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  • Rabi Anata (11/24/2006 2:51:00 AM) Post reply

    Hello

  • Anthony Marriner (11/2/2006 4:23:00 PM) Post reply

    Cloud cover

    I don’t see myself in this.
    Waiting for the cloud to part,
    for 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.



    A Marriner © September 2006

  • Iquo Umoh (10/31/2006 10:54:00 AM) Post reply

    nice poem well written

  • daughter of a seafoam (10/30/2006 9:33:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    I'd like to hear your comments, even harsh ones. Thank you. :)

    Nostalgia Unremembered

    The heart pondered
    with suffocating hollowness
    that pinched within.
    Caresses, enveloped in mist,
    deafened with remembrance
    from ear
    to ear.
    Distant murmurs scurried
    around: finding its owner─ ─
    as how storks knew
    the right wombs.
    I─ ─ ─
    caught yours
    with a sigh
    in a blistering night
    when weakened petals
    suddenly,
    bloom
    with dew

    Replies for this message:
    • Aldo Kraas (2/10/2007 8:51:00 PM) Post reply

      This poem is well written It is almost like a song

    • Kelly Gemmill (10/30/2006 10:53:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      The beginning of this poem seems ordinary to me- 'heart pondered, ' 'suffocating hollowness' 'eveleoped in mist, ' are all rather trite and abstract. I like the line 'deafened with remembrance'- to ... more

  • The poet known as kiibaati (10/27/2006 11:36:00 PM) Post reply

    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

  • Ocean Prince (10/24/2006 11:29:00 PM) Post reply

    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

  • Erhard Hans Josef Lang (10/18/2006 8:43:00 PM) Post reply

    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

  • Wilderness Enow (10/15/2006 1:22:00 PM) Post reply

    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

  • Richard Overholt (9/27/2006 12:44:00 AM) Post reply

    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.

  • Anthony Marriner (9/26/2006 4:43:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    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.

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