| | Moving without motionPage 30 of 34 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34) | | Erota: "where time is seen as foreshadowed thoughts" is a beautiful, marvelously provocative line! Thank you. | |
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| Moving without motion
Posted: 7/12/2010 1:31:26 PM | | Thank you kindly and please excuse my ignorance for this is my initial start and attempt to be educated and inspired by such a profound and artistic style as displayed by your work. You seem to have a majestic intellect coupled with a wide range of wisdom and poetic charm. Thanks, I enjoyed my first encounter with great respect!! | |
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| Moving without motion
Posted: 7/13/2010 10:18:05 AM | Erota:
Thank you kindly and please excuse my ignorance...
Your ignorance of what? my friend - if I can call you that: certainly you display no ignorance when it comes to speaking open-heartedly!
Thank you for the whole of your comment, | |
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| Admit no angels
Posted: 7/22/2010 6:15:35 AM | I’ll admit no angels
to this congress. It is the domain
of the impurely visceral
whose bodies chafe
and nudge and trace
the outlines of each other’s
oh so corporeal selves.
The spirit has no place
here, where the body dreams,
startled awake. | |
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| Admit no angels
Posted: 7/22/2010 6:23:43 AM | My angelic skin tone
and porcelain ways
cannot hide
the dirt inside
Do angels have red skin?
Or is that the color of the Devil...
Ask the English
for they ruled that world... | |
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| Admit no angels
Posted: 7/22/2010 7:41:50 AM | | Revoskeepnus: Thank you for this succinctly witty poem. | |
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| Under the Lazarus Tree
Posted: 8/3/2010 8:01:37 AM | In the shade of the Lazarus tree
we laid the bodies side by side
and waited for them to rise:
refreshed, replenished, free.
But they did not rise.
The weather was rough; the weather was mild.
The wind spread the seeds of renewal all over the earth.
But the dead did not rise.
They had risen once from their mothers’ wombs.
Why wouldn’t they rise again? | |
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| Under the Lazarus Tree
Posted: 8/3/2010 9:37:08 PM | | I love this one Alyosha. It rides the reader to the very last line...question. I have no favourite line...but I admire the stride of the first two lines. And I admire how the air rushes freely through all of the lines. Cheers. | |
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| Three Images
Posted: 8/21/2010 6:33:09 AM | A starry night.
A tiger’s mouth
laced with the blood of a lamb.
A diningroom table
with a schoolchild’s homework
spread out, unfinished. | |
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| Three Images
Posted: 8/21/2010 3:32:34 PM | | for some reason that write reminds me of the savaging parents can do...sometimes knowingly, sometimes unaware that we have killed seeking with enthusiasm...and replaced it with dull rote. | |
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| Three Images
Posted: 8/21/2010 10:51:17 PM | | Dull rote never leads to grandness. But...some matters are learned in a dry, progressive way. This has nothing to do with imagination, creativity and wings that fly you into an abstract universe. It is very important to learn how to read and write...and to do it well. There is no better reason to sing in language than to learn how to sing well. I was astonished that my son who was a student in elementary school twenty or so years ago could not turn out a simple essay...re: spelling, etc. A beginning, a middle, an ending. I could do that in Grade 8 so many and faraway years ago. He had no respect or reason to believe in the fine art of communicating well. Pity. | |
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| Three Images
Posted: 8/22/2010 4:47:17 AM | | Thanks Brizo and 60to70. jer | |
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| Three Images
Posted: 8/27/2010 7:43:11 PM | Cold metal
joy for twenty weeks
then a vacuum
while we digest
in the end an emptiness
no heartbeat
another vaccum
oblivion
sons and daughters
nebulous
fleeting
gone | |
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| Three Images
Posted: 8/28/2010 4:52:14 AM |
Cold metal
joy for twenty weeks
then a vacuum
while we digest
in the end an emptiness
no heartbeat
another vaccum
oblivion
sons and daughters
nebulous
fleeting
gone
Many thanks, chum.
 | |
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| Three Images
Posted: 8/29/2010 6:52:26 PM | pickles...what a sweet, simple and profound reminder that children leave. Loved it.
You are three
you will do the dishes
I see the back of your head.
Surrender. You have me.
You are nearing five
you fire every word....
"she runs faster than me!"
You are bigger than anybody.
Did you have to grow?
Did you have to become
ordinary? pedestrian?
Could you not have...
Arrested your own development?
In each childhood, a little spark
informed the sky, each child
was a prayer. Each child
knew the sun, squinting. | |
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| Three Images
Posted: 8/30/2010 6:22:44 AM |
In each childhood, a little spark
informed the sky, each child
was a prayer. Each child
knew the sun, squinting.
How wonderful! Thank you. | |
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| Death and the Beach-ball
Posted: 9/17/2010 6:29:34 AM | What’s all this folderol about death?
It’s simply one moment we’re here
and then we disappear.
Like that woman I flattered at the café
who never came back.
Did she think I wanted to sleep with her?
(I did!) But I’d just as soon
make love to a beach-ball
as to a woman whose soul
or sense of humour
I’d never touched.
And as for death, I’ve never found
the humour or the soul in it. | |
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| Death and the Beach-ball
Posted: 9/17/2010 11:43:04 PM | Dead Love
He loved her beyond reproach at best
enticed by her sexy soullessness
upon the beach they did dance
until the day was done..
Now the years have driven past
love once shared now bitter pass
a fleeting moment gone atlas
buried far beyond the sun.. | |
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| Death and the Beach-ball
Posted: 9/18/2010 10:44:41 AM | Sometimes it seems
the slightest dream
can be tarnished so quickly
when pride and stupidity
get in the way
what game must I play
to win your favor once again... | |
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| Death and the Beach-ball
Posted: 9/18/2010 12:06:44 PM | | Erota & Revoskeepnus: thank you for your witty & touching responses. | |
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| Death and the Beach-ball
Posted: 9/30/2010 9:47:35 PM | they are mine lips i press it too you
mi velveeta chicleta
i asked that you take an imprint of them
so that i can remember the sensation
and the up winds above
since it was a summer's day
a dervish arose
pirouetted
up
or dust devil
the simple slip arose
out of reach
with my scrawl
or fantasy
only words
but it was tethered sweetly
and jointly with the thing itself
now
this was secure
only
our kiss | |
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| Riddle
Posted: 10/9/2010 1:03:37 PM | There was a song
which had neither melody
nor rhyme nor reason
and yet
it was meant to be sung.
There was a man
who was not particularly handsome
nor witty
nor generous of heart
and yet
he felt he should be loved.
There are riddles
that puzzle us
although
we know they cannot
and never will be solved. | |
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| Riddle
Posted: 10/9/2010 5:51:53 PM | There was a time
when conversations were
mere riddles
of a love unknown
There came a day
when those riddles faded
into conversations
containing love
Now all that's remaining
are forgotten conversations
about someone
who loved someone else
BT | |
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| Riddle
Posted: 10/10/2010 8:39:08 AM | | Geez, Erota, this is a sad poem, but thank you for posting it. | |
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