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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 8/25/2008 9:51:59 AM | ditto what brizo and Om said Blitz about the Olds piece..thanks for posting it.. Her writing always reminds me of you. Miss your writes here when I drop by. Good to see you.....and this
the most unbelievable act we commit on ourselves is not living in the moment.
hit home..No matter HOW MANY TIMES a day I repeat this to myself, I seem to still FAIL most of the time...still working on it tho..
BonfireGoddess if you are still around, Great write in 1430. | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 8/25/2008 6:22:09 PM | Oh, Blitz, I'm not familiar with SHaron Olds, but based on that poem I'll have to search her out. It's so.... well, whoever said 'visceral'- that's it exactly. I feel it in my gut, taste it.
And, Drea- thank you. I'm always surprised and flattered when someone likes my writes. | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 11/18/2008 4:43:28 PM |  Blitz! Hark.....where Herald Angels Sing! Where you at??? lol
hugs!  jules
Angel came when need was calling
banging on the door
she's falling
Forgive them , for they do not know
She gave them all;
wings white as snow!
She left as quickly as she came
That Angel with the snowwhite wings
leaving footprints in the snow
A scent of Frankensense and Myrhh
She left a feather on the stair...
And one long strand of golden hair!
Once she lived in world of Old
now her deeper Soul, unfurled
She sings songs of deeper things
She traded in her Snowwhite Wings!
Now her Soul is gold ; brandnew
With that Soul.........away.............she flew~!
girl! | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 11/21/2008 2:27:08 PM |  get in here Gf! lol'
Time and time again
same old thing happens
just like the wind
The rain falls...the clouds call
Yet ...every winter
you take....my All!
Holidays...things that are extreme
I wonder and worry...
same ole dam thing!
If time is our friend...
life is our partner
I wonder my friend...
where you left my ....heart now!''
where did she go this time?
mIND IN THE GUTTER
harder to find....
If she lives inside me...
tell me where...
did she go?
I have searched ...Hi and lO...
I just ....dont ...dont know!
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 11/21/2008 4:11:31 PM | hey Gf....you remember me? lol lmao! am sure not many dont! that aint always a good thing! But this thread definatly is! Blitz...needs to get in here! Post somethin awesome sherri...and she will! sHE READS! LOL~
once I felt so bare , alone
left me sitttin there
stone!
She said you aint fixed
you are real
I said what ? I am made
I aint no fixer upper
lmao...I got my own stone!
So she got me on a roll....
we compete against shit...
crap...undone life!
If ever...I change my mind...
about leavin you behind...
lmao!
I will call someone else!
Aint no one else could make me Happy...
no one could hurt me like you do...
You were the only one ...
that mattered!
I was done!
You and I were created....to be
True!
Beautiful song!
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 11/21/2008 4:35:28 PM | ?? No, humming, forgive me, sweetheart, but I don't remember right off the cuff... refresh my memory? lol so sad how things lapse ...
anyway hear is a pen of mine, not too certain how "phenomenal" it is, but it is something I wrote....
Effigies
Cooler spring air has
worked its magic tonight,
shrinking the cylinder in the lock.
The age-old tumbler,
apt to grumble;
a sentinel,
an unapologetic
octogenarian...
endures my fumbling
with faint amusement,
indulging the prerogative
not to give a whit
whether the door
opens or not.
But tonight it cooperates.
One quarter-turn to the left;
the carriage turns rolls over
like an eager lover.
Click.
The red slab door
of childhood opens,
and I step, barefoot,
onto the porch.
I'd gone out
to drink in the night;
its stars,
its sounds,
the breeze; to dance
in the sway of trees;
but, instead,
a low wail
begins to rise
from somewhere
beyond the stoop.
Effigies crawl out,
wishing to speak.
Whimpers of memory.
I hear them beg
for some kind word.
Me, found alone
in a reach for grace.
They, trailed behind
as I stepped outside.
This house is filled
with the forked roads
and broken bones
of thoughtless stones.
Alternately valiant
then callous hearts,
that have woven
in so deep, so
deeply buried,
considered past.
Considered. Past.
Photographs rise
to reveal themselves.
The new mother posed
in an indigo frock,
her pearls,
luxuriant jet hair-
loosely brushed,
dark Creole eyes-
deep wells that wish
without spoken word.
I recognize angry lips
curled into ruby smile
as her firstborn sleeps,
cradled in her arms.
Others pass.
Toothless grins
and towhead tots-
the startled calm
of little ones that peer,
doe-eyes captured
by the myopic lens
of the fifties .
See the three,
two boys and a girl
in frayed, straw hats
on a pony...
a ponied paradise.
Pajamaed feet pad,
Christmas mornings
that began at dawn;
guileless eyes that trusted-
which break my heart to view-
snapped in sepia-covered hues;
and pin-curled posterities.
Newborn squints,
elders I never knew,
effigies of innocence;
betrayals...
never caught.
One quarter-turn to the right
the carriage turns back-
no click.
The old door swings shut.
I let it close
on vingettes of pain,
deconstructing
their hold on now,
releasing~
clearing paths.
Effigies fade.
Silence swallows them...
Night's calm song returns.
Our Japanese Maple
is starting to leaf.
Gnarled branches rise
in great, dark slashes,
sumi brushed gestures
against rich dense air;
branches that sway
and touch upon themselves
in labour to unfold.
Tiny red fronds unfurl
frail points poised;
like the open beaks of
pinless nested wrens
as they wait to eat.
sat 05© | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 11/21/2008 5:53:59 PM | sounds like a painful thing!
sorry ...to hear!
Blitz...git chur assszzzzzzzz in here! lmao! 
So the winding road is dark
no smoke from the pedal
leaving dark marks
I wander close to the burm
wondering
why I am so alarmed!
Life in itself is so free...
yet a prisoner
if only you Be!
For the bird that sits strong on the tree...
Is the one that makes
music for
me! ........................
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 11/21/2008 6:33:54 PM | Thank you, hummingbirddancing. a simple notation, as so many have. It's almost impossible to grow to adulthood without some type of pain...... More, it becomes what you do with it. Positive or negative.. or some variation on a theme. Please? How do we know each other? | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 11/22/2008 4:25:46 AM | Loved the poem sherri! From here awhile back...we talked just alittle.
 Brizo! hey girl! hugs !
Tainted fingertips of love
Leaving lessons
permenant glove
Shadows falling through
above the windows hue
Enter like a ray
last time you stayed
I wanted to ...
lift the window
let you in
wonder where you been?
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 11/27/2008 7:06:04 AM | CALLING ALL ANGELS..................
That smell , aroma
fills my soul
The sweet smell
of long ago
Twas once my heart
and yor were one
Tangled woven
now undone
Of all I thought
twas not you
to leave me decomposed
and blue
Veins run deeper
blue as sky
Arteries run red
and die! | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 11/27/2008 7:50:21 AM | Thanks be to God
I got sons and daughters
None in particular pride but just a mention
Her name is one that is misspelled frequently like mine
I never had the intent
But she sure has
You gave her a medal
Most improved
I cannot thank you enough
And then you went further
A club gave her the championship
Two years in a row is not a one hit wonder
Yet I still gaze and wonder how did this beautiful being come out of someone like me?
All my children are my pride
Even the ones I never borne
I still visit jails
Thanks to the first Aunty Jewels now I know something of life
She came before St Peter and his soup kitchen and the apostles agreed
None need to be named for life
Don’t ask me to go on
And if I had to thank everyone
I’d be here tomorrow
Some idiot gave my daughter an empty jewelry box
I hope she sees the intent
The first jewel was knowing her
Blessed I was for giving her birth
Now the rest of life only owes her laughs | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 12/6/2008 4:51:46 PM | The snow fell hard
long
clouded by the wind
strong
deepest pain
so wrong
lifted up in heart
wronged
Desperate a soul
when wind howels
heart knows
another time
not again
Vanity of love
ends
So the sad ...sad story
Love in all its
sickend glory
beacons fall
a light
shines for you
alone
tonite!
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 12/19/2008 8:31:50 AM | As the snow swept unto fields
leaving only tracks
she kneeled
silently upon the snow
birds they gathered
limbs so low
bowing heads
while angels sang
songs of Peace
words they rang
beckoned her
home again
tracks they led
into the night
ending in the pale moonlight
not a footprint left in sight
once the Angel
took...to flight!
hugs gf! Hope you have a Beautiful Holiday! jules :) | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 1/29/2009 8:18:52 PM | There is no such thing as instant poetry
No one can write my poem for me
I understand consciously and or intuitively how language is spun
The error is the comparison between intuitive and conscious understanding
Intuition utilizes recognition, and recognition, of course, requires cognition
We arm ourselves with verbal ammunition
We hear
but can not reach
Infinite boundaries
of bourgeois speech | |
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