| Can It Be
Posted: 9/30/2008 8:17:05 PM | our feelings are simple
they come easy to us
unlike other people
who fuss and fuss
it's so easy
i like you
you like me
can it be true
like the birds and the bees
like a boy and a girl
sitting under a tree
we'll give it a whirl
and then we'll see
if love can be
really this easy | |
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| Can It Be
Posted: 10/1/2008 6:34:49 PM | simple happiness
painted in bold strokes
starry night
sky glowing deep
inside my soul
shine on sunshine | |
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| Can It Be
Posted: 10/1/2008 7:35:27 PM | Thanks Juju...cold up here...had to fire up the woodstove...warm thoughts....
they walked in the park
and under a dim streetlight
they kissed in the dark
and embraced the Autumn night | |
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| Sweatshirt
Posted: 10/1/2008 7:44:42 PM | the northwest wind howled
over Lake Michigan today
making thick clouds
cold and grey
a windmill was spinning
as i drove on by
it was moving
i thought it might fly
i wore my sweatshirt
first time all year
the cold kept me alert
the air was so clear
i finally came home
from grinding the stone
and i'm writing this poem
with some tired old bones | |
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| i ain't...
Posted: 10/2/2008 5:42:47 AM | ain't no sage
don't pretend to be
all i want to do
simply...be me
(don't work too hard there riv!) | |
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| Hayride
Posted: 10/2/2008 6:59:38 PM | She looked so pretty
in the pumkin plaid shirt
sitting on a bale of hay
Oh! That little town flirt
I was chewing on a piece of straw
when she went by on the wagon ride
Damn! I sure liked what I saw
she made me uneasy, I must confide
But I had thrown that bale up on the cart
as she was standing off to the side
and I knew she liked me from the start
cause I could see the smile she tried to hide | |
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| New Boots
Posted: 10/4/2008 1:09:52 AM | new boots worn yesterday
stiff they felt I'd say
breaking in the only way
limping by the end of day
took them off
new leather scuffed
I've had enough
they were tough
I'll try again
ten more hours today
to break them in
blisters pop anyway! | |
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| QUIET
Posted: 10/4/2008 2:14:09 PM | Eludes one whose mind is always on fast forward,
from one thought, to one question to another and
it repetitiously continues.
Always something.
Television on, music playing, conversations shared, or just
plain ole noise.
Must be something until they drop asleep.
Only then is there
quiet.
Sweetenuff | |
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| words...
Posted: 10/5/2008 8:32:10 PM | sometimes the words don't float
no matter how hard i try
they're stuck, wanting to get out
but all i can do is cry | |
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| New Boots
Posted: 10/5/2008 8:43:48 PM | broke me in some new shoes at the dodge
thought it was safe.... clogs
no heels to rub me the wrong way
but dang it, what was with that middle sore
right in the center of the foot?
not quite blistering
still..... ached like it was gonna
see, i had to look stylish
while wanting all those words
to walk all over me
trample me under the weight of their beauty
ahhh desire and satisfaction
how come they don't come in a perfect pair
like shoes .... and not cause any friction??? | |
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| natalia
Posted: 10/6/2008 10:44:27 PM | | Bring home your Natalia poem, riv..... It was great!! Keep up the depth.....you are SO onto something there! | |
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| natalia
Posted: 10/11/2008 6:27:45 PM | pr!cks are d!cks that don't get a l!ck
they are mean and cranky and rude
sometimes it just makes me sick
but baby i ain't talkin' 'bout you!
(riv..hope your enjoying your weekend!) | |
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| natalia
Posted: 10/13/2008 9:50:57 PM | Hi Riv...your Natalia is absolutely choice  you sure have some wonderful talent more please... cheers  tranquil | |
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| natalia
Posted: 10/14/2008 1:58:17 AM | Hippies,
Long hair,
Lasses in long dresses,
Walking barefoot along the streets.
Young men with beards and moustaches,
Some wearing leather sandals on their feet.
Peaceful loving people,
Gentle and musical.
Scott Mc Kenzie,
Singing about going to San Francisco,
Wearing flowers in your hair,
Telling about people in motion
All across the nation.
Such beautiful days they were too.
And beautiful people,
Who left behind beautiful memories. | |
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| The door opens
Posted: 10/14/2008 3:22:17 AM | "Eight days! Still he hasn't opened the door. What makes you think he will today. Maybe it's another poem we want to share with him. I know he reads them. His mailbox is empty so I know he reads. What is wrong. Where is he. Anyway go ahead and knock"..."Let's go, just leave it in the box."
And as they walk away a curtain moves on the corner of his window. When they have left his view and in the darkness before the dawn the door opens a crack and his arm reaches and grabs the poem out of the mailbox....hahahahahaha
Thanks gals for stopping by and dropping a poem off. Much appreciated. Sorry, I have been so busy and this whole poem writing thing has cost me a lot of money in missed work. And Jer, was so right. I have become obsessed with it. But I look out my front window and I see the bluejays storing acorns for the winter. I see the squirrel burying nuts and the same acorns in the ground and in the cavities of the big Oak in front of my house. And they don't write poetry!!! They have too work to make it for the winter. And so do I!!! So please forgive me for not posting lately. I gave myself a good talking too the other day and I will not be on here much until the snow flies....Alright, I guess thats it....Oh and by the way....this is a poem.... | |
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| The door opens
Posted: 10/14/2008 3:30:13 AM | Ah......but life is poetry....
and those squirrells??........ just watch then...and listen..... Its poetic!!! | |
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| Anna
Posted: 10/14/2008 3:39:09 AM | i see you there
your pretty face
your long black hair
through the thin cloud of lace
Anna, my ballerina
California memory
my Shangri La
i'm so lonely
remember the night
we danced by the firelight
on a beach in Monterey
and the next day
we layed under a palm tree
at a rest stop near L.A.
then we crossed the border into Mexico
drank too many Margaritas
and wore those funny sombreros
God! what a crazy night that was
and as we drove back up the coast
nothing shaded our sunny smiles
we lifted our hearts up in a toast
and laughter rode with every mile
later as you were sleeping
music played under blue
and while you were dreaming
i whispered...
i love you
remember Santa Cruz
at the amusement park
and i let you choose
the best ride to kiss in the dark
and when the Ferris wheel stopped
at the top...
we knew
then we went to my crib for a rest
as we awoke, the silence lingered
soon you'd have to leave my nest
and our time would all be laundered
Anna, my ballerina
i love you so much
you're up there on the moon Anna
and you're so far away from my touch
remember the cafe' on Highway 17
as i took the long way up to Frisco
that look on your face i'd never seen
when you ate your first Avocado
remember that park in the Redwoods
and you pirouetted around those giant trees
in that sundress you looked so good
the morning danced to a symphony
going over the golden gate bridge
spanned a sense of emotion's depth
and near the end of our voyage
my heart sunk a slow death
but Anna, our journey was over
and i cried after you boarded the bus
i now know the meaning of forever
it's a bittersweet memory of us
goodnight Anna, my ballerina
i'll love you over and over
and we'll dance on moonbeams Anna
because someday...
we will be together | |
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| Anna
Posted: 10/14/2008 3:45:54 AM | | Huck, you are right. Nature is poetic and there are no words to fill the mind, just a pure picture of life. Got to get back to that....BUT HOW!!!haha. | |
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| poetry
Posted: 10/14/2008 3:47:44 AM | | ~~~~ a time for all seasons~~~~ | |
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| poetry
Posted: 10/14/2008 4:04:54 AM | oops
i made a boo boo
and now
i am
therefore
i am | |
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| poetry
Posted: 10/14/2008 7:06:46 AM | morning moon glow
her luminosity
bathed our morning walk
silhouetted trees stand ahead
we're followed by long shadows
silence is broken
by the crow of the c0ck
joined in symphony
by morning birds
golden veiled
kissing the coastal mountains
she silently slips away
as he begins the day | |
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| poetry
Posted: 10/14/2008 7:51:22 PM | "Floating" Heres The Full Txt Msg Story!
The Last Message Part 1!
A shot rings out blood sprays the wall, it makes a dull thud as his body falls.
The phone hits the ground the line goes dead, he left her a messages heres what he said.
Hey baby whats up how have you been i was okay then i saw you with him, you were reading a poem i saw you lip the word love my heaven became home with hell up above.
I thought we had something too special to tell like a bird with broken wings, i saw you and fell but i guess i was wrong in trusting you.
Though i did for so long you broke it in two so this is the end of all that we had, this bulett will mend these feelings of sad.
The Last Message Part 2!
She walks to his grave as the sun sets she has a short letter signed with her regrets it says, sweetie i love you how couldn't you see that poem was yours".
Were having a baby i don't know what to say so i got help from a friend, you came that way and saw me reading it to him if only you knew.
That smile was yours there was a girl with me there and that guy was hers, honey i'm scared i don't know what to do.
This is something i wasn't prepared to be put through, come back to me please come back to me now.
I can't live without you i just don't know how, with tears in her eyes she lays in the mud and cries wishing her tears were blood.
The Last Message Part 3!
It's been a few years now since that blood stained day a little girl is walking by, she stops at his grave and says did you get my letter i just want to know.
Mom said she wouldn't get better and it was her time to go she said that she'd be with you, so i gave her a note i said in my big girl voice "see that he gets this" then she asked me what i wrote.
It said "you take care of mommy like she took care of me and say that even though her hair fell out, she still looks pretty and give her an extra hug and a kiss.
Make sure that she remembers how much she'll be missed, just like when she cried for daddy and when she prayed for him i'll do that for her.
Tell her over and over again that your sorry for every single tear and that if you'd known the truth, you'd still be right here.
Tell her not to worry because someday i'll pass too, though i'll try not to hurry.
I'll eventually be with you a lone tear falls down her face, she says she has to go she says in my heart i know you got it but i hoped you'd tell me so. | |
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| poetry
Posted: 10/14/2008 8:47:15 PM | ~The Soldier~ Author Is Not Known!
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind.
In front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II
During the next year and one-month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A Romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like.
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 pm at Grand Central Station in New York.
"You'll recognize me, " she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.
I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened: A young women was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A women well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the women whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own.
And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful.
I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the women, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"
The women's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!" | |
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| poetry
Posted: 10/15/2008 5:41:07 AM | Hi Rose....Moon rose last night before the sunset. Their is a name for that but I don't know what it is. I do know it is good fishing when that happens. Thanks for the early moon poem. You took me there on your walk...Loved it...
Heather, thanks for dropping the text message poem off...the full story...can you put the original text message on here so the whole story is complete on this thread. I really enjoyed it. Very interesting read...Thanks again.
Ok a poem
You know I don't care
to be a good poet
I don't care
if they read me in the academic
circles
because they are just
circles
of the elite | |
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| poetry
Posted: 10/15/2008 5:47:33 AM | I gather the elite
around my feet
reciting the golden prose
I watched them cry
with a watery eye....
always happens when I remove my sneakers! | |
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