Write poems? Please post one (or more!). I'd like to ask that people not judge or critique in their comments here so that the shy might feel cool about sharing something in a warm, friendly atmosphere.
20210130 - Let's Dance Music describes the people in my life and I dance to the music.
You've got that constant rhythym and base line, and all the parts of the mix. I like it mixed where the base line is carried through an entire set.
Each piece of music is different and beautiful in its own way. Each carries it message and each brings its own mood.
Always that constant rhythm. Always a new song. New beats, Fresh ideas.
Music describes the people in my life and I dance to the music.
You dear friend are that base line. You other dear friend is that groove that locks-in my hips. A stranger dances past me. We smiled. We'll not meet again.
You old friend, once dear. You are the song that drives me from the dance floor. We too, will not meet again. You, stranger-friend, "Backie". You're that throwback beat from the 80's. I only hear you once a year. All the false starts are samples, that satisfy and fill notes in time.
You, other dear friend are the interlude. Let's Dance
WARNING: I wrote this when I was dating someone and I was absolutely enthralled with this guy I choose this one in particular because I'm really proud of it (even though the rhyme scheme is kind of off). There is a sexual tone to it but it's nothing too extreme but I still wanted to but a wanted to put a warning to it; there is also some cursing towards the end.
Why are you so damn Sexy Who told you, you were allowed to be like this The amount of time in a short time You have spent for us to be like this This, A collective pairing of two Just so that way we are able to have Some form of a title in order for you to be my boo This The relationship we have never seen our parents have Both of our collective fears spiraling because of the past with our mom and dad This Is just a man taking on a charity case With the superficial small ass waist This Is one of the sexiest men alive Looking at me when I sleep And enjoying my company Because I make him feel alive This is two This is you This is one fucked up loose ass screw This is the question that I just have to ask This is definitely going to be my last I'm sorry but
WHY ARE YOU SO DAMN SEXY?
Tea is my little get away in the midst of life, it reminds me to breathe, to take a moment, to be. So I wrote that experience into a poem called,
The First Sip
The water in the kettle starts to grumble, Tapping at the sides as if to say, "Let me out!" Steam rushes through the spout, Whistling its urgent tune. You free the raging water, Pouring it eagerly over the leaves, They release their earthy fragrance. Marvel at the tendrils of flavor seeking to fill the cup. As it steeps, let stillness seep into your soul. Cradle the cozy cup gently in your palms. Leave the rim to linger along your lips. Exhale your tension, worry and strife. Inhale the aroma of grace, joy and gratitude. Breathe. Take your first taste. Let it trip across your tongue. Let the tranquility touch your heart Permit peace to permeate the rhythm of your life. Be.
This is NOT my poem, but it is a favorite.
Morning Song of Senlin
Conrad Aiken (1889–1973)
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning When the light drips through the shutters like the dew, I arise, I face the sunrise, And do the things my fathers learned to do. Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops 5 Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die, And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet Stand before a glass and tie my tie. Vine leaves tap my window, Dew-drops sing to the garden stones, 10 The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree Repeating three clear tones. It is morning. I stand by the mirror And tie my tie once more. While waves far off in a pale rose twilight 15 Crash on a white sand shore. I stand by a mirror and comb my hair: How small and white my face!— The green earth tilts through a sphere of air And bathes in a flame of space. 20 There are houses hanging above the stars And stars hung under a sea … And a sun far off in a shell of silence Dapples my walls for me … It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning 25 Should I not pause in the light to remember God? Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable, He is immense and lonely as a cloud. I will dedicate this moment before my mirror To him alone, for him I will comb my hair. 30 Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence! I will think of you as I descend the stair. Vine leaves tap my window, The snail-track shines on the stones, Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree 35 Repeating two clear tones. It is morning, I awake from a bed of silence, Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep. The walls are about me still as in the evening, I am the same, and the same name still I keep. 40 The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion, The stars pale silently in a coral sky. In a whistling void I stand before my mirror, Unconcerned, and tie my tie. There are horses neighing on far-off hills 45 Tossing their long white manes, And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk, Their shoulders black with rains … It is morning. I stand by the mirror And surprise my soul once more; 50 The blue air rushes above my ceiling, There are suns beneath my floor … … It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness And depart on the winds of space for I know not where, My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket, 55 And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair. There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven, And a god among the stars; and I will go Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak And humming a tune I know … 60 Vine-leaves tap at the window, Dew-drops sing to the garden stones, The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree Repeating three clear tones.
Everyone called it the Ark, Because of course they did; It contained two thousand souls, All kept alive and asleep by machinery That pumped them full Of liquid food and chemicals.
It was unknown if anyone on the ship Dreamt as it struggled to leave the earth, As great metal panels were torn From the hull and fire consumed everything. Perhaps some envisioned alien worlds Brimming with possibility—a fresh start.
Thank you dear hearts!! Loved reading these.
Once when my daughter was a toddler, she pointed at the vinegar in the door of the fridge and said, "Dat, mama." I said, "OK," and handed it to her. She took a big swig, made a gnarly-assed face, and then looked at me and said, "More dat."
@DarkLordChungus More dat.
Oh I like this post!
I'm swathed in the blue Of your eyes As vast As the summer sky And as the luminescent cracks of light Leak through The folds of midnight I hold With my closed palms The light within
But I drown inside The darkened parts Within the purgatory of our hearts While waiting on the stars to align As the moonlight struggles to shine Be it destiny Or be it fate It was a moment too late
So I'll take The scent of you Release the light From my palms Into the night And fly Into the cotton candy clouds Of the cosmic skies Dream of marigolds And wish upon the dandelions As they fly Like birthed butterflies Into the crescent moons sky
In hopes that you Are dreaming of us too
It's not in vain
The kisses given and perhaps lost forever, where they apparently are buried, looking down at that pit where something once existed
You caress them to the surface that you gave that night, and at dawn his carnal poetry lost its sonata, words where they were born from the core of your being, Where did they go?
The deep hug that more than hug was the stripping of that armor, your exalted body drinking the rich jelly of love, and you wake up one day your chest withered before its eternal absence.
The tears of joy, that like a drizzle rejoices feed that land, and be a witness to the growth of the seed put by both, she was tenderly cared for, with that sublime love, and yet she did not become that flower. Say "I love you" because we fell short to create a unique language, neither the heart nor the soul have a voice, only the mystery of a love, but so that expression, like a mist, became vapor; watching without knowing where to go.
All that was not in vain, because the kisses were born from your deepest layers of your being, your hands traveled a territory never seen, infinitely beautiful, your entire body stripped of all fear and insecurities releasing that heavy shield, and thus you opened your arms and body, enveloping it like the petals of a flower. And if your eyes get wet, it was because of the great sensitivity and recognition before this divine miracle.
The expression of a word is never alone, but all these things turned on, Its origin many people do not believe it, even without faith, up to an immense fear of showing themselves like this; like being exposed without skin to an unknown world, even the wind hurts, It was not in vain, nor was anything lost because you are still here alive.
Like a warrior with more scars and a tremendous history, your story and your bravery.
I wrote this after my father died. A shorter version is appearing soon in my next book.
why are people drawn to the ocean? my mother asks as she pours salt into salt sending her teardrops home: burial at sea i touch her arm: latin now for "come" an understanding we've wilted into all other words carry so much, the coffins of wet speech, weighty with exhaustion. she turns and walks toward the boardwalk. i drive in silence and we're both replaying the services for the man who laced our lives together.
How we sat bone-still, listening to a room of lonely people whisper my father into a graveless death.
We sit with ache, exchange the weight of it in our sleep. what would we be without him? what will we be now? corporeal, with an arm to touch, able to be summoned - and all either of us can hold of him now is ashes.
For lack of action, Our desperate hands clutching his unbodied dust. and although we rarely speak of how the choice was made, i know now that we don't bury the body for the body, but for the digging.