(9/2/2012 5:27:00 AM)
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My latest free flow. I tried to give it a little structure too, to link the stanza. Does it then seize to be free flow?Angels fall
Sometimes it is because they are tripped
No one really to show them the way
Easily received but selfishly not wanted
Left to their own devises and what they know
They land on dirty grown, grubby nails and knees and they scramble around in ignorant bliss
Sometimes it is because they were pushed
Someone forgets to polish the treasure
Taken for granted that the ring was binding
Left to their longing and desires and what they deserve
They fall on soft feathers, that leave imprints of guilty relief, and they languish a while.
Sometimes it is out of the blue for no good reason at all
No one trips them, no one pushes them
A grip so tight round the heart
They land in the ocean that is their heart and it must be deep enough for all this love as nothing else makes any sense.
Few are the angels that keep their wings
Please don't look down on us in that way
This flight for you was smooth
We all chose whether we live cushioned by a cloud or on the ground!
(8/18/2012 10:50:00 AM)
Hello to my Fellow Poets:
I'm new around here. Please read and comment on my poems-I would love to have your feedback. Here's my newest:
Dervishes and Mastery
Time has slapped me in the face
The air was thick and settled
A new tick
A slower second
You have mastered time
You have mastered
You've really swept me off my feet.
Haven't let me down to breathe
Bury me deeper
Steal my atmosphere
Let me die this way
Heart speeding in a hundred different directions
I'm a flat out fool
I'm a fish out of water
I've grown wings
You tell me I'm your goddess
In frenzied dervishes you paint me
You whisper: muse
You brush my face with a smile
Is the creator of something divine
A god himself?
(8/12/2012 10:55:00 AM)
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Why I Write?
My child you ask me why
And so I give a sure reply
The reason why I write you ask?
I do so to unveil a mask -
To state a claim my dear
And climb above a fence at last
The reason why I write
Is to be free -
As that young lad's kite
To flee from charmless grips
And stray from harm's lustful flight
You ask me why I write today?
I do so that you go away!
To a place, within my space
That way I'll have a worthy say
I write my dear to tell a tale
Of places that I once had sailed
The promises that were never had
The eluded dreams that made me sad
The reason why I write a verse
Is to soothe this soul I thought was cursed
To trod with care through lonely roads
And pray my troubles be reversed
The reason why I write to you
Is so you ‘ll see my point of view
That in all things, there is a verse
A spring that takes away all thirst
Copyright © 2012
Godfrey MorrisReplies for this message:
(7/31/2012 11:40:00 AM)
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Evil Mary Alison always on my mind,
Another girl so special brings me to
a time back when.
Happiness was a promise, and true
darkness was not yet mine.
Before the broken heart, life torn apart,
as shattered pieces of yesterday were
lying every where.
And I sat so cold and alone as heartache
filled my soul.
Then I cried.
My mind played over the way things might
What could I do to make love new again?
Was there anything?
Did she feel the same?
Then all hope was blown away.
When I heard them say.
She was his.
Life grew so dark I lost my will to live.
And to this day, I find it hard to forgive.
This thing so cold.
She stole my heart and left me in darkness
with no love inside my soul.
(7/14/2012 4:34:00 PM)
please visit my page and read my poems friends..
open to suggestions and criticisms
(7/5/2012 12:28:00 AM)
My Hero- BY POETA
I was young, you knew I was,
So you gave me a sweet,
I told you.... ’How sweet’!
Then you promised that the number will rise…..
From once to thrice,
Hmmm. how wise….
I forgot about cavity,
But you are a dentist; so you promised me dental security,
Who am I not to be agitated?
I am inside your den yet I didn’t feel frightened,
I am proud of my uncle,
You make mountains look like anthills,
Debts look like petty bills,
In my Hell you prove to be heaven,
I and you just like 1+1, you equal eleven.
Like a vampire one day you attacked,
I am your blood but you still sucked,
Me… the virgin out of me then you left,
Bleeding downstairs due to your ‘sweetness’…. (Sob!)
You monster, evil- creature ‘sweet uncle x’
May the ground you walk on bury you,
And may your nightmares come true,
Your true lies were horny and corny,
And now I die of HIV in this bed lonely
You did this!
NO! YOU ARE NOT! !
(7/3/2012 12:14:00 PM)
The light lowers as it passes from east to west,
Orange glow diffusing from earth to grass to flower.
Daises turn and stretch and bask in the early evening.
The morning glories, wide-spread under the light
And entwined along the clover held picket fence
Have turned from magenta to amethyst to their
Last white-veined violet. Even it now grows faint.
The petals curl inward, the blue tips bend
Toward the bluer heart and the flowers are lost.
The moonflower-buds are still white, but shadows dart
From their tendril-roots, black creeps from lawn to fence,
To plants, then slowly over me. Another work worn day
Without you fades with my dirty fingers and sips of beer.
Each leaf shadow cuts another leaf shadow on the grass,
I watch as shadow seeks shadow, golden turns to black,
Then both leaf and leaf-shadow are lost, and I am alone.
(6/29/2012 8:29:00 PM)
Why when we were young
Friendlier skys were darker then
Streaking nightly fallen stars
LOOK! Look up again.
READ POEMS OF LEE B MACK
(6/27/2012 7:51:00 PM)
... freeform in it's truest sense is the essence of poetry because the muse is spirit, , the ultimate freedom to create worlds, but equally in this life is the freedom to Love even with words... without feeling free to Love all, poetry becomes stilted, wears a mask, is close to death because few take off the mask of commonality of men who live empty grey lives looking only for escape and never seeing the door to their self-made cage is open... always has been... :)
(6/23/2012 2:25:00 AM)
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I know I am but summer to your heart,
And not the four seasons of the year.
And you welcome love from another
Whose noble moods are not as mine.
I have no pretentious weight of age,
Nor easy spring breeze to give you.
I am all monsoons and thunderstorms,
Hot wind, hard gusts, cold rain.
I am not any wise and wintry thing;
And I have loved you all too long and well
To carry still the high sweet breast of spring.
So love me year round as you loved
Me on the bed where summer
Rose to meet our naked skin,
Sticky from sweat and making love.
But spring is here, in its budding silence,
I must be gone, steal forth with silent drums,
That you may rise refreshed with
The call of the sea gull and
Scent of the rose, and
The weight of his arms upon your
Hips and breasts.
Will you come back to me, as summer comes?Or softer yet
As it ends and the death of leaves
Begins again; to feel the crunch of
Them upon your back on an
Indian summer day in a clearing...
Or will you at that sweetest of times
Choose to bask your naked flesh
Upon other shores, other climes?