| What is not a poem?
Posted: 11/2/2007 8:46:03 PM | Maple smoke and hickory
Back porch swing
wrapped in grandmothers quilt
watching the frost form on the bending branches
that hold fast to the last of summer's story
dry and brown now, against the grey skies.
November has come
And we are surprised again at the fading light
And the cold that wraps itself around us.
Geese fly formation in all directions now
Navigation no longer as easily mapped,
As it once was
When life was a springtime promise. | |
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| What is not a poem?
Posted: 11/2/2007 9:04:32 PM |  Lovely Ravin!
Intended more for this winter......
Sun has left....
leaves still fallin'
Heart is wandering
Mind is deeper into the feel
Of it all....I feel it each leaf!
Falls about my head...
My dream...of last year.....
still a prior obligation .....
My heart feels total...emancipation
Deeper stars....shine each nite....
slower ships sail on.....with right
mind slips easier into the wave....
Forgotten all that I hoped it to be!
Christmas coming....
Thanksgiving too....
I give thanks....
yet now....i know!
If I knew better....
wouldn't be here now.......
Alone with leaves ...
fallin' all around!
Colder it gets ...each morning
Heart the same...
yet so much wider....
kinder!
Forget the holidays.....
my heart can't stand another.........
bleed!
Know that I am not forsaken.....
just a little broken...
fadin' | |
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| What is not a poem?
Posted: 11/3/2007 12:26:16 AM |
Apologies if I already posted thisd and overlooked doing so:
oh sure, you tried selling it to hallmark and they turned you down, again, right?
nevermind, we welcome you back | |
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| What is not a poem?
Posted: 11/3/2007 2:44:33 AM | | Sorry, Ravin, but this doesn't qualify as it is most assuredly NOT not a poem | |
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| What is not a poem?
Posted: 11/3/2007 2:47:25 AM |
Apologies if I already posted this and overlooked doing so:
oh sure, you tried selling it to hallmark and they turned you down, again, right?
nevermind, we welcome you back
On the contrary, look for it under the "Cards for really sick friends" section next time you're browsing the Hallmarks, looking for inspiration! | |
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| What is not a poem?
Posted: 11/3/2007 6:07:56 AM |
Sorry, Ravin, but this doesn't qualify as it is most assuredly NOT not a poem
Yup. That's why I posted it in your thread. For not poetry. | |
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| In love one should not be busy.
Posted: 11/3/2007 6:23:26 AM | Ah, well, dear Ravin... I suspect that nothing in your life these days is not a poem! And the following is for you and your Montreal-born friend:
In love one should not be busy.
There are the wars to attend to,
of course, schoolwork, housework,
a living to earn, emails to answer
and yet
in love one should not be busy.
One should be quiet
as if at the bottom
of a very deep pond, the surface
unruffled by anything more
than the light of a late summer sun.
There will be thoughts of others,
of course, a troubled cousin,
a lover who would not hear
of one’s love, once, until
one gave up trying to love him or her, but still
in love one should not be busy.
One should be calm.
One should be steady,
at least one ear****d
to hear one’s lover’s breath.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jerry Newman © 25Oct07 | |
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| In love one should not be busy.
Posted: 11/3/2007 9:26:29 AM | Master Alyosha sit up straight in your seat please
and try and pay attention
your assignment for today is to read a thread
called, cough, cough, "Bling"
(and Princess please close your eyes this is not for you)
it can be found by following the below pasted address
and it contains the most amazing, eye popping
interpretation of what is or what isn't a poem.
It is under the category now of ancient history
but I'm sure you are up for the challenge.
Since I see your assignments have become a tad confused
what is not a poem flows allegorically into me and my shadow
and then death creeps in?
it is time for you to focus
and give us your opinion
"What is not a poem"?
and who has the right to decide
if you chose not to do your homework young man
they you will have to write out a hundred lines of just the word
"Bling"
The time is almost changing as we speak and your recess is finished
good luck on your assignment if you chose to accept it. *grin*
http://forums.plentyoffish.com/datingPosts8164497.aspx | |
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| In love one should not be busy.
Posted: 11/3/2007 2:13:22 PM | Tooooooo funny Autumn, I thought the same thing!!!
And Master Aloysha, thank you so much for that beautifully written poem, yes poem, from a masterful poet.
Hehehehe I called you a poet! | |
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| In love one should not be busy.
Posted: 11/3/2007 2:22:20 PM | This is not a poem
It's simply phrases
Thrown at paper
That used to be a tree
Which I love
So much more
Than the end product
It has now become
Just like poems
Phrases
Thrown at paper
oncelucid
lucidmoments
03 November 2007 | |
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| In love one should not be busy.
Posted: 11/3/2007 2:26:17 PM |
Tooooooo funny Autumn, I thought the same thing!!!
Ravin it is uncanny sometimes how much we think alike *grin* | |
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| What is not or who know maybe is a poem...
Posted: 11/3/2007 2:54:40 PM | Thank you, headmistress Rebeccah - I was indeed referred once before to the Bling-blang-blung thread & had much the same reaction many of you did to the long-winded pedant who constantly bloviated there.
Your post regarding this was VERY funny & I thank you for it.... | |
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| This is not a poem
Posted: 11/4/2007 3:17:56 AM | .
This is not a poem.
This is the heavy silence
of early-morning alone.
This is the ache
that filters...inexorable...
through the fibres and the crevices
searching for a release
that doesn't exist.
This is the blood
pooling in my ankles, my knees,
my wrists, and
seeping out between my fingers
lost
This is the voiceless cry
of my soul's demise,
rent from its moorings,
set adrift.
This is the black swath
of my night
and missing you.
But this
is not
a poem.
.
cdn/04nov07
. | |
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| This is not a poem
Posted: 11/4/2007 3:54:54 AM | This is not a poem
it is a dance of words
singing the songs
of my heart smiling
Catching moonbeams
as they swirl through night
juggling them in my hands
as I drift through velvet
Like a goddess I turn
the things I touch to silver
echoed voices in time
sing harmony with me | |
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| This is not a poem
Posted: 11/4/2007 6:40:35 AM | 
This is not a poem......
Just a glorius walk beyond the moon
finding long lost friends that danced
Long ago...to return and give my heart a jolt!
Like the zappp of electricity before the storm
Like the feeling of a new Christmas morn'
something like finding an old love letter
ripped and torn and bent and crinkled;
reading it all over again;
and weeping!
Like the newborn pictures of your child;
each new glance brings on tears and smiles!
Like smelling a home cooked meal from the door;
the kind Mama used to make;
You always want more !
Welcome back my Dear Jo....lovely poem! Welcome back Aloysha!  | |
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| What is not a poem
Posted: 11/4/2007 10:31:01 AM | What is not a poem
is dross, the ho-hums and
why-nots and might-as-wells
of a life without savour
or favour or purpose,
the dispassionate ticking
of an assemblage of stale-dated
organs...
.. . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . ... . . . . . . . . . ... . . . . . . . . . ... . . . . . . . . Jerry Newman © 04Nov07
* | |
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| What is not a poem
Posted: 11/4/2007 10:33:40 AM | cruel shoes
I'll forget the one
who's heart now bleeds
remove the heel
of my cruel shoe
hurts so good
his pleasure pools
and spills
I cup
my waiting hands
to catch
ecstatic thrills
Ls 10/25/07
first, last & om's palms | |
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| I am not a poem
Posted: 11/5/2007 1:22:28 AM | I am not a poem
she said to him late one night
as he drank in the rhythm of
her face, her smell, her being.
Held close to him
she slept, stirring slightly
now and again
pulling away to free her
entanglement of his arms and legs.
And again he pulled her close
wishing for the rhyme to never end. | |
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| I am not a poem
Posted: 11/5/2007 4:43:28 AM |
I am not a poem
she said to him late one night
as he drank in the rhythm of
her face, her smell, her being.
Held close to him
she slept, stirring slightly
now and again
pulling away to free her
entanglement of his arms and legs.
And again he pulled her close
wishing for the rhyme to never end.
Oh, my dear DEAR friend! I've missed these somehow chastely erotic poems of yours, your light but very tender touch! | |
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| I am not a poem
Posted: 11/5/2007 5:37:23 AM | yeah, I think your thread title needs changing, Jer
F*ck the shadow
I am not a moped | |
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| I am not a poem
Posted: 11/5/2007 7:31:55 AM | yeah, I think your thread title needs changing, Jer
F*ck the shadow
I am not a moped
And I am not a stu-ped
except when I see the chance
to get my heart broken,
smashed, crushed, wrung
dry! As you can see I have often
flop-ped
in love
and wee-ped
my poor heart out!
Hey, what happened to the quote feature they used to have on here? | |
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| I am not a poem
Posted: 11/5/2007 6:01:27 PM | This is not a poem
Poetry should rhyme
she said
as yours does not I will mark it so
please write a poem
that rhymes
in detention.
Life is a poem
sometimes tidy and rhyming
the cadence just so
like an Irish jig
being danced by Michael Flately
a Viennese waltz
perfect symmetry
Life is also a poem that is
discordinant, jarring
jangling words that strike deep
make you think...
or act..
or cry...
or want to be loved | |
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| words born to a poem
Posted: 11/5/2007 11:36:01 PM | after a reading one night
she grabbed me as I passed
told me she had felt my words
inside of her, in her womb
she sheltered the words
fed them through her supper
watched them grow for months
calmed them to sleep in the dark
held them tight to her bosom
kicking to be brought to light
I returned to read...
only to find she was not there
my seed was planted in her
to grow, with nourishment
with sun
and rain
falling days
words giving birth to a child
a child called poetry | |
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| words born to a poem
Posted: 11/6/2007 5:21:15 PM | man, that teacher was mean....
please write a poem
that rhymes
in detention.
here, I'll write one for you, Pickles....
Teacher dear, my fingers itch
to write a word that rhymes with b*i*t*c*h
but I am young, and you've the power
to make me sit and write an hour
so let me see what rhymes with "old"
I really shouldn't be so bold
but anger makes my pencil hasty
because you are so mean and nasty
 | |
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| words born to a poem
Posted: 11/6/2007 10:36:33 PM | My baby was a great poet until the third grade, when he was told that poetry must rhyme. Then he started writing hallmarks. Nothing I could do to convince him. Alas.
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