if I hadn´t touched the grounds, I´d not believe
that these places actually exist
Southwold is truly pleasant. You write well of it. In four lines you say more to me than some people manage in a hundred million. Such economy and simplicity, but tender elegy, such repose is here. So many writers lose that in the bombast of industry. They lose that slow, peaceful, dropping silence that shakes the heart like a watchful fledgling apprehending a sky to fly. You have that enviable grasp of a chance to fly that space.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots Southwold is truly pleasant. You write well of it. In four lines you say more to me than some people manage in a hundred million. Such economy and simplicity, but tender elegy, such repose is here. So many writers lose that in the bombast of industry. They lose that slow, peaceful, dropping silence that shakes the heart like a watchful fledgling apprehending a sky to fly. You have that enviable grasp of a chance to fly that space.
Thank you.
now I know why my heart is so upset every time I post a poem
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
I´ve been invited,
so I am here
Came out of darkness
And I will share.
I see bright lines
In the thoughts of them
Who are with me
This night to play.
hmmmm.... where have you gone ?
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
It´s been a day, another day
The sample of too many others;
No sparks to catch my eye,
No sound to make me fly.
It´s difficult for me to write on Sunday,
It is quiet and my mind should rest.
That is why I put together
These simple lines of simple words;
They don’t even rhyme,
Don´t follow any metre.
Tomorrow I´ll be chasing
Wroth and Behn and Cavendish,
Steal their thoughts and add some mine
To compose, that should be fine.
I have read, however,
Some poems form your pen,
As always they´ve inspired
Me, and you, and also them.
Unfortunately people read,
Just anything on yellow sheets,
If they heard the message here,
We all could live the dreams so near.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Oh Mariam, dear queen of Palestine,
Would you for once make up your mind!
Is it the love for him that makes you cry,
Or do you hate him ´cause he made you cry?
Don´t feel sorry for yourself today
For it is time to raise your voice and say
What is past is past,
You died and this should last;
Don´t look at my face, I can´t see your eyes,
Alone I should be living for the rest of my life.
Pushed from side to side -
Your mother on one, husband on the other.
Blindfolded you grovel to see the spark of light,
Don´t want to escape from this circle of lies.
You´re loosing the battle, do save your virtue
Of being the brave one, when no one can hurt you.
Salome, the evil, most of your readers condemn,
Although in my eyes she´s quite an emblem
Standing for gender that should´ve been praised,
The weakness of yours will make it a waste.
Give me your hand now and follow my steps,
My mind can be peaceful but heart never forgets;
There is so much strength in female alive,
You´ll learn how to use it and you will survive!
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Your manipulation of iambic metre is very good and I like your clever use of couplets; you deliberately border on the informal, even given the allusions to Elizabeth Cary's "Tragedy of Mariam". Your poem feels all the more human for its shifts from elevated to understated discourse. There's also a sophisticated wit here, a lively mind at work! Thank you.
was working on it bit by bit,
usually I just let my words flow.
Perhaps next time I should think about what I´m writing
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
There was a little boy called Rooney,
As they would say a little loony,
Indeed he scored two goals tonight,
Pissed off the Croats and made them fight.
Little Rooney now a king,
Gained himself a pair of wings.
With two good kicks he made some millions,
And fans too much, perhaps three billions.
I will go to bed now
Cause I´m talking crap,
I hope we´ll meet tomorrow
My friend, the good old chap.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Originally posted by exhale There was a little boy called Rooney,
As they would say a little loony,
Indeed he scored two goals tonight,
Pissed off the Croats and made them fight.
Little Rooney now a king,
Gained himself a pair of wings.
With two good kicks he made some millions,
And fans too much, perhaps three billions.
I will go to bed now
Cause I´m talking crap,
I hope we´ll meet tomorrow
My friend, the good old chap.
You have just earned the title of forum genius-in-residence for that.
Originally posted by PastaNazi amen to that... and it's not to say it's the only way... but it's yours, and it's mine, too
i'm cool when ppl say chop this, add more... those i can rightfully ignore... but i've been told not to swear in my poetry...
and i'm like, "yo mother fucker, why fucking not? fuck that fucking shit...." <walking away mumbling to self: motherfucking try to fucking tell me not to fucking cuss... sheeeyiiiiiit.... fucking ass...>
:D:D:D
crumble on, exhale
Pasta this is Amaterasu:
Between you and me, THAT is just beautiful.
Originally posted by exhale For one more reason I will sing to you,
Confess my sins, my sorrows cause I´m sad,
Waiting calmly in this state,
Rolling on and on the ideas in my head
In slow motion, cautiously, not to overlook one bit.
Constantly superimposing words you said,
When we drove along the waterside
And laughed, I noticed something else was there to share;
But it was concealed as you wouldn´t want to make mistake.
I shall so faithfully believe,
That this cohesion for all times should last, so fast
You have changed the tone of utterance…
I don´t want to die in silence.
I´ve shared everything I have
Now everybody knows what I was and what I am,
But I doubt they are my fans.
I will still write,
Give more and more until I´m out
Of every slice of my heart;
And you will hold the knife,
Looking at me bending forward, pleading for forgiveness
Being the other part…
Of what?
Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots You have just earned the title of forum genius-in-residence for that.
wow! I´m so proud of myself
what is that ?
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
I cannot write strong words right now
I am too deep in sorrow,
My heart – a wound, you stabbed a sword
Right into the middle.
The size of blade I cannot tell
I am not conscious any longer,
My body – a shell, as I fell
Broken, crushed, is it now over?
For quite some time I was just fine
Until I used my mouth,
Uttered words of two short lines
Eager for the truth.
I lied that time when you denied
This love you don´t want to share,
Pretend´ to sleep, not see your fear
As I wouldn´t really care.
The dreadful pain inside my brain
You could push aside,
Blow away all thoughts and prayers
Before those two collide.
I´m writing letters to my boy
The only one to reach,
My gleaming future, the only joy,
Still living in my speech.
I ask you now, my Jake, my light,
How come that I can feel
Your heart beat calm just next to mine
Your soul is here, it´s real.
Is there a move you will do next?
Again, you´re somewhere else…
I cannot breathe, it´s in my chest,
Must I hold your face?
It is hard to tell how long i´ll stay
Before emotions run me over,
I´ll fight the fate up to that day
When i´m declared a soldier.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
It´s all a word and word is all,
You feel, you chase,
You kill, you hate,
Goes on and on and never stops.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Why tonight everybody needs to be upset?
Why hurt each other, when we wouldn´t want the pay back?
How many questions are there still to ask?
How many times I have to fall for that?
Between the time exchanging lines,
So many precious moments passed you by,
Not now, but many years ahead
You will cry for minutes so wastefully spent.
Pain´s a bitch
Trust me, I know ´her´ very well;
But every time she comes around
I fight less, and less, and less…
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
I agree, exhale. In fact I might
be said to be ungrungy, for I don't
get upset or angsty: I don't fight
too much, and this, my little font
of inspiration springs from love, at base.
Okay, I can be like a bull at times
But all I mean to do is coax some grace
from people, so they wave their cloak of rhymes
just like a matador who has the crowd
in thrall. Exhale, you have a poet's heart
And while the would-be poets shout out loud
about their deep profundity, your art
Outfames theirs: wise, reflective, thoughtful, true.
That's my sonnet-tribute, here, for you.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
No other way I will be able to get over,
Some might not want to read it because the tone is of black colour.
I need to heal the lesion caused by your possession
Of rules, and laws, and facts, and norms…
I wish so much I could accuse you for being the inconstant,
Committing errors, unforgettable mistakes, blunders that outstand;
With reason that would suit me I´d read some texts by Whitney,
Listen to her lessons and then I´d turn to Sidney.
But now I cannot judge you for fighting all your fears,
Renouncing therefor everything what has in past been seen.
Future memories you called the thoughts
You saw them right in front of you,
So alive, you said, they were to few
Standing out completely from the mass.
Please, undo the curse that lies upon my body,
……………..
***i need you all out there to complete the last line!***
the limited knowledge has finally won the victory over my mind
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Originally posted by exhale No other way I will be able to get over,
Some might not want to read it because the tone is of black colour.
I need to heal the lesion caused by your possession
Of rules, and laws, and facts, and signs…
I wish so much I could accuse you for being the inconstant,
Committing errors, unforgettable mistakes, blunders that outstand;
With reason that would suit me I´d read some texts by Whitney,
Listen to her lessons and then I´d turn to Sidney.
But now I cannot judge you for fighting all your fears,
Renouncing therefor everything what has in past been seen.
Future memories you called the thoughts
You saw them right in front of you,
So alive, you said, they were to few
Standing out completely from the mass.
Please, undo the curse that lies upon my body,
……………..
***i need you all out there to complete the last line!***
the limited knowledge has finally won the victory over my mind
Comments
Southwold is truly pleasant. You write well of it. In four lines you say more to me than some people manage in a hundred million. Such economy and simplicity, but tender elegy, such repose is here. So many writers lose that in the bombast of industry. They lose that slow, peaceful, dropping silence that shakes the heart like a watchful fledgling apprehending a sky to fly. You have that enviable grasp of a chance to fly that space.
Thank you.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
now I know why my heart is so upset every time I post a poem
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
so I am here
Came out of darkness
And I will share.
I see bright lines
In the thoughts of them
Who are with me
This night to play.
hmmmm.... where have you gone ?
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
I'm here, look, look, it's me.
I'm never very far, I have to say.
So, I'm sitting here at home,
And I wait to read a poem
Very soon, from you. Some time, today?
The sample of too many others;
No sparks to catch my eye,
No sound to make me fly.
It´s difficult for me to write on Sunday,
It is quiet and my mind should rest.
That is why I put together
These simple lines of simple words;
They don’t even rhyme,
Don´t follow any metre.
Tomorrow I´ll be chasing
Wroth and Behn and Cavendish,
Steal their thoughts and add some mine
To compose, that should be fine.
I have read, however,
Some poems form your pen,
As always they´ve inspired
Me, and you, and also them.
Unfortunately people read,
Just anything on yellow sheets,
If they heard the message here,
We all could live the dreams so near.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Would you for once make up your mind!
Is it the love for him that makes you cry,
Or do you hate him ´cause he made you cry?
Don´t feel sorry for yourself today
For it is time to raise your voice and say
What is past is past,
You died and this should last;
Don´t look at my face, I can´t see your eyes,
Alone I should be living for the rest of my life.
Pushed from side to side -
Your mother on one, husband on the other.
Blindfolded you grovel to see the spark of light,
Don´t want to escape from this circle of lies.
You´re loosing the battle, do save your virtue
Of being the brave one, when no one can hurt you.
Salome, the evil, most of your readers condemn,
Although in my eyes she´s quite an emblem
Standing for gender that should´ve been praised,
The weakness of yours will make it a waste.
Give me your hand now and follow my steps,
My mind can be peaceful but heart never forgets;
There is so much strength in female alive,
You´ll learn how to use it and you will survive!
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Your manipulation of iambic metre is very good and I like your clever use of couplets; you deliberately border on the informal, even given the allusions to Elizabeth Cary's "Tragedy of Mariam". Your poem feels all the more human for its shifts from elevated to understated discourse. There's also a sophisticated wit here, a lively mind at work! Thank you.
was working on it bit by bit,
usually I just let my words flow.
Perhaps next time I should think about what I´m writing
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
As they would say a little loony,
Indeed he scored two goals tonight,
Pissed off the Croats and made them fight.
Little Rooney now a king,
Gained himself a pair of wings.
With two good kicks he made some millions,
And fans too much, perhaps three billions.
I will go to bed now
Cause I´m talking crap,
I hope we´ll meet tomorrow
My friend, the good old chap.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
You have just earned the title of forum genius-in-residence for that.
Pasta this is Amaterasu:
Between you and me, THAT is just beautiful.
A PENDULUM
Why hello, amaterasu...
it's a little on the cussy side, but it'll do
wow! I´m so proud of myself
what is that ?
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
I am too deep in sorrow,
My heart – a wound, you stabbed a sword
Right into the middle.
The size of blade I cannot tell
I am not conscious any longer,
My body – a shell, as I fell
Broken, crushed, is it now over?
For quite some time I was just fine
Until I used my mouth,
Uttered words of two short lines
Eager for the truth.
I lied that time when you denied
This love you don´t want to share,
Pretend´ to sleep, not see your fear
As I wouldn´t really care.
The dreadful pain inside my brain
You could push aside,
Blow away all thoughts and prayers
Before those two collide.
I´m writing letters to my boy
The only one to reach,
My gleaming future, the only joy,
Still living in my speech.
I ask you now, my Jake, my light,
How come that I can feel
Your heart beat calm just next to mine
Your soul is here, it´s real.
Is there a move you will do next?
Again, you´re somewhere else…
I cannot breathe, it´s in my chest,
Must I hold your face?
It is hard to tell how long i´ll stay
Before emotions run me over,
I´ll fight the fate up to that day
When i´m declared a soldier.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
thank you for reading it
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
You feel, you chase,
You kill, you hate,
Goes on and on and never stops.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Why hurt each other, when we wouldn´t want the pay back?
How many questions are there still to ask?
How many times I have to fall for that?
Between the time exchanging lines,
So many precious moments passed you by,
Not now, but many years ahead
You will cry for minutes so wastefully spent.
Pain´s a bitch
Trust me, I know ´her´ very well;
But every time she comes around
I fight less, and less, and less…
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
be said to be ungrungy, for I don't
get upset or angsty: I don't fight
too much, and this, my little font
of inspiration springs from love, at base.
Okay, I can be like a bull at times
But all I mean to do is coax some grace
from people, so they wave their cloak of rhymes
just like a matador who has the crowd
in thrall. Exhale, you have a poet's heart
And while the would-be poets shout out loud
about their deep profundity, your art
Outfames theirs: wise, reflective, thoughtful, true.
That's my sonnet-tribute, here, for you.
thank you
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Some might not want to read it because the tone is of black colour.
I need to heal the lesion caused by your possession
Of rules, and laws, and facts, and norms…
I wish so much I could accuse you for being the inconstant,
Committing errors, unforgettable mistakes, blunders that outstand;
With reason that would suit me I´d read some texts by Whitney,
Listen to her lessons and then I´d turn to Sidney.
But now I cannot judge you for fighting all your fears,
Renouncing therefor everything what has in past been seen.
Future memories you called the thoughts
You saw them right in front of you,
So alive, you said, they were to few
Standing out completely from the mass.
Please, undo the curse that lies upon my body,
……………..
***i need you all out there to complete the last line!***
the limited knowledge has finally won the victory over my mind
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.