| Lord Of The Imaginary Penguins
Posted: 1/22/2006 4:01:22 PM | Lord Of The Imaginary Penguins
At the deserted Wal-Mart
I look into a reflected world
Black-sheened on plate glass eyes
I am watching …seagulls
In the parking lot
Thousands of them
Hunkered down in groups
Under the November sun
I watch the flock growing and wonder
Why are they here?
What are they waiting for?
Have they lost the sea?
Before long, I dream them out
As penguins
Thinking that if they were such
I would get out of my truck
And walk amongst them as a god
I would
Give them commandments:
Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s fishguts
I would not
Require circumcision
Nor sanction murder in my name
And if I had a son
I would not send him to die for their sins
But…
I would
Give them my Fritos and say:
This is my body you eat
I would
Give them my Pepsi and say:
This is my blood you drink
But it would not mean anything
And eventually
They would make legends and myths
To explain
My existence
They would incorporate their Mysteries into My Story
They would be My Chosen People | |
|
| Lord Of The Imaginary Penguins
Posted: 1/22/2006 4:06:23 PM | Note to all newbies, please adopt a practice of posting all your poems in one single thread, and not as a group of new threads, with only one poem in them.
This is more a standard practice here and it is within the site rules to make more than one forum entry in a dedicated thread within the poems and quotes threads. Unlike in other thread groupings on this site.
It is like doing the maths, 10 new threads, with one poem in each creates a mess
One thread , with 10 poems inside is tidy .
Thank you and welcome, please enjoy these forums, they are great | |
|
| Lord Of The Imaginary Penguins
Posted: 1/22/2006 4:14:19 PM | Mary......what he says....
You are a very talented Poet...and your poem will have much more impact in one thread hun
Go for it GF
Pickles  | |
|
| Lord Of The Imaginary Penguins
Posted: 1/22/2006 4:14:43 PM | Is that a request or an order?
What I mean is this mandatory? Because I would prefer to post poems individually if I have a choice. | |
|
| |
| Lord Of The Imaginary Penguins
Posted: 1/22/2006 4:20:56 PM | Also it is a fact, single poem threads upset the regular crowd and a few days ago a group of single poem threads were deleted from this forum, because they were dominating too much space on the main page of the poems and quotes threads
mandatory - sensible - or not upsetting the natives (all your choice to calculate)
when you poems will be more appreciated if in one thread and get read by a larger and better class of native in the process. That fact being more or less already proved
You have good stuff - even if some people might think you are not a man because of your user name
Also it might be best to post your poems in another thread than this one - and let all these comments get lost on page 2 and beyond - To have a fresh beginning now you are here | |
|
| 3AM Driving Poem
Posted: 1/22/2006 4:25:57 PM | 3 AM Driving Poem
Night, moon in the blue fog milk, and
An owl somewhere
Remind me of
Our conversation this afternoon
There are times when
The past invades me
In the oddest places
Marginal notes
In a library book at FSU
Red clay on a country road
Where I have never been
A hundred times before
Bright sick days of need on the cobalt prairie
The wind in the hollow skull of dawn
Yet...for all of that
I have become free
And Saturday
The meaning of life will be
Watermelon and a dozen roses split
Six for you and six for your mother | |
|
| Eyewitness
Posted: 1/22/2006 5:26:41 PM | Eyewitness
I saw him once, Edgar Allan Poe
It was down at Sean's cafe
On a night long ago
He walked in, ordered an espresso
(I think)
And melted into the shadows
I had my suspicions
But when he came up to read
I knew it was him
Because he changed himself
Into a very large bird
Black and wild with
Unruly feathers and eyes of gold
He read a poem
About some dead whore named Annabel Lee
Who used to live on the Island until she OD'ed
It all happened a long time ago
But he loved her and he can't get over it
And when he was done
He leaned into the mike and whispered:
Evermore
Then he just flew off into the night
No one else saw this but me | |
|
| The Crow
Posted: 1/22/2006 7:19:47 PM | The Crow
Driving west, I contemplate my heart
As a still-born dream, a species of flower
In difficult bloom
In the distance ahead
Through the shimmering of heat
I see him, the little roadside holy man
I look for him often now, all along this road
Finding him at parade rest, legs snake-scaled and gray
The iridescent skin of the sun
In the frock coat
Metallic green filtered through black
Be it palmetto or yucca
Or blackjack oak
Be it grained seas of rusted purple heads
Or the hollow place where the wind uncoils
He is always there
The little priest, black-feathered
Wingtips back, waiting
For the next passing
For the return to the road
To complete the last rites of the dead | |
|
| The Crow
Posted: 1/22/2006 7:58:42 PM | | Your poems are simply amazing, a sheer delight, a flock of words that fly effortlessly off the tongue....welcome here to the forums | |
|
| The Crow
Posted: 1/22/2006 8:11:47 PM | | Thank you. I try. | |
|
| Genesis
Posted: 1/22/2006 8:25:52 PM | Genesis
From the world she brings of me harvest
Of tears, of frozen seas and new fire
From the world of her I am brought out
Into glades of open space
Past storm of stone
Walking stone and night
From the world to the world
There is sanctuary
I regenerate
I breathe again and again
I rise up I sleep
I return to her body
I find my own heart
From the world into the world of her into her
I come...and I go with the sparrow wing
With the wolf’s golden eye, I see
For she has shown me:
Of sky there is sea there is field there is flower
Of road there is season there is star there is dream
Of woman there is child there is man there is life | |
|
| Nietzche's Horse
Posted: 1/22/2006 8:39:47 PM | Nietzche's Horse
There's a story about him
How...in those last days,
With the immense rose of his madness
Gone full bloom
Nietzche wandered the streets of Turin
Like a lost demented child
And he came upon a horse
A horse that had been whipped and cruelly beaten
And it was there that they found him
Weeping...and caressing
The horse
They say he didn't hesitate
He just soothed and comforted the horse
And wept...and broke down...and it was
Just that simple
And now I can't help but see him
Back through all that time
Caressing that horse
Can't help but feel
That at last
He was no longer alone | |
|
| I'm just moving it from one thread to another
Posted: 1/22/2006 10:12:12 PM | Poem From November
If the wind sails down from a morning star
Blue lips whispering …Ash
Allow a shadow of bones to pass through your heart
Smile…and go on…remember
The time we stole a miracle
From a wing of white birds
We cast ourselves down the riverline
Over the shouldering cypress
The purple smeared on our faces
We learned the secret of
Surviving broken things
Ah-let the world be the world
It will always be crazy
Fighting over whose god
Collects the bodies of sparrows
Rather, let us
Accept the long days of spleen
The days fat with gray
Like the bedding of a person
Sick in an unheated house
Perhaps-on those days
The best we might do
Is find a tree
A simple lonely old tree in an empty pasture
Wrapped in bark black as widower’s clothes
A thousand black-veined fingers
Stabbing the sky
The last remaining friend
A witness
And there, at dawn, let us stand
Under an absent sun
Among wet stones and grasses,
Sharp-ribbed in jackets of frost
Stand with the crows if you prefer
As the old tree and all it has known
Washes through us
Ah, is it not so?
We dream a little infinite dream
Hurling ourselves into the upturned swell
Into that unbounded fish-dead sky
High over our country of myths | |
|
| Recorder
Posted: 1/23/2006 8:38:44 AM | Recorder
Gulfward, we rise slowly
Through the jetty-lined corridor
The long run of the bridge on 331
Only moments before...the sun
Spit orange in our eyes, stomped clouds of fire
On the western line...the spoiled child
Refusing to go down for the night
But now, everywhere, the sea speaks to us
In the somnolent voices of the bay
Hushed tones, murmuring glass
Wash over borders of gray rocks
And ride away, sun-silvered
To the dark harbors of wild things that once were
Along coniferous shores of cities that will be
Hitting the crest with August on our skin
Our eyes fall to the trawlers below
They curtsey and glide their fishermen
Trailing netted skirts through the waves
Debutante fleet of long ago
On the downward slope it seems
Everything finds us
Across the sky a dozen seabirds mark time
Drag the shadows of the day and fade
Effortlessly...like the automated flow of a dream
For someone, history is always being made
Recorded somewhere, remembered
Laid down in the sand like a shell | |
|
| And Your Bird Still Sings
Posted: 1/23/2006 8:53:37 AM | And Your Bird Still Sings
I was seven years old
And it was early 1964
Just a few months after
They blew off
The President's head
I was at the movies
Waiting to see "A Hard Day's Night"
And I didn't know it at the time
But my Dad was busy getting shot down
In Vietnam
And my Mom was busy in the hospital
Having cancer
I watched the previews
And cartoons
And the first movie
Which was "Flipper"
And I thought I had enough time
To get a sno-cone
I didn't
When the first chords rang out
And John's voice filled the lobby
Ten thousand prepubescent girls
Swarmed out of the woodwork
And trampled me
Like a herd of monster lemmings
Desperate for drowning
In a northern sea
I can't say about all the girls
But the rest of us survived
Except the President of course
And poor John
Eventually they trampled him too | |
|
| And Your Bird Still Sings
Posted: 1/23/2006 9:56:21 AM | ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
I remember those days....My mother took my twin sister and I to see the Beatles live....spent the whole time screaming/crying/jumping up and down
Fortunately my mother had a hearing impairment so she didn't mind...just turned off her hearing aid!!!!!
God I am STILL in love with Paul McCartney | |
|
| And Your Bird Still Sings
Posted: 1/23/2006 10:40:40 AM | ^^Hiya pickkes:)(hugs)
Your poems are simply exquisite.Your imagery is so vivid its like watching a slide show along with each read:). Your words come to life in technicolour brilliance .Really amazing stuff:)Everything about your work is so real.It doesnt get any better than this.Welcome to the forums,Kat | |
|
| And Your Bird Still Sings
Posted: 1/23/2006 2:34:36 PM | | Why thank you. I do try to use a lot of color and images. My poems usually start out as a couple of lines in my head. From there they sometimes become some sort of living thing often getting away from me altogether. | |
|
| Me Too (For Anne Sexton)
Posted: 1/23/2006 2:39:26 PM | I can understand
How you can write a poem
About Jesus carrying a man
On his back
Into the wilderness
How Jesus carried
Everything on his back
And everything is
The same thing
I can understand this
And I can understand
How you can turn around
And write another poem
About pissing in God's eye in a dream
Yeah
I can understand that too | |
|
| And Your Bird Still Sings
Posted: 1/23/2006 2:40:52 PM | In interesting point - when my poems also start off as two lines in my head and grow from
there. At least the ones I manage to write down anyway. Yet this site and forum group must
be pure magic in that regard. Because since I truly started to post here, I wrote a record
900 poems in the last 6 months. So all I can say is take care, write and be aware!
Then I actually wrote both of these at the same time, interchanging between each one in the process
4833
Beauty to Espier
04 January 2006
Beauty was for love
this love of beauty to espier
To catch sight of admiration
words transcribed upon her heart
Reality in fantasy tangible
a poets nightmare in her dreams
Music of the night
her rest awaken
Where was destiny tomorrow
had yesterday ever been
A couple holding hands in the street
of love reflected in destination
Beauty was verse
style could an entity
Hearts warmed in coldness
love found to seek
4834
Upon an Aspen Wind
04 January 2006
Was she Canadian
to an aspen wind
Her eyes hazel to encounter
of lips willing to kiss
Unable to feel her body
nor touch skin to flesh
Her hair flaxen to neither
colour being of her soul
Engulfed - enthused
only a vista to paint
An artists brush dripping
her blood made mellow
Love or not love
forbidden to desire
Temptation withers
maybe tomorrow
she will dream
© 2006 Christopher W Herbert (a New Zealand Poet)
a poet who cares | |
|
| Sometimes The Sky
Posted: 1/23/2006 2:50:43 PM | Saturday
On my way out of town
A man 911's me on my pager
Driving to the pay phone
I look up, realize
Sometimes the sky is just
A flattened penny
All-spread-out-blue on the tracks
Sometimes the sun is just
A blistering coin
Burning in someone's hand
I call the guy, we talk
I listen to his story, tell some of mine
Same story
Hanging up
William Blake goes off in my head
"The only way you know
You've had enough
Is when
You've had more than enough"
Somewhere out there today
In the streets
The Devil scores a dimebag of souls
I see him cook it up down in Hell
Register clean
He boots once for sin, twice for death
And nods into his eternal rush
Yeah man
Somehow
Even the Devil's got to get well | |
|
| Sometimes The Sky
Posted: 1/23/2006 3:22:41 PM | More amazing writes from you..I see you also have great taste in poets:)Anne Sexton rocks my socks,and Poe isnt anything to sneeze at either Great thread:) | |
|
| Sometimes The Sky
Posted: 1/23/2006 8:08:47 PM | Ya know Black Mary.....I think your poetry rocks.
Sunday..woke up late
Felt that life was good
Listened to my messages
Nose dived and thought
How is it that after this time
I can spiral......
Body armour shields from bullets
Not from love and it's consequences
But...fire away
I can only say.. I loved you
The tide has turned
ANd I have turned away | |
|
| And Your Bird Still Sings
Posted: 1/23/2006 9:51:47 PM | [I wrote a record 900 poems in the last 6 months.]
My gosh-you must be the Danielle Steele of poetry! | |
|
Home
login 