Official Poetry Thread

[DannyBoy]

Have you written any Poetry you are particularly proud of ?. Perhaps there are poems written by someone else that you would like to share ?. Post em in here, but be careful to give credit where it's due folks, just incase, you know how it is.

I'll get the ball rolling with a Poem I wrote to one of my own peices of music entitled "War Cry Animato" (which you can hear by visiting the link in my signature and clicking on the track which will stream it... for free lol). Anyway, here it is. Now let's have yours.

I see it as I watch the skies,
And on the faces of children,
Deep in their eyes.
As all at once it has become so clear,
the true failure of your love.

We're told that you will guide us there,
Yet looking around all I see is despair.
A Now long lost hope,
And a distant dream,
Thats the glory of your love.

Perhaps the path's still long and tough,
But why must this road be so damn rough.
For we mostly share,
one common goal,
The glory of our love.

Asking questions now of everything,
Unanswered and left lingering,
In the memories of,
those of us still here.
Where is the glory of your love ?.

I hear it as the birds fly by and,
I hear it when a baby cries.
It's the sound of your power,
from up above,
the so-called glory of your love.

I feel it in the autumn breeze,
pain of truth brings me to my knees.
As all at once it has become so clear,
the true failure of your love.

I sense it when i hear your name,
could all of this hope really be in vein.
Is every tear that's shed just a joke to you?,
is this the glory of your love ?.

Perhaps theres hope for the chosen few,
a path that we all must try to get through.
A dream for most,
reality for some.
Is that the glory of your love ?

[dsolo802]

The Inner Terrain

The inner terrain,
rises and falls
Over full and then empty
from time to timeless

The sky stretches
and strains
thinning clouds and minds

Joy revealed in wind and sun

[Teri B.]

I know I already posted some of these on BM's board, but I couldn't resist.


Tarry By
By My Dad

"Tarry by," she whispered low,
when first I talked of going
For Winter's snow had come and gone,
and fresh March wind was blowing

But I tarried by too long I know,
and though it caused me sorrow,
I said, "The road is calling me
and I must go tomorrow.

She walked beside me down the lane,
and there beside the gate,
she kissed me quick and told me that
until she died she'd wait.

It's been years now since I left home,
and though I've wandered far and wide,
I've never seen another lass
I'd like more for a bride.

But I'll never, ever see her more,
for she's not such as I.
Yet on my deathbed, I'll remember
how she whispered, "Tarry by."

(He wrote this in High School).

___________________________________________
The Sailors Grave
My Dad

The tombs you have on land are fine
With splendid portals all in lime
But to me t'would seem far more brave
To lie alone in a sailor's grave

To be where the waves would ripple round
To be away from human sound
To be alone in the sea there save
For the gulls that fly over a sailor's grave

You can have a tomb to mark your place
When your live has ended it's perilous race
But let my mark be a rippling wave
And let me lie in a sailor's grave

[jdanton]

Guess this belongs here.

A nanny goat of monstuous size
once lived upon a hill

Then one day there came along
a larger nanny still

Who held her head high in the air
and walked with dainty tread.

But was determined, sad to say,
to see the smaller nanny dead.

Perhaps it's best I not describe
what happened on that day

But long before the dust had cleared
the bigger goat had run away

For smaller nanny had a friend
Sir Billy Goat, by name

Who vowed upon his love for her
to put any goat to shame.


I wrote that back in, I believe, 7th grade.

[DannyBoy]

Most Bodacious Poetry Folks.

[Ouroboros]

spiderwoman weaves

the warp and weft of sound and light

into existence




O

[Ouroboros]

your gesture: a pond

with thoughts as dark as silt, yet

your words are water




O

[W.M.DEEEZ]

Although my talents are many, poetry is not one of them.

Though, I suppose I could build one if I took the time.


Nevertheless, I will leave a few beautiful excerpts from one of my favorite bands from the 70's





The Ancient





Where does reason stop and killing just take over
Does a lamb cry out before we shoot it dead
Are there many more in comfort understanding
Is the movement in the head

And I heard a million voices singing
Acting to the story that they had heard about
Does one child know the secret and can say it
Or does it all come out along without you
along without you
along without you








Maybe it's better with the music. This is the closing to a 20 some odd minute song.

Wish I could find an earlier video.

YouTube - YES-Massey Hall Nov 6 1997 (excerpt...

[wayside]

At E's request:
"nothing but a scarf"
Charles Bukowski

Long ago, oh so long ago, when
I was trying to write short stories
and there was one little magazine which printed
decent stuff
and the lady editor there usually sent me
encouraging rejection slips
so I mad a point to
read her monthly magazine in the public
library.

I notice that she began to feature
the same write
for the lead story each
month an
it pissed me off because I thought that I could
write better than that
fellow.
his work was facile and bright but it had no
edge.
you could tell that he had never had his nose rubbed into
life, he had just
glided over it.

next thing I knew, this ice-skater-of-a-writer was
famous.

he had been a copy boy
on one of the big New York
magazines
(how the hell do you get one of those
jobs?)

then he began appearing in some fo the best
ladies’ magazines
and in some of the respected literary
journals.

then after a couple of early books
out came a little volume, a sweet
novelette, and he was truly
famous.

it was a tale about high society and
a young girl and it was
delightful and charming and just a bit
naughty.

Hollywood quickly made a movie out of
it.

then the write bounced around Hollywood
from party to party
for a few years.
I saw his photo again and again:
a little elf-man with huge
eyeglasses.
and he always wore a long dramatic
scarf.
but soon he went back to New York and to all the
parties there.

he went to every important party thereafter for years
and to
some that weren’t very
important.

then he stopped writing altogether and just went
to parties.

he drank or doped himself into oblivion almost
every night.

his once slim frame more than doubled in
size.
his face grew heavy and he no longer looked
like a young boy with the quick and dirty
wit but more like an
old frog.

the scarf was still on display but his hats were
too large and came down almost to his
eyes;
all you noticed was his
twisted
lurid
grin.

the society ladies still liked to drag him
around New York
one on each arm
and
drinking lie he did, he didn’t live
to enjoy his old age.

so
he died
and was quickly
forgotten

until somebody found what they claimed was his secret
diary/novel

and then all the famous people in
New York were very
Worried

And they should have been worried because when it
was published
our came all the dirty
laundry.

but I still maintain the he never really did know how to
write; just what and
when and about
whom.

slim, thin
stuff.

ever so long ago, after reading
one of his short stories,
after dropping the magazine on the floor,
I thought,
Jesus Christ, if this is what they
want,
from now on
I might as well write for
the rats and the spiders
and the air and just for
myself.

which, of course, is exactly what
I did.

[Dianekkdi]

Thanks for the heads up on this thread DannyBoy. It is excellent.