on it a little bit. Bear patience.

... Ages ago, coming home from thousands of miles away, I found that a girl, whom I met just before leaving, had pierced my heart and that I was desperately in love. It happens. In a book, one day I read of this boy writing poems on pieces of the paper that his father, a butcher, used to wrap the meat for the customers. I had never written poetry before but I woke up next morning cursed with poetic fever. I could not stop until I wrote 51 little things and then the fever, of its own as it came, of its own iust went away. It was not poetry, it was just poetic writing. I forgot the whole thing until yesterday, when, fooling around on the site, I stumbled on this thread. I remember one of those and I dare drop it on you. It’s in Italian.

Scrivo il tuo nome sul vetro appannato
le gocce scendendo lo rigano di lacrime


Here is the literary translation, my first effort, in English. May my soul be spared.

I write your name on the misty window pane
running drops streak it with tears

Then I try to make it cleaner, with some Zen flavor


On the window rain
drops
a tear inside

[Dusty Bottoms]

Originally Posted by beppe

On the window rain
drops
a tear inside

Love it! And it has inspired me to write my own rain poem.


The Fingers of Dead Children

Empty room, lost wish, the requiem whisper
Curtains drawn to keep out the day
The day of the dead
The dead shall have their day



Her eyes, weather report, the unending season
Curtains pulled to let in the night
The night of sorrows
The sorrows bloom always at night



Rain falls, heart beat, the fingers of dead children
Tap
Tap
Tapping against
the
Pain

(Just a little note. I've started writing poetry because I broke two fingers and I can't write prose hunt-and-peck style. It just doesn't flow for me. But I'm really enjoying poetry a lot. Maybe even more than prose )