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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/14/2007 5:54:32 AM | | Thanks, hon.....I was trying to do the Milky Way justice....ah, hubris, as if anyone ever could...... | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/14/2007 8:44:25 AM | Erik's Book of "Not So Well Known Quotes" shares;
From Socrates; "Honey does this toga make my nipples look hard?"
- Erik -   | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/14/2007 10:13:57 PM | hey sweetie, when I saw your name as the last poster, it put a smile on my face......
juice
creative voice
misplaced
edge dulled
on life's wheel
sorrow buried
small
still, coals smolder
leap into flame
with startling
intensity
when triggered
LS 8/16/07
fingerpainting, Age of Innocence | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/14/2007 10:26:20 PM | I tried to fall asleep
but each second became a heartbeat
the heartbeat a thought
each thought became a poem
waiting in the dark. | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/15/2007 1:36:45 AM | Erik's Book of "Not So Well Known Quotes" shares;
Adam to Eve: "Have you seen my fig leaf baby? I'm going out to play some pool and darned if I can find it!"
- Erik -  | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/16/2007 12:50:58 PM | Hi you two.......don't know about you, but I sure am glad the forums are back up......I went through severe withdrawal....and actually got something done at my house.....
this isn't good poetry, but Bella and I were watching Tasmanian Devils on the computer.....since I don't have television hooked up to anything, sometimes I watch stuff on the 'puter......this poor couple from New Zealand had them living under their porch, and since they're a protected species, couldn't really do much about it.....and boy were they noisy.....
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watching tasmanian devils
and their noisy, vicious revels
Bella laughing on my lap
at the way they run their yap
snarling, howling and screeching
several decibels they're reaching
as they growl at their handlers
and we giggle at their tempers | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/17/2007 4:28:11 PM | craven
I didn't have the will
to walk away
you had become
my sunshine
my fortress
soothing shyness
I couldn't turn aside
to build a fortress
against
my best friend
level ground
tilted
to reveal
castles
made of sand
and I,
reigning queen
of barren land
LS 7/25/07
Daily Poet & Late Starting Dawn | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/18/2007 4:42:38 PM | The Dance
She remembered his smile
And the look on his face
As he asked her to dance one more time.
And his arm round her swept
As he stepped into place
And they swayed to the rhythm sublime.
He caressed her so gently
As though she would break
Now embraced by the melody's trance.
And she knew that she'd always
Remember his touch
And forever remember the dance.
MA | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/18/2007 5:47:01 PM | hey, I like that.....thanks for leaving it here! Your metering is really impressive........
I have had the great fortune of dancing with some fantastic dancers.....when a man knows how to lead, it just feels so elemental and right....
a perfect harmony
duet sung sweet
the world is a sucker
for twined voices
as we sway on the rope
of pure music
over the waters
of sentiment
LS 9/09/07 | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/20/2007 7:58:17 PM | The Muse
Come sit upon my shoulder now
And whisper in my ear.
Give words to place upon the page
Quick written without fear.
Bring light and wisdom through the mist
In dark and lonely times,
And melodies that sing to me
In softly whispered rhymes.
And when the light of day grows dim
And color fills the sky
Let dreams dance gaily ‘cross my heart
With answers to my why.
Mary | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/20/2007 8:53:46 PM | you have natural rhythm........your poems are perfectly metered......
I find my best muses are my grandkids..... I never tire of writing about them, though some may tire of reading.....
brass ring
Maybe it's crazy,
but I'm the one who took the chances
dizzily spinning
reality dances
shimmering enticingly
just out of reach
I see the brass ring
I'm winning
Ls 8/21/07
first, last and Ethics and Supressed Desires | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/20/2007 9:29:00 PM | Would that I could be
Would that I could be like that first spring breeze,
Flowing around your shoulders like a treasured shawl,
Warm patterns of love, renewal, and promise,
Embroidered upon the fabric of it's form..
And would that I could be like the universe,
And you the beautiful astronomer,
Forever yours to discover,
Forever part a mystery too.
Would that I could be like the morning sky above you,
And cast your night away,
And warm your world,
And cast this winter's cold away at last.
Would that I could be,
Everything above , and much, much more.
Would that I could be,
Lost in my illusions, instead of lost in thoughts of you.
Never blame me for seeing the future in your eyes,
Nor could I ever blame you for seeing the past in mine.
You made me to remember things forgotten,
To re-discover things again once lost,
Unwrapped like tiny presents, as much a gift,
As any gem or ruby.
Would that I could be the answer to your question.
Would that I could be the thought upon your mind tonight,
Would that I could be solved like some equation,
Written out in chalk across this cold and starry winter night.
- Monty  | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/20/2007 9:43:08 PM | oh you sweet man, would that you could be, too......
Thanks for leaving that here, who is the lucky girl? (as if you would ever kiss and tell.......) Flawless as always......you are such a gifted writer.....
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X
call my name
call my name
I exist
I am part
of your soul
the memories
neutrons that test
your parameters
Demanding sooner or later
you taste
the obstinate hunger
that lies beneath
your skin
Kiss them
with reverence
and understand
I am not
an X
LS 9/09/07
Daily Poet, Ethics and Supressed Desires | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/20/2007 9:46:25 PM | ^^^^^
I like this one the best of your stuff, Brizo! Good job here! | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/20/2007 9:47:41 PM | Monty,
That poem you just posted is good stuff. !
I liked it a lot.
-m- | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/21/2007 2:17:55 AM | - THE STONES OF TIME FADED -
Oh to the ancient tower
Now the home of lichen and moss
Once the proud battlement from elder world
Now mere a ring of weathered stone
In it's ruin live so many animals
Small and delighted by the grand stones
Mice and voles and a tiny serpent
Snails and Larks who nest at it's broken spire
Once it stood so high and mighty
Guarding Kings of long lost thrones
Battered now and bathed in sunlight
Washed by rain and wind alike
Captured by cameras as tourists come through
Never knowing it's ride through time
All of the weather and war it has known
Centuries too of peace and silence
Stones to hint at a shadow of might
Tales that are lost to modern lips
Time well washed over
Faded yet strong
Oh to the ancient tower of stone
What songs still linger calling your name?
- Erik - | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/21/2007 9:36:04 PM | | I love visiting really old places.....they feel sacred..... | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/22/2007 8:32:30 PM | Bri - I know the pet theme was many posts ago but I thought you might like this story...
truth shot through the window spitting and hissing
into my office and then hid in the mess.
I hunted and fumbled, he flew through my hands
until I finally cornerd and grasped the scruff
of the anarchist kitten from the old mill site.
a fearful sharp tangle, I held him away
from tender skin and things he might bite.
his eyes blazing green, his coat white and grey,
an old canvas bag became his safe cave.
warm in my lap, he cowered all day,
through meetings, lunch breaks and questioning looks,
and scared as he was, he took a long nap.
that was the first day, a short week ago
since then he has purred, and been to the vet
his home is with me now and I know the truth
family planning's a joke. the cat chooses you. | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/23/2007 3:16:13 AM | Brizo, thanks for letting me post on your site, I do enjoy reading your words, thanks for sharing them with us all.
Jazz Man
Oh jazz man play your songs for me
Play till the morning light.
Sing blues that bring my heart to tears
Alone within the night.
And then with notes across the way
That stir the soul to dance,
Send out the melodies to me
And leave the rest to chance.
With all the scat and razzmatazz
Play happy light and free.
Set loose the spirit, captive held,
Till all that’s left is me.
Mary | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/23/2007 9:20:45 AM | ggoh, I did enjoy the story.....the hard part comes when several cats choose you, but don't choose each other....
Erik, while I commented on your poem, I forgot to thank you for leaving it here....thanks, friend! I love the really old Southern cities like Savannah and Charleston and New Orleans, because I can feel the history. Am looking forward to visiting New York and Boston one day....
whistful, thanks for your poems as well.....if you like scat then you probably like Ella, and anyone who likes Ella is a friend of mine.....I have a mix tape I made with Ella, Lady Day, Nina Simone , Rosemary Cloony, Doris Day, Louis Armstrong etc....it's the most requested at my sister's restaurant....I think people are hungry for traditional music, along with modern stuff....
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being alive
of being alive
I confess I'm quite fond
in reaching this goal
I'm above and beyond
I'm not of the mindset
that all birthdays suck
cause if you don't have one
you've run out of luck
Ls 6/17/07
Polly Pisces, (first, last?) | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/23/2007 6:39:52 PM | I loved Erik's story above and thought I would add another to the collection.
The Hermitage
Nestled in the countryside
Down a road called Lover’s Lane
Stands the remains of a century old stately home
Long ago ravaged by fire and tragedy
I remember the first time I saw it
On a quiet moonlit night
I fell in love with the lonely old relic
And the grandeur of
Tall trees shrouded in mystery
Brick walls licked by black soot
Painted just as it was the day time stopped ticking
A family driven in grief as
The flames leaped out of the clearing
And locals tried to start a bucket brigade to stop the spread of devastation
The estate itself and surrounding land
Is protected now by the neighboring village’s historical society
The land hides many secrets to how life use to be
Of sulfur springs and orchards long abandoned
A gate house filled with pictures and memorabilia
A waterfall and meandering trails
A treasure to those who know how to find it
In the wooded land now an autumn walk
A place for lover’s to explore
Where children and dogs love to frolic under the huge maples
And the labyrinth of scattered buildings
A cookhouse and stables
The window frames still intact
Although nature and time have tried to destroy
This scenic paradise
When I was young I fed on the stories of ghosts
And unrequited love
A hanging in the gatehouse of a stable hand refused
By the family of the daughter’s hand in marriage
Ghost hunters try to measure the energy that still abides
Inside the walls
Chipmunks and rabbits inhabit the land
And the sound of a coyote breaks the stillness
As winter closes in making it more difficult to reach
I have pictures of my children peeking out of the window wells
Memories of going parking at night
And still some claim to hear a woman’s sob
And see an eerie lantern light. | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/23/2007 7:27:24 PM | | so is the hanging the only story to do with the house? Why would a woman be sobbing? Please tell us more? | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/23/2007 10:10:40 PM | | There is a website with pictures and more of the stories and it is on the ghost walk list for this area. Just google The Hermitage Ancaster ON Canada. I think the girl is suppose to be crying for the death of her stableboy or hired hand. I am not sure if she died in the fire that night I would have to look it up. I am hoping to go back next weekend and I will take some more pictures of the place. It's cool though isn't it. | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/27/2007 7:57:05 AM | so I guess ill fated romance wasn't always in novels..... The class system seems so archaic now, but I'm sure it still exists at some level of wealth I'll never attain......and doesn't it still exist in India as the caste system?
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head on
head on I rushed
into my life
teenage mother
teenage wife
divorcee
by twenty eight
moved cross country
to change my fate
became a grandma
at thirty seven
and buried my mom
grief would leaven
joy,a period bittersweet
a few year's stumble
till I found stable feet
from shuffle and mumble
head on I left my town
moved in with my love
I never felt my place
until I had to leave
I need to find a spot
to stand, the right amount of caution
a balanced state of grace
while keeping my enthusiasm
standing on the shore
and scanning the horizon
my heart cries out for more
but shrinks with hesitation
'cause I've moved too fast before
and repented at my leisure
and I've stood too long on shore
and missed some times of pleasure
LS 7/08/07
previously posted in Daily Poet | |
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| Brizo's poems
Posted: 9/27/2007 8:13:21 AM | i too made some bad moves
should have thought them out better
made decisions from emotions
hunting life like a drunken irish setter
read a quote somewhere out there
it certainly rang true
it ain't about the geography
place your mind where there's a better view | |
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