Freeform Workshop

comments are welcome. thanks

at times am overwhelmed


at times am overwhelmed
about nothing
just sitting there alone
by the lagoon
and watching the foaming brine
bring in debris of all kinds
or taking a walk
on the wild side
and i cross the road
where the motel was
and see comfort workers
still hawking there stuff
but i turn and walk on by
at times like that
i recall your first cut
the times we necked
at the lagoon front
the things we did
at our heavenspot
you touched me in places
i didnt know exist
and i took you on journeys
that i cant now revisit
saw you now all
married and proper
a vicar's wife
fitted for the role
like the thread fits the needle
i begin to doubt if
it all didnt happen
maybe i hallucinate
two dozen times
over three years
or may be i break your heart
and you found god
and he showed you the vicar
who gave showed you peace
but am still walking in the shadows
behinds the trees were
we used to make love
and haunt the streets
were we rendevous
am still thinking
why did i leave
and if i was the earth
and you were the leaf
why in the name of newton
did you not come back to me
at times overwhelmed
by the aboundance of nothing
i compose this corny lines

Hi guys, I am new here and wrrote this from my own.
Please tell me your opinion.


This is the Life ‎

This is the life makes you Sad, ‎
When doors getting closed, ‎
and your tears on cheeks shade.‎

This is the life Makes you Bad‎
When the things never come as it had.‎
This is the life Makes you mad
When the people around you never understand.‎

The only thing you hear... this is the life... this is the life.‎
So should I accept? ‎
‎ Or to get Sad, get Bad, or mad? ! ‎

She flies away! (How?) I never understand. ‎
She flies away (Why?) and never back again ‎
She flies away stepping on the time we had! ‎

This is the life, this is the life, and this is the life ‎
So should I accept? ‎
‎ or to get Sad. Bad. or Mad? ‎

I’ve given her the love I had.. Was that Sad? ‎
I’ve given her the warmest emotions I have, was that Bad? ‎
I’ve given her the sand as gold on hand, was that mad? ‎

‎ This is the life, this is the life, and this is the life ‎

This is the life makes you Sad, ‎
When doors getting closed, ‎
and your tears on cheeks shade.‎

The only thing you hear...‎
‎ This is the life.. this is the life.‎
This is the life.. this is the life.‎
This is the life.. this is the life.‎
‎ ‎
Thanx
Ocean

Eclipsing Untimely Queues On Whims Of Practical Intuition


Nor briskets nor biscuits,
No greens, no grains to eat left over on the shelves
Where to feed on at home
Time again it was to go shopping for life's victuals.

Money that buys the things first was needed to get more of.

Ah, what a terribly huge crowd of clients
Inside that bank then again, and
How many hours again of life's precious time
I'd lose over waiting for my numbered deal
After I was through with this queue?

'I could have easily done my shopping in the meantime
While I'll be waiting in here -
50 numbers ahead of my own turn, '
I heard another one say, likewise caught
In the waiting's turning-mill.

And suddenly, carried on a
Whim of practical intuition,
Making true on the word just heard
I went to betake myself away, out from the bank,
On the very same thought of what my wearied by-stander had sighed.

I left, with my number tag stuck in the left hand,
Left the bank, without a note or coin for a bill to be paid,
Hied into a nearby mall's grocery station,
Where all the goodies are there for the buying,

Took the shoppers basket cart and started
Filling it with all kinds of goods, item by item
Selecting exactly what I thought I needed.

My purse empty, but
The bank's number tag all the while
Stuck In my left hand.

Bread-fruit, canned food, some tastes of
Liquid for drinks & morsels to snack on,
Sugar, salt, chillie, cheese,
Maybe something special yet for
The unexpected valued guest that might come visiting in the house...

Staples and extras in no time, thus, as it were,
Filled up the shopping basket to the brim.
And, yes, time had elapsed by then,
Since I had unqueued myself from waiting in the bank.

I placed my shoppers cart in a corner of the mall's
Where it would be out of he way of all others -
All the while with the bank's number tag still
Stuck in my left hand -

Went back to the bank, and lo, right
In time for
My turn to be served,
I signed request and receipt scrips,
Took and pocketed the given urgent argent agent
- Money -

Made it back to the trade-center
Retrieved my barrowful of houseware
Cashed in on my counter bill

And hadn't I gained, on top of all,
Paid by nothing else but a leap on a daring whim of the moment,
One and a half hours of quality time in life?

In another instance, on an
Autobahn diversion forest override,
A never-ending queue of cars and nothing but cars
was that time
That time-snatching chain of waiting in queue
I once again dared to unqueue myself of.

That queue was caused by something graver than
What any money, even how painstakingly awaited, could purchase one:

Due to a fatal series of crash-on
Accidents of several cars on the run in that stretch
Total blockage there was of all traffic
On all lanes, on that very superhighway
Where I was then gliding down in an automobile,

On a drive only for shopping for the extra rare foreign article,
There in one of cosmovillage Munich's unique railway kiosks,
Wanted just one interesting reading material,
Only there as they sold anything in
That exotic language I had learnt.

But suddenly all vehicles, small and big, slow and fast,
Ended up being diverted, through
The billowing far-stretching countrysides, from the
One Autobahn outlet before the disaster spot to the
One Autobahn entry behind the disaster spot,

Porsches and Gogomobiles alike, back to back,
Mercedeses and Unimogs teeming flank by flank with
Cow-herders from the nearest village goading home over the road
Their cattle to their night shelters,

Smiling into the faces of frustrated racing-car drivers -
Stuck in a queue of no end of cars
That were all melting up into one endlessly long metal snake

Meandering for two and half hours extra and additional,
On a stretch they would have covered, if on the Autobahn,
In a matter of minutes,

Now trapped in such a mess, up and down
Provincial hills along romantically winding hillbilly-roads
Through forested stretches,
Across farmers' meadows and fields,
And through their slow-life villages.

I was about to give it up and just
Cancel my trip, getting delayed thus,
When I had this glorious idea:

Why not simply overtake the whole long line of cars ahead of me
From inside the forest on its forest roads,
There left and right of the main street?

(Though entering forest grounds with a motorized vehicle
Required a special permit
I, a nature boy,
Was not afraid of drives into the woods) .

And so, one more driver, aside from the cow-herder
Who had smiled into the frustrated Porche chauffeur's face,
Was peeping over to that same face
And with a similar satisfaction,
This time I myself up there right in the woods,
Before turning off along my chosen dark-hidden nature's path-ways.

Eventually, after all my ways across areas of farm land,
I found myself back by the Autobahn entry
Where the accidental diversion was getting started.

The traffic police by then were still busy
Diverting more & more of on-rushing cars.
But I was the only one that came from the other direction
And I crossed the Autobahn on a bridge right there
To go from where I also was to pass back into the next possible
Autobahn entry,
Coming but down all the way from the other side,
I, the only one of
All the other hundreds and hundreds of other vehicles,
Who had gone on a trip of his own,
To the other side.

And after some twenty minutes - only -, I was meeting
On the first batch of all those other car buddies helplessly diverted,
The very ones that I actually, had I stayed within the queue,
Would have been truckling yet some two hours behind of.

And hadn't I then experienced,
Paid again by nothing else but a leap on a daring whim of the moment,
Another one & a half hours or more of quality time in life?

This is a song of freedom of one
Who at regular times
Toggles along with others like all the others do, too.

Erhard Hans Josef Lang

afraid, as the vultures circle sanctimonious
looking up with residual pain
and the vision of despair clears

it was time still, when clouds cried
it was time still, when the rains usurped
it was tme still, when the moon whispered

looing back, nothing remains
only a field of miser ploughing
all the memory, stolen hearth
like an ulcer merrily sloughing

does it yet sunrise?
does the nightingale stile hurls?
does the ocean yet suffice?
does the gale still prevail?

now is peace mine
in this cataclismic Mammon
the serpent devours the moon
darkness oozes from the wounds

now I sleep with eternal dream
ethereal but lives on
like the gallow that never sleeps,
the light prevails

My Gal Jolene

As i sit here while my babycakes is trying to sleep
i hope she thinking of me and not counting sheep
Can she really be thinking about me and who i am
or about am i the knight in shineing armor or a midnight scam
i hope she's fallen asleep by now
mabe its was the kiss i blew got to her some how

i stare out the window looking between the blind
trying to get the kiss she gave me of my mind
her kiss's are so powerful she keeps me wanting more
but saddens me to know she will be walking out that door
i turn away fast to hide my tears hitting the floor.

i want to tell her how special she really is
she's got my heart bubbling i swear i can hear the fizz
she's so kind and gentle with her every touch
everysecond she's gone i miss her so much

its now beem 15 minutes since i wrote my last line
still cant beleive i can call jolene mine
i want to one day wake her up
with a fresh pot of coffee and her favorite cup
and to share one thing like that is not to much to ask
to your soalmate that should not be a task.

i know my poem might sometimes not make any sence
but leed the same direction in our new backyard with the white picket fence.
i know nether one of us wants to win the race
but want nothing but to hold hands andkeep up a steady pace
the reward at the finish will be worth the chase.

An Englishman's homage!

American Sky

Warm and dry, Californian sky-
That first Spanish taste in Angeles’ glare;
No zephyr to purge Downtown’s shadow.

Freed from the Valley’s crucible,
Cocooned in air-con, going East to the West
To see America’s sky.

Mojave brightness caps light ochre soil,
Blue ever present, ruffled by haze,
Nevada’s inferno streaked with contrails.

Santa Fe railroad climbs an azure grade,
Bisecting Arizona, Route 66 hitches a ride.
Reflecting the sapphire: America’s sky.

One-eighty turn North, to the Colorado’s deep child.
Strata of rust and sage, give way to cerulean vault.
Aeons of creation bringing light to the floor.

Painted Desert, its watercolour palette horizon
framing a meteorite’s arc- deep clear backdrop
As a sunset volcano ignites America’s sky.

Monumental red cathedrals, in dusty glory
Punching heavenwards, the stagecoach’s goal.
Navajo light is weaving their claim.

Emerald blue Tahoe illuminates the Sierra’s
Cold, clear march. Through gold’s wild man
To Manzanar, teardropp in America’s sky.

Yosemite, primeval in majesty carves its space,
Pines and firs lance upward, with meadows of
Colour breathing crystal air.

Angels returning to view as green cedes to brown,
Smoke black horizon drapes gauze on the sun,
The fires of renewal streak America’s sky.

Guilty?

Yes I’m guilty
Of loving you
Guilty of hoping
Against hope
That you would
Choose truth over
Flashy show

Yes I’m guilty
Of dreaming dreams
That I know
I had no right to
Dreams that
My loyalty
And unending devotion
Would conjure
True love
In you

Yes I’m guilty
Of hoping my constancy
My honest true love
Would be
An anodyne
To your soul
But it seems
You prefer
To be a pawn
On her chessboard
Than the power
On mine

Yes I’m guilty
Of trying to please you
Considering your feelings
Are worth more
Than mine
Trying to stay
Within the boundaries
You placed on me
Never giving
You cause
To fear my withdrawal
While I
Just wait for
An hour, a minute
Of your precious
Time
I’m guilty
But you, my sweet
Are doubly
Guilty

Marsha
©

Rose is a bomb
People with wise always claim
Rose is a bomb
She causes things into ruin
Work and life
They fade away when she’s in bloom

When the silly tend to believe
Rose is God
Giving all when u feel lost
Sending hope when u are desperate

Oh, my rose inside…
Has been struggling for sprout
With passion, with desire
With his breath watering, his smile shining

Yet he was to be
a man with wise so someday he found
his wise and he claimed
Rose was bomb
Caused life into ruin
Work and future into ruin

Then, nothing left but cold wind
dry air, and silence dark
Then, my rose inside
Crying without sound
Withering without a sign

Rose is God
Giving all when u feel lost
Sending hope when u are desperate
But, where is my rose again
Where is my rose again
Where is my silly boy
Caiwei,9th. Sep. China
(looking forward to be criticized)

Mental anguish of many hues is responsible for so much creativity. I think being able to capture the anguish and own it can help one live with it and also help loved ones understand.

'Cloud Cover' is an attempt to do this for me.

I don’t see myself in this. Waiting for the cloud to part and my illumination to begin.
When I’m warm I grasp it, mania ensues. The need for clarification overwhelms me.
I overstep the mark and your recoil begins, reciting Oppenheimer.
Caught in the brightness, all I can do is wait for the clouds to converge.
You walk away.
Wanting to feel.
Wanting to hope.
Wanting to love.
Cloud cover.

Briefest of glimpses. You see me in there.
Promethean intensity revealing what is alive, but that which can’t persist.
A love shaped by contrast, by shade: eclipsed.
Within my penumbra all is bleak.
I want to emerge and unfurl-to radiate
You remain.
Helping me feel.
Helping me hope.
Helping me love.
Cloud cover.

Red and Black are my world’s only colours.
Falsehoods and deceptions, contradictions overshadow what emerges inside me.
I am at home in Diodati.
Corrosion can be reversed but its remnants still contaminate.
Acceptance of the haze is the beginning of purity.
You cleanse.
I feel.
I hope.
I love.
Cloud revealed.

i hope that yall will enjoy this

antagonist

I am my own worst enemy,
a dark angel strumming my own death's chords
Helpless against a steady self-destruction.
Stabbing myself viciously with my self-deceiving swords:
my words.


I am the antagonist in my own life story.
I hold the ropes that choke the life from me.
I am the killer stalking in my shadows.
I am the evil that only I cannot see.
Me.


I am the manic depressive
hidden behind my mannequin grin.
I am the darkness that thrives on isolation.
I am the end of what I never begin.
Again.


I am the only one who cannot predict my fate,
Crawling deeper into my tortured fear's lair.
Grieving for an empty soul too far gone to save.
Living only to reach the one thing I crave:
my grave.

I am the monster hiding under my bed.
I am the nightmare lurking inside my head.
I am the chill that runs down my own spine.
Whose murderous grasp won't I escape in time?
Mine.


I am the murdering mastermind.
I hold the chains that take my last breath.
I end my life when I have no hope left.
Death.