Elk County Forum

Ok.. You have ask for it.. you have got it!

  Please limit this to poetry.. whether it be your own or just a favorite poem you would like to share.
Comments, compliments ..all of that is more than welcome.

(example).. Someone posts a wonderful poem written by ..say.. Elizabeth Bishop..
Please ..lets not go into talking a great deal about Elizabeth and then someone else knew an Elizabeth and have you talked to her for awhile.. and then it gets into something else.. and then after 10 posts.. we have another poem....

I understand how it will gt off the road a bit.. but lets not drive it to another state.. okay?

People will look at this thread and want poetry not other stuff.
( But compliments I am sure will be more than welcome..
for those who write their own poems do put a lot of heart and personal work into them.

Thanks..
Now get started on being creative.!   :)

Flowers may wither
They cannot last
Let not our friendship
Fade so fast.

Let us each other
Faults forgive
And love each other
As long as we live.                   Author Unknown

Taken from my autograph book from 1938.  Remember those. 

Earth... the Mother giving birth,
Air... so free, inside of me,
Fire... higher, ignite your Son,
Water... Daughter, the Circle is One.
Spirit ...makes all Four alive,
Spirit makes the Elements Five.

Love that one Teresa.  Great way to explain the 5 Elements.

This is the Theme for our Boy Scouting Summit

The Upward Reach
By Sadie Tiller Crawley

He stood at the crossroads all alone,
The sunlight on his face.
He had no thought for the world unknown—
He was set for a manly race.
But the roads stretched east and the roads stretched west,
And the lad knew not which road was best.
So he chose the road that led him down,
And he lost the race and the victor's crown.
He was caught at last in an angry snare
Because no one stood at the crossroads there
To show him the better road.

Another day at the self-same place
A boy with high hopes stood.
He, too, was set for a manly race;
He, too, was seeking the things that were good.
But one was there whom the roads did know,
And that one showed him which way to go.
So he turned from the road that would lead him down,
And he won the race and the victor's crown.
He walks today the highway fair
Because one stood at the crossroads there
To show him the better way.

That was wonderful Kevin. And how true and touching.

Mother Earth is always there
And keeps me safe within her care.
The Lord of Dreams will dance and sing
And happy dreams will to me bring.
And when I wake to greet the day
Brother Sun will light my way.

Whatever your cross, whatever your pain, there will always be sunshine, after the rain ....
Perhaps you may stumble, perhaps even fall, But God's always ready, To answer your call ..
He knows every heartache, sees every tear, A word from His lips, can calm every fear ..
Your sorrows may linger, throughout the night, But suddenly vanish, dawn's early light ..
God is waiting, somewhere above, To give you His grace, and send you His love .
Whatever your cross, whatever your pain, "God always sends rainbows ... after the rain ... "

If you think you are beaten, you are
  If you think you dare not, you don't.
If you'd like to win but you think you can't,
  It's almost a cinch you won't.

If you think you'll lose, you're lost.
  For out in the world we find
Success begins with a fellow's will
  It's all in the state of mind.

If you think you're outclassed, you are;
  You've got to think high to rise,
You've got to be sure of yourself before
  You can ever win a prize.

Life's battles don't always go
  To a stronger or faster man;
But sooner or later the man who wins,
  Is the one who thinks he can.

    The Guy in the Glass 

When you get what you want in your struggle for self,
And the world makes you King for a day,
Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,
And see what that guy has to say.

For it isn't your Father, or Mother, or Wife,
Who judgement upon you must pass.
The feller whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the guy staring back from the glass.

He's the feller to please, never mind all the rest,
For he's with you clear up to the end,
And you've passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the guy in the glass is your friend.

You may be like Jack Horner and "chisel" a plum,
And think you're a wonderful guy,
But the man in the glass says you're only a bum
If you can't look him straight in the eye.

You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartaches and tears
If you've cheated the guy in the glass.


by Dale Wimbrow, 1895-1954

I composed this poem when I was taking "Intro to Creative Writing" in 2003 at Wichita State University.

 You wrote a very nice piece. Do you have more? :D

Yes, I do.  Here are two more.

I liked these but in different ways! Continue to create! Blessings, Edie.

Two totally different, but totally endearing poems. Very nice work. :)

MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB
Her father shot it dead.
Now it goes to school with her,
Between two hunks of bread.

HUMPTY DUMPTY sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the kings' horses,
And all the kings' men
Had scrambled eggs
For breakfast again.

HEY DIDDLE, DIDDLE the cat took a piddle,
All over the bedside clock.
The little dog laughed to see such fun.
Then died of electric shock.

There was a little girl who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good, she was very, very good.
But when she was bad........
She got a fur coat, jewels, a waterfront condo, and a sports car.

;D

   Good grief~~~```````````I gave birth to this !!!

Oh woe is me.......................poor Ashley and Mason........................

AMEN!!!!! 

That is absolutly true!!!

I returned a couple of days ago from a delightful trip to Baxter, Tennesse, to be hosted by a distant cousin and his wife, Joe and Diane Elmore.  There were nine of us who made the journey, with the encouragement of Joe.  We all stayed at Cookville, Tenn.  Joe is 73 years old, and we share a great-great grandfather, George Washington Elmore.  My Mother, and all of her sisters, had the most amazing memories, and could recite almost every poem they'd ever learned, from back in early 1900's.  Joe took us around to a lot of the various places where our ancestors had made their mark, and one was at a school hosue, in a community where my great-great grandmother grew up.  As he pulled up to stop at the schoolhouse, he started reciting this poem, by Whittier:



                        In School-Days
               
     
              Still sits the school-house by the road,
            A ragged beggar sleeping;
            Around it still the sumachs grow,
            And blackberry-vines are creeping.

            Within, the master's desk is seen,
            Deep-scarred by raps official;
            The warping floor, the battered seats,
            The jack-knife's carved initial;

            The charcoal frescoes on its wall;
            Its door's worn sill, betraying
            The feet that, creeping slow to school,
            Went storming out to playing!

            Long years ago a winter sun
            Shone over it at setting;
            Lit up its western window-panes,
            And low eaves' icy fretting.

            It touched the tangled golden curls,
            And brown eyes full of grieving,
            Of one who still her steps delayed
            When all the school were leaving.

            For near it stood the little boy
            Her childish favor singled;
            His cap pulled low upon a face
            Where pride and shame were mingled.

            Pushing with restless feet the snow
            To right and left, he lingered;---
            As restlessly her tiny hands
            The blue-checked apron fingered.

            He saw her lift her eyes; he felt
            The soft hand's light caressing,
            And heard the tremble of her voice,
            As if a fault confessing.

            "I'm sorry that I spelt the word:
            I hate to go above you,
            Because,"---the brown eyes lower fell,---
            "Because, you see, I love you!"

            Still memory to a gray-haired man
            That sweet child-face is showing.
            Dear girl! the grasses on her grave
            Have forty years been growing!

            He lives to learn, in life's hard school,
            How few who pass above him
            Lament their triumph and his loss,
            Like her, because they love him.

He recited it all of the way through, and said he'd learned it in the 5th. grade.  Have you ever heard it before?

You know Bonnie, some of my most precious memories with my Grandfather Turner wer his quoting
poetry to me.  I can still see him sitting there, pipe in one hand, looking over his glasses which were down on
the end of his nose.

My mother said that every night after he closed the lumber yard, he would come to our house and
sit by my crib and quote nursery rhyms and poetry to me.  (We left when I was 3). Everytime I would come to visit
I would ask him to quote poetry.  He loved Hiawatha, Evangeline, Charge of the Last Brigade, etc.  Longfellow was
his favorite poet.  He knew them all by memory. It was years before I realized how blessed I was to have been hearing such beautiful sounds everyday as I lay in that crib.

(For some reason the name Joe and Diane Elmore and Geroge Washington Elmore seem familiar to me.  Do you all have any DeWitt/DeWhitts in your family tree?)

I don't think we have any relation named DeWitt, but we sure do have a lot of relatives, so "one never knows."  Our family has done very well in knowing our history, but, when making a trip like we did back to Tennessee, we realize just how little we really do know.  We'd love to know why two of G. W. Elmore's brothers headed on out west, to Missouri, then on to Kansas, and if their family ever saw them again, etc., etc.  It has never ceased to amaze us how they made a living, with so few "worldly goods."  Many of them lost several children, some babies, some a bit older.  We are fortunate to live in this generation!   But, they sure were all "close" in previous generations, and clung together for survival.

Thank you Bonnie.. I loved that.
Poetry to me should tell a story. you should be able to "feel" and "sense" more than just the words.'
It should transform you to a time or place and as you are reading.

 Can you imagine a world without Witches, A world with all people the same?
Where the only known dragons are hiding in books, And children are terribly tame?

A world without Magick would be sad indeed. I cannot imagine the pain..
Of having a world where there's no Santa Claus , Where wizards are searched for in vain.

Can you imagine a world without Spells, That science and businesses run?
And think of the sadness a unicorn feels, When he no longer plays in the sun.

Can you imagine a world without Fantasy, No elves and no magic pools?
And can you imagine how dull it would be If all that we had were the schools?

I cannot imagine a world without Witches , A world with no magical wand.
A world without beauty, or even a dream, Or a wood nymph of whom to be fond.

They say I should grow up and be more mature, Like a normal adult ought to.
But I'd rather, at night, go dance with a Sprite, And I'll bet that you feel that way too.

True, Teresa.  My favorite TV show is Charmed where 3 beautiful witch sisters deal with all kinds of fantasy creatures.  Basketball and football come in second here and they are also fantasy at times.

Here's another poem sent to me by the "distant" cousin in Baxter, Tennessee.  I'm sure many people feel this way, about the area they live in.

From Joe  "I don't want to bore you with poems but there are some more that I think you would find interesting.  One that I particularly enjoy is by Kippling called "Sussex by the Sea."  As I remember, it goes like this:
   
  God gave all man all earth to love
  But since man's heart is small
  Ordained for each one spot to prove
  Beloved overall
   
  To each his choice and I rejoice
  The spot ordained for me
  Is a fair spot in a fair land
  Sussex by the sea
   
  That poem reminds me of Baxter.  All that would be necessary to make it perfect would have been for him to have substituted  Baxter Tennessee for Sussex by the Sea. 
   Joe"

It is a full moon tonight and the energy outside is electrifying...

(http://tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:P2jX74iPq4PIiM:www.stargazing.net/david/moon/moonrise20050917/DSCN8205b600x600d1.jpg)
I raise my arms in greeting,
As She slips up through the night.
The rounded Moon of Mystery,
A glowing silver disk of light.

My spirit answers to Her call,
And longs for wings to fly,
That I might seek Her secret place
Whose symbol is the sky.

A place of hidden secrets,
Of sacred Mysteries old.
A place I knew in other times,
In temple wisdom no more told.

I struggle to remember
All the things I learned before.
The forgotten Mysteries of the Moon,
The goddess and Her lore.

Although my arms reach skyward,
I turn inward toward Her voice.
I tread the inner labyrinth,
Trusting in my choice.

"Seek not without, but deep within."
The words are soft and clear.
"Keep faith with Me for thirteen months,
The Mother's Sacred Year."

I watch Her through Her cycles,
As I did in lives before.
And follow down Her moonbeam path,
To the secret, inner door.

        Mystical and beautiful.........Oh how I love words like that !!

     Thank you, my Teresa

She's afraid of a roach, she'll scream at a mouse
But she'll tackle a husband as big as the house
She'll take him for better, she'll take him for worse
She'll split his head open and then be his nurse
And when he is well and can get out of bed
She'll pick up a teapot and throw at his head

She's faithful, keen-sighted, loving and kind
She's crafty, she's witty, dear, dumb and blind
She'll lift a man up, cast a man down
She'll crown him her king, she'll make him her crown

You fancy her this, but find she is that
For she'll play like a kitten and bite like a cat
In the morning she will, in the evening she won't
And you're always expecting she does--but she won't
She'll love you in truth and ignore your worst fib
And there you have woman--man's long lost rib

Sent to Capper's Weekly by Miss O. M. Smith, Kansas

I love this.  I have to share this with friends.  Thank you, Dee Gee.

 Me too ;D

And me, too!

               RUMOR

There is a skeleton in my closet,
My main question is, who was it?
Was he short or was he tall,
Was he large or was he small,
Was he any one at all?

I have never seen his bones,
But I've often heard them rattle.
There is a rumor that ill humor
Often led him into battle,
Maybe it is only prattle.

That he was a ladie's man,
Adept at catch as catch can.
That he had a heavy tan,
That he led a tough life's span
As hard as that of any man.

That when he died, they tanned his hide
And hung it on this closet door,
That's the story, wild and gory,
Devoid of any fame and glory,
I am glad there is no more.

                                CAH

Here's one for Fall that I remember learning in grade school.

"When the Frost is on the Punkin"
 
WHEN the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,   
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,   
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,   
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;   
O, it's then the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,           
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,   
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,   
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.   
   
They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere   
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—   
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,   
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;   
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze   
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days   
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—   
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.   
   
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,   
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves as golden as the morn;   
The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still   
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;   
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;   
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—   
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,   
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.   
   
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps   
Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yaller heaps;   
And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through   
With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage too!...   
I don't know how to tell it—but ef such a thing could be   
As the angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me—   
I'd want to 'commodate 'em—all the whole-indurin' flock—   
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.   

James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916

Thanks Kevin, I've always loved that one. It always makes me smile.

Kevin, I really do like the poem, also!  I never get beyond the first line, though, in what I can "recite" of the poem by memory!  Thanks for posting the poem.

Spring is sprung
Fall is fell
Now winter's here
And it's cold as h____ :o :o :o


You didn't really thing I would use that word, did you? :angel: :angel: :angel:

I never imagined "you know where" to be very chilly, but if you say so. ;D ;D

The Easter Theme, by Patience Strong

Year by year the Cross is lifted up at Eastertide-
mutely to proclaim the truth for which the saviour died-
To make full reparation for the sins of all mankind-
opening the gates of life to all whose souls are blind..
Men of every race and colour meet at Calvary-
in the brotherhood of love, and faith, and charity...
He and He alone can quicken, heal and sancify.
Thiis the Easter theme: in Him I live, In Him I die.

Two frogs fell into a deep cream bowl,
One was an optimistic soul.
But the other took a gloomy view,
"I shall drown!" he cried "and so will you!"
So with a last despairing cry,
He closed his eyes and said good-bye!
But the other with a merry grin said,
I can't get out, but I won't give in!
I'll swim around until my strength is spent,
For having tried I'll die content.
Bravely, he swam until it would seem,
His struggles began to churn the cream.
On top of the butter at last he stopped,
And out of the bowl he happily hopped.
What is the moral? It's easily found,
If you can't get out, keep swimming around!



Oswaldo and Tebbi

Frog on toast? That's a cute poem. ;)

                   Conestoga
    Our wagon train is heading west.
    We think June 8th just might be best
    to leave for Kansas, breathe sweet air
    and "Howdy" those who live out there.
    We'll come by Joplin, Caney too,
    On through Sedan to Howard. WOO!
    We'll look at Longton, see Elk Falls,
    Won't miss Toots, more fun than malls.
    Off then to Lawrence, Hiawatha, Horton,
    Salem Nebraska, those stops are important.
    Next to Iowa, north to S.D.
    The bad lands, monuments and Deadwood to see.
    We're Tired!
    We'll turn that wagon around,
    and wander back east to our little town.
    We'll visit and tour and enjoy all with class.
    You think we can do it
    On one tank of gas?
 

Sounds like a great trip Dianne! Oh that you really could do it on one tank, that's asking too much! Enjoy!

Diane, with your poem, I am truly impressed!
You are such a good poet, I wouldn't have guessed!
Your trip sounds so great, but you might be a bit late,
When your first tank of gas doesn't have you out of your State!

Timing is everything, we always do hear,
And, it seems to be the same thing this year!
We're going to be in Kansas next week for a while,
But, not when you're there, so I won't see your smile!

Ya ain't half bad yerself! I'm sorry I'll miss you.

 
Thought I'd let my doctor check me,

'Cause I didn't feel quite right.

All those aches and pains annoyed me

And I couldn't sleep at night.

  He could find no real disorder

But he wouldn't let it rest.

What with Medicare and Blue Cross,

We would do a couple tests.

To the hospital he sent me

Though I didn't feel that bad.

He arranged for them to give me

Every test that could be had.

I was flouroscoped and cystoscoped,

My aging frame displayed.

Stripped, on an ice cold table,

While my gizzards were x-rayed.

  I was checked for worms and parasites,

For fungus and the crud,

While they pierced me with long needles

Taking samples of my blood.

   Doctors came to check me over,

Probed and pushed and poked around,

And to make sure I was living

They wired me up for sound.

They have finally concluded,

Their results have filled a page.

What I have will someday kill me:

My affliction is OLD AGE.

 

 :laugh:

That is very good! Do you have more?

Froggy   ( from Girl Scout camp )

I know how ugly I are

I know my face is no star

But I am behind it

So I do not mind it

The fellow in front gets the jar

Cute! :laugh: :laugh: :laugh:

Neat poem twirldoggy, I like it.

That  is wonderful Catwoman.. and I hope I read it with the sincerity and feeling that you wrote it in.

Catwoman, that is very good, I am impressed. You have talent, that one lights the fires of past love
.

I am impressed, too, Catwoman.  That is quite a poem.

That's wonderful, we have another poet to enjoy.

I understand, and I mean it when I say that is very good.  It is obvious it was written with lots of feeling and thought.
Frank

Quote from: Diane Amberg on June 17, 2008, 08:10:35 PM
That's wonderful, we have another poet to enjoy.

Actually, I have truly enjoyed reading all of the poetry that you and the others have written...who would have thought that the place I lived in for so long was inhabited by such lyric people! 

Catwoman, you are the undisputed Queen of the Poetry. I printed that and have read it a dozen times. I like it better each time.
Frank

Catwoman, do you have any other poems to share with us. As good as that one was you must have others.
Frank

Have you published? Your work is excellent.

I really like your style and heart ..
Please post more.  :)

Catwomen, you are good, have you tried to sell any of your poems to say HallMark or one of the Card/Publishing companies. The two Poems of yours that your have shared are like short love stories of a past love. Like Tersesa I LIKE YOUR STYLE.
Frank

I hope this link helps you learn more about getting your poems published. I too think they are really good.

http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/56

David

Another clever poem!

Do you still have the old truck?

It draws us near
It's energy strong
It's calming sight
In evening's song

A bird takes wing
A hunter's call
The Earth's alive
Beasts great and small

The Power of the Moon can hold a spell
The ebbing tides, the waves that swell
The Power of the Moon both full and new

It steals your heart
This dance of night
It frees your soul
Within it's light

Time has no place where shadows bloom
The darkness shines with the Power of the Moon.

What a great poem!  I could see the reflection of the moon on the face of the pond as you were talking!  You use the element of imagery really well.  Bring out another one!

Old Ones, Dear Ones, Standing Stones
Ancient time piece, ancient thrones
From Solstice to Solstice and all in between
Beloved King joins beloved Queen.

Old Ones, Dear Ones, to the North
Hear us now, please do come forth.

Old Ones, Dear Ones, to the East
Join us now, please share our feast.

Old Ones, Dear Ones, to the South
Share our kiss, mouth to mouth.

Old Ones, Dear Ones, to the West
Be one with us, oh sacred guest.

Standing Stones from times of Old
Ancient witness to secrets untold.
Throughout time, we've come, we've passed
But your Circle endures and lasts.

You seem to be echoing Native American themes...have you traveled much in those areas?

In what lifetime?   ;)

Now you've switched from Native American to Bhuddist!  OK...pick one!

 ;D.. I am such a finger painting of all of them that it is hard to pick.

That poem is actually Wiccan..
but being that the Indians drew lots of their energy and belief form Mother Earth and the 5 elements..
it sometimes is hard to tell the difference from the two.

Ok, I'm goin out on a limb here................

Who are you they asked...

Who are you? they asked........

Why I'm me, she answered.........

Who's that? they asked................

What do you mean? she asked.........

Who are you?......................

Do you mean what's my name?................

No, who are you?........................

I'm my parents daughter!................

No, who are YOU?................

I'm a child of the Goddess!........................

No, who ARE you?..................

I'm a child,mother,lover,wife,grandmother,housekeeper,

gardener,farmer,framer,sider,cook,artist,healer,bitch,

sad,happy,angry,disappointed,proud,disillusioned,optimistic,

knocked down, gettin up,stubborn,tired,gettin up again,

passive,wild,WOMAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!WHo do you THINK I am?

Excellent Pam!! I love it!

Ty ;D

That was great, Pam!!!  I loved it!!! Sounds like you claim all of that, and more! :-)   

We sit and we type, and we stare at our screens...
We all have to wonder with this possibly means.
With our mouse we roam through the rooms in a maze,
Looking for something or someone we sit in a daze.
We chat with each other, we type all our woes...
Small groups we do form, and gang up on our foes.
We wait for somebody to type out our name...
We want recognition, but it's always the same.
We give kisses and hugs, and sometimes we flirt...
In IM's we chat deeply and reveal why we hurt.
We do form friendships, but why we don't know..
But some of these friendships, will flourish and grow.
Why is it on screen we can be so bold
Telling our secrets that have never been told.
Why is it we share the thoughts in our mind
With those we can't see, as if we were blind.
The answer is simple, it is as clear as a bell.
We all have our problems and need someone to tell.
We can't tell real people, but tell someone we must..
So we turn to the 'puter and to those we can trust.
Even though it is crazy, the truth still remains...
They are friends without faces...with odd little names!

Exactly! You nailed it!

what I wouldn't give for the talent of you two.  I have always been so proud of Pam's artistic way with words and her artistic way with an artist's brush, but  :-[ her talent didn't come from her mother.

Love it, Teresa! :-)

Silver Lady

(http://i153.photobucket.com/albums/s204/bustybumpers/glittering%20fairies%20or%20angles/waterfallandgirl.gif)


I hear The Silver Lady, She whispers in my ear,
Calling me by name so I know that She is near.
As She draws me closer, Her moonbeams pull me so,
The faintest glimmer of Her light, a warm and shimmering glow.

I feel The Silver Lady, she beckons through the wind,
She is my guiding light; much more so than a friend.
The howling of the night is from those who hear her call,
She wraps me in Her bounty, like the warmest winter's shawl.

I touch The Silver Lady, The night mist on my face,
I pass into an open field, bowing deeply to her grace.
I listen very closely; to the words She speaks to me,
"You are precious to me, little one; This I vow to thee."

I taste The Silver Lady, as Her moon drops fill the air,
My love and reverence for Her grow, this night that I declare,
"You are my Sovereign Lady, I proudly state this now,
As Your light shines all about me, I humbly take my vow."

M.L. Benton
Copyright ÂÃ,© 2002

I have never read Benton before...where did you find this?  I like it. :-)

meeeeeeee tooo. I really like it.

shoot I'll have to find it again, I was just doin some research and came across it and liked it. I'll try to find it again :P

If I've put this on here before, please excuse.  It is yellowed, and almost brown as it is held on my frig by magnents.

I wonder, are hugs international like the raising of the eyebrow in greeting? Thanks, Flo, I liked that, hugs back to you.

I don't know, SDM, but if not they should be.  Here's the other "posted" on my frig:

DON'T QUIT

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will
when the road you're trudging seems all uphill.
When the funds are low and the debts are high
and you want to smile but you have to sigh.
When care is pressing you down a bit,
rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
as everyone of us sometimes learns.
And many a failure turns about
when you might have won had you stuck it out.
Don't give up though the pace seems slow
You may succeed with another blow.

Success is failure turned inside out.
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt.
And you never can tell how close you are.
It may be near when it seems so far.
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit.
It's when things seem worse that you must not quit.

Love both of them, Flo!  Especially the last one...when I was going through some tough times, I used to repeat this mantra to myself...I relied on it quite a bit:

"Only for today...I have the strength to face my life.  Only for today...I have the strength meet my and my offsprings' needs.  Yesterday is over with...tomorrow is an unknown quantity.  All I have to make it through is today...and I CAN  DO IT."

I was looking at the forum and being on the West Coast I was surprised how many of you Kansans and East Coasters are still up Being a night owl I thought I would write a poem for my fellow denizens of the night while I watch the news. Here is my rough draft for the time it took to hear the news. Can anyone of you owls suggest a good title? The early bird may get the worm but the night owl get to eat rabbit.

The Night Owl's Feast

The middle of the night has past
Its inky darkness is now cast.
My fellow followers of the owl
Listen to the lone wolf's howl.

While early birds are deep in sleep
We watch our minds' flocks of sheep.
The quiet night let's us ponder
The world that lays just o'yonder.

The daily throngs think they know
The cogs that make our world go.
The night owl hoots a haunting sound
It ponders those on the ground.

To those of you that rise to the sun
Know  the owl's work is now all done.
Our silent wings beat the night
Nothing moving escapes our sight

The early bird may get the worm
It's strictly out of habit
I prefer the night owls meal
Of a little whitetail rabbit.


David

That is really good.  :)

You wove a good tale there. Liked it a lot.

(http://i201.photobucket.com/albums/aa241/silverstream716/owls/owl12.jpg)
I like that DN

A very nice poem.  Good imagery. Can we have more please?

Yes, yes, and yes!

Thank you all. Pam that is the perfect picture. The poem needs a little tweaking in a couple spots. Sometimes those early birds need to be reminded that us night owl's keep the world running while they sleep.

David

The puzzle master is also a master of poetry...who would have guessed...more, please?

Aren't poems a funny thing? And I don't mean funny as in ha ha funny.
I mean.. They tell stories..and they weave tales.. and they can take you to a time or place or dimension that you never thought you could be in. If you read poems slowly and with the feeling that they were written in.. you can capture the magick in them.

I love the ones that have a mystical touch to them. Those are the kind I write and when I do.. I actually feel like I "become" my poem. ( Does that make sense?)

Oh well.. rattle and babble the whole day long
No matter if I'm writing or singing a song.
I go away on a magical ride..
To wondrous places where different things hide.
And just as I'm settling into my colorful whirl...
The telephone rings and I'm back in this world.

(Which is the truth   :D  .. so I better get back to work)  ;)

Friend of mine sent me this poem, I really liked it and thought you all might too :)

~~Meeting Myself Where I left Off ~~



Meeting myself where I left off as once more I come into my own.

Days many multiplied and seemingly without number have come and gone.

The months flowing one into the other, sometimes as crashing waves,

Sometimes as water so deathly cold that all lies in a frozen suspended state.

When all seems to be dark shrouded, at a crossroads standing stilled in place.

Waiting upon a Springtime for a release from the suffering tide of despair.

Meeting myself where I left off as once more I come into my own.

So many the years in passing, a decade, then a dozen, adding on a couple years more.

Time it took flight traveling over numerous hills, reaching into the mountains.

While slipping into the treacherous valleys that lay hidden in amongst the crevasses.

Seasons passed where dry parched was the order of the day.

Dreaming of once again coming into a wet, dew filled morning after a blissful...

~*Thunderous MidNight*~

Spooky...but good. Very dark, I wanted to turn on some lights.

Love it! :-)  I have always enjoyed the darker side, like Edgar Allen Poe.

I'll tell her y'all liked it :) She does have some good ones

I wrote this after I watched a show about what they call "honor" killings...............muslim fathers and brothers killing their daughters and sisters because they think they are not "good" muslim women. This is happening in AMERICA!!

A spark ignited, Spirit was brought to life...

Wondering eyes beheld this new place....

A girl child..with beauty and grace...innocence and trust...

She grew and experienced ....trusted and loved....

Wanted freedom and experience of life.....

All was taken.....she was broken.........

Because HE thought she was property.

God/dess wept........

Angels screamed........

Light died.

Thanks for sharing this pain, someday maybe women will become a part of every society. God bless, Edie.

The wisdom you possess, and put into words for the rest of us, is very much appreciated.
Thank you !!!  That is a very inspirational poetic writing.
  Jo

Catwoman you asked for another poem, here it is. I drank too much coffee last night at Caffe Trieste in North Beach and couldn't go to sleep so I had time to write a poem. If you watch the video in the link I provided it was filmed in Caffe Trieste. It looks exactly the same today.

Kansas Ain't All Flat

As told to my friends in the land of quakes.
Out on the Coast where the ground always shakes
The river's name is pronounced Zass
And the state down South  we say Saw
A tornado is about the scariest thing I ever really saw.
Of course,! there is Topeka, Wichita and Kansas City
Much of it's rural but all of it's pretty
The wind does blow hard and the wheat it grows tall.
While it is not in the South we still say y'all.
When Dorothy went home that's where she's at.
No it's not true it is ALL not that flat.
Yes there is a little house on the prairie.
The hay bales are big and difficult to carry.
It's not exactly like what you saw on that show.
That's the real Kansas the state that I know.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kpxNXZCLBg

Edie Brickell & New Bohemians – Circle
(Filmed in Caffe Trieste in North Beach. San Francisco, CA)

A few minor changes to the original. Tues 11:05 am.

I enjoyed your poem! :)

Well done, David...well done!  I always enjoy reading you! :D  Now, down some more coffee and get to writing!

Worked out a few kinks.

Kansas Ain't All Flat

As told to my friends in the land of quakes.
Out on the Coast where the ground always shakes
The river's Arkanzass and the state down south Arkansaw
Tornado's are horrible dangers but will fill you with awe.
Of course there 's Topeka , Wichita and Kansas City
Much of it's rural; the farmer's daughters very pretty
The wind does blow hard and the wheat it grows tall.
While it's not in the South we still say y'all.
When Dorothy went home that's where she's at.
No it's not true it is ALL not that flat.
Yes out on the plain there is a little house on the prairie.
The hay bales are big and difficult to carry.
It's not exactly like what you saw on that show.
That friends is the real Kansas the state that I know.

David

Like that, Kansas in a nutshell!

Quote from: dnalexander on August 27, 2008, 12:34:55 PM
Worked out a few kinks.

Kansas Ain't All Flat

As told to my friends in the land of quakes.
Out on the Coast where the ground always shakes
The river's Arkanzass and the state down south Arkansaw
Tornado's are horrible dangers but will fill you with awe.
Of course there 's Topeka , Wichita and Kansas City
Much of it's rural; the farmer's daughters very pretty
The wind does blow hard and the wheat it grows tall.
While it's not in the South we still say y'all.
When Dorothy went home that's where she's at.
No it's not true it is ALL not that flat.
Yes out on the plain there is a little house on the prairie.
The hay bales are big and difficult to carry.
It's not exactly like what you saw on that show.
That friends is the real Kansas the state that I know.

David

The poem expands and has a sister.

California Doesn't Always Shake

As told to my friends from the land of the Sunflower.
Back on the Plains where the wind provides power .
It's true we are crowded and define big urban sprawl
Just remember we came from the same place as y'all.
San Joaquin is where much of America's  produce is grown.
It is the best place to get it if you don't grow your own.
The women are pretty, gently tanned by the sun.
Hard for a Kansas boy to resist not kissing one.
The mountains are snowcapped the beaches are gold
The world should visit here before they grow old.
It is true we are known as the spot for 'quakes
Let me assure you all you don't feel most shakes
It's not exactly like what you saw on that show.
That my friends is the real California I know.

An ongoing project. I hope to improve it.

David

Quote from: dnalexander on August 27, 2008, 05:56:54 PM

Quote from: dnalexander on August 27, 2008, 12:34:55 PM
Worked out a few kinks.

Kansas Ain't All Flat

As told to my friends in the land of quakes.
Out on the Coast where the ground always shakes
The river's Arkanzass and the state down south Arkansaw
Tornado's are horrible dangers but will fill you with awe.
Of course there 's Topeka , Wichita and Kansas City
Much of it's rural; the farmer's daughters very pretty
The wind does blow hard and the wheat it grows tall.
While it's not in the South we still say y'all.
When Dorothy went home that's where she's at.
No it's not true it is ALL not that flat.
Yes out on the plain there is a little house on the prairie.
The hay bales are big and difficult to carry.
It's not exactly like what you saw on that show.
That friends is the real Kansas the state that I know.

David

The poem expands and has a sister.

California Doesn't Always Shake

As told to my friends from the land of the Sunflower.
Back on the Plains where the wind provides power .
It's true we are crowded and define big urban sprawl
Just remember we came from the same place as y'all.
San Joaquin is where much of America's  produce is grown.
It is the best place to get it if you don't grow your own.
The women are pretty, gently tanned by the sun.
Hard for a Kansas boy to resist not kissing one.
The mountains are snowcapped the beaches are gold
The world should visit here before they grow old.
It is true we are known as the spot for 'quakes
Let me assure you all you don't feel most shakes
It's not exactly like what you saw on that show.
That my friends is the real California I know.

An ongoing project. I hope to improve it.

David

The final verse.

Alaska is a State

As told to my friends in the Continental states..
Outsiders you are called when Alaska debates.
The biggest state you often forget to remember.
Alaskans tell you today we are a member.
We don't live in an igloo made of cold  packed snow.
We have a house just like you we want you to know.
Our women are pretty though some may say few.
They keep us as warm as your women do you.
Our oil,salmon and halibut the world does all take.
Don't forget the large contribution Alaskans make
Northernmost and Westernmost, we have to state
Since 1959 Seward's Folly became  an important date.
It's not exactly like what you saw on that show.
That's the real Alaska the state that I know.

David, this should go on and on across the map!

I have also lived in Nevada, Michigan, and Missouri (where I was born). I might do one on Missouri the show me state , the home of "Old Drum" man's best friend, and the famous Missouri Mules. I would love to see people add all of the other states.

David

here's a little more dark with a ray of light in it :-\



ONCE UPON A TIME......

Once upon a time there was a girl...........

Her heart was open and trusting and full of love

Her eyes were full of wonder at this world she saw......

Once upon a time there was a girl..................

Who was easily wounded because she cared........

Her eyes were full of confusion and she didn't understand.......

Once upon a time there was a girl.........

Who felt others pain as if it was her own...............

Her eyes were full or sorrow at this world she saw.............

Once upon a time there was a woman...............

Her heart was battered and scarred............

Her eyes were full of pain but she always smiled.............

So nobody looked to see.....................

Once there was a woman.................

Her heart was dull and numb...............

Her eyes were filled with sorrow for the world that never saw...........

She made a choice to feel the pain so she could see the joy.........

Her eyes were filled with love for this world she saw.......
                                                   copyright 2008

WOW.   Love it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Pam that is amazing. I tend to write what I call my Dr. Suess mode with patterned rhymes or musical lyrics style.Not in forms that are very sophisticated. This poem is extremely sophisticated. I will have to read it again tomorrow and think about it. Very Impressive.

David

 :-[ :-[
Thanks you guys. I'm always nervous about puttin stuff I do out in front of people, I'm glad you like it. :)

Shadows...........

they are there just out of sight...

you catch a glimpse of them..sliding..falling...

You turn to look and they are gone......

Shadows......

they are always there......

dark in the light....

Chasing...following.....everywhere you go...

Shadows........

are you.
           c. 2008

Oooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh...talking about the dark side of the human psyche...I love it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Very nice Pam. Good word imagery. Keep sharing.

Ty  :)

WOW !!! I love the way you use your words, Pam, they connect me to your thoughts.

Thanks for sharing your talent.

              Jo

Thank you Jo  :)

One more and then I'm done for awhile I think..........

The Fire Inside......

The fire was bright and hot when she started......

It burned...warmed her heart...lit up her soul....

Sometimes strange things added fuel.....made it flare...

Sometimes familiar things........

The fire scorched her at times.......set her apart.....

sometimes the fire burned low and she feared it was dying..........

sometimes the fire couldn't be found and she feared it was dead..........

She would mourn the fire and gather sticks.......

pile them just so and wait for the spark that would set the fire ablaze again......

Sometimes it was a spark.......sometimes it was LIGHTNING...............

She learned the fire doesn't go out..........unless she let it.
                                                                  c. 2008

O ho! Another nice one.

You have to get our head in a different place when you delve into your writings.. I like them.

Pam, you're really good.  I truly enjoy reading you!  :laugh:

Ty  :)

Dancing With the Green Fairy

Aurora's dance across the green boreal sky.
Dressed in emerald silk that catches my eye.
Her kiss is sweet with a bitter memory.
I long again to dance with the green Fairy.

Catwoman maybe we should combine the two poems to one. I have a much bigger vision for my green Fairy but my post was all I had at the time. Just had to get it out there.

David

the two of you are just amazing. Can't wait to read more!

Here is the rest of the green fairy

Dancing With the Green Fairy

Aurora's dance across the green boreal sky.
Dressed in emerald silk that catches my eye.
Her kiss is sweet with a bitter memory.
I long again to dance with the green Fairy.

My senses drift among the infinite stars
Healing old forgotten wounds from long past scars
An absinthe drink calls the dreams of green Fairy
My day dreams they fade and become less scary

Aurora's warmth envelopes my whole soul.
Again my world gives me total control
The grass it again tickles under my feet
The memories so bitter return to sweet

I return now from an aquamarine star
The distance I  traveled that was not so far
Done remembering the lost past so airy
I long again to dance with the green Fairy.

Beautiful, David...you are very lyrical!  It wouldn't surprise me to find out that you also play an insrument, such as the piano...most poets are also musicians.  :laugh:

That is very good David  :)

Catwoman I play the acoustic guitar. A few years ago I wanted to do some songwriting. After filling a notebook I thought the next logical step would be to write music for them. I have found that while I am getting better at playing the guitar writing the music just escapes me. My dreams of  replacing Jim Morrison and touring with The Doors crushed.

David

 :laugh: :laugh:

City of Angels

Little boy cries lost in the thick brush
Dogs are searching all in a rush
Found by a man who gives him a ticket.
Where's my ticket going to take me to
You are going home it's my gift to you.
Hey mister, by the way where 'ya from?
I am from the City of Angels.

Homeless drunk sleeps on the ground
Long lost hope of salvation found.
Found by a man who gives him a ticket.
Where's my ticket going to take me to
You are going home it's my gift to you.
Hey mister, by the way where 'ya from?
I am from the City of Angels.


Runaway girl working the streets
tired of the johns under the sheets
Found by a man who gives her a ticket.
Where's my ticket going to take me to
You are going home it's my gift to you.
Hey mister, by the way where 'ya from?
I am from the City of Angels.

Long life lived the man has grown old
Spirit leaving;  body grows cold
Found by a man who gives him a ticket.
Where's my ticket going to take me to
You are going home Father's gift to you.
Hey mister, by the way where 'ya from?
I am from the City of Angels.

Oh, David...this is probably the best one you've done so far...I absolutely love it.  You bring to life the life situations that you describe...you have great visuals imbedded in your story.  The meter of it was perfect, too.  You are so talented!!  :D :D

I really like that one David! Thanks for sharing.  ;) ;)

Thanks. I am glad you like the poem. It has a very special meaning to me. Usually the poems I post on here only take 15 to 30 minutes to write. I have been thinking on this poem for a long time. The actual writing took me about 4 hours today not including all the previous thought given to the concept. There are more verses to the poem but I chose not to post them yet. It means a lot to me that I perfect this poem to its' best. Thanks for the encouragement. :angel:

David

This could really be lyrics you know.

 :)

Ode to a Splittin Maul.....

Goodbye ol friend.....you look so sad just layin there......
your head twisted sideways.....your neck splintered.....
I did not know that log was so hard...
or that you were so tired.......
I heard the crack...felt you give..........and stood there in shock.......shed a tear  :'(
but never fear.....you will live again....many more rick of wood we will conquer......
just as soon as I get to town and get you a new handle!

What a wonderful tribute...it reminds of that song, "I'm Already There".  I know that you will miss your brother.  My thoughts are with you.

A Fire's Warmth

God's cold steel strikes a  hard flint.
An ember burns, orange glow hint.
Fire starter's patience builds a fire.
Warmth builds fast flames go higher.
Cold wind blows, extinguishes flame.
Why oh God, starter does exclaim.
Sparks explode up towards the sky.
Mortal fire starter just cries why?
Unknown purpose, to understand.
Only revealed. God, spark in hand.

David Alexander
© 2009

Deep, my friend, very deep. Good one....as usual.

Thank you Diane. I always hope that people enjoy my poems and find their own meaning. For me they give me the chance to explore and deal with the everyday happenings that I can't get a handle on.

David

I tend not to share much of my poetry in public because the response is usually "Wow...is that about YOU?" meaning many people think that poems that touch on delicate subject matter must be autobiographical. I enjoy writing from "another's" perspective, but rarely share the finished work because I don't want to give anyone the impression I actually experienced or agreed with the subject matter. Having said that....

this one happens to be autobiographical.

Mosaic

She's broken the teacups,
The bowls and the plates,
She's shattered tureens,
The saucers, a vase.
The pieces are sorted
By color and shape.
She now stands before them
To try and create
Something new with her life
With china and clay.

There are browns and creams
Of the warm, happy days,
Greens for the summers
When love was ablaze,
Black shards of anger, fear and pain,
And grays for sorrow, heartache and rain.

The decades of  living
Of growing and giving
Of loving and dreaming
Of trusting and grieving...
Her plans for the future,
Her ideas of the past,
Now lie in piles
Of broken glass.

She looks at the browns,
The greens and the grays,
The ivory and tan ...
Then turns her gaze
To the yellows and pinks,
Purples and blues
The beckoning hues
Of what she feels and thinks,
And she wonders if these pieces,
The new and the old, can mesh,
Can be married and whole.

The edges are jagged
Where they used to be smooth.
Fractured dish patterns
Of what seemed to be truth.
She's afraid there's no glue
That can bind all this glass
Into something that reconciles
Her future and past.

She chooses a pot
Of sturdy red clay,
A place to plant flowers
For a new summer day.
She takes a deep breath,
The glue now in place,
She picks up a shard
And begins to create.



Lynne Thompson
1999

Lynne, thanks for sharing, that is a great poem. I have seen your website of your art and that poem really tells me what your inspiration is for doing it. Brilliant poem. For those of you that want the graphical image check out" You should share more often.

http://www.indy-art.net/indyart5_001.htm

David

Indy, I'm speechless...That's wonderful!

I wrote this when Ember died.


Stop the World

I want the world to stop today,
suspend its orbit Oh God I pray,
when  you called our little angel away
our lives have just become a total disarray.

We know that there must be a reason
you only gave her to us for a season.
Now she rests in your loving arms
oh Lord please hold us in your arms.

If you find a moment to spare
please find some love to share
with those that are here, left behind
We need the love that is pure and kind.

Oh God please stop the world for just 1 day


*For those who loved Ember*

Steve, excellent poem. It really tells the of the love she gave to you and that you have for her. Very special. Thank you!

David

Thank you, Diane, and thank you, David.

Steve, that was a lovely poem for Ember. Often the darkest hours bring forth the most powerful and meaningful poems because the words come from the depths of our hearts.

  David, Indy, Steve.....those are ALL awesome poems.  :)

 I love your mosaics too Indy!

 :) :)

I enjoyed them too...

My mom used to write poetry and often tacks little rhymes on the end of her letters or greeting cards. I find it charming.
I don't feel inspired to write poetry much, and that's probably a good thing; I noticed that mine seem to end up like some wacky limerick or have phrases "borrowed" from some old 70's rock song ;)

Quote from: Joanna on June 04, 2009, 04:02:38 PM
I enjoyed them too...

My mom used to write poetry and often tacks little rhymes on the end of her letters or greeting cards. I find it charming.
I don't feel inspired to write poetry much, and that's probably a good thing; I noticed that mine seem to end up like some wacky limerick or have phrases "borrowed" from some old 70's rock song ;)

Joanna you have all it takes to write poetry. You find it charming and appreciate it when your mom writes you a note. I only write poetry when I feel inspired. The more I write the more I find inspirations. Nothing wrong with limericks and borrowed "images" from old 70's rock songs. You seemed primed to write a poem to me. This is the poetry section of the forum and not the politics section so I think you will find it very friendly. Take your best happy memory, thought, day, love and write a poem. I bet you like it and I know we will. I will be waiting with great appreciation.

David

Wonderful Steve.....

Joanna.. you make me laugh sometimes..

((wacky limerick or have phrases "borrowed" from some old 70's rock song)) .....(LOL LOL)

She Wolf's Birthday
The she wolf stands in the full moonlight.
Gray hair tinged purple in the dark blue night.
She surveys the world and all that's good.
Watching the pups, they play with some wood.
Knowing her efforts did them some good.
Back to the pack slowly she must go.
Savoring moments of long ago.
Honor she wolf on her birthday night.
For the pack she does all that is right.

© David Alexander September 04 2009

Happy 50th Birthday Pam and many more.

Dude....that is awesome. Thank you  :)

In remembrance.........

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain.
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am the morning hush.
I am the graceful rush
of beautiful birds in circling flight.
I am the star shine of the night.
I am the flowers that bloom.
I am in a quiet room.
I am the birds that sing.
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
~~Mary Frye~~

I've always loved that one.Thanks Pam.

Look at us, look at us, we are of Earth and Water
Look at them, it is the same
Look at us, we are suffering all these years
Look at them, they are connected.
Look at us, we are in pain
Look at them, surprised at our anger
Look at us, we are struggling to survive
Look at them, expecting sorrow be benign
Look at us, we were the ones called pagan
Look at them, on their arrival
Look at us, we are called subversive
Look at them, descending from name callers
Look at us, we wept sadly in the long dark
Look at them, hiding in tech no logic light
Look at us, we buried the generations
Look at them, inventing the body count
Look at us, we are older than America
Look at them, chasing a fountain of youth
Look at us, we are embracing Earth
Look at them, clutching today
Look at us, we are living in the generations
Look at them, existing in jobs and debts
Look at us, we have escaped many times
Look at them, they cannot remember
Look at us, we are healing
Look at them, their medicine is patented
Look at us, we are trying
Look at them, what are they doing
Look at us, we are children of Earth
Look at them, who are they?
~~John Trudell~~

Wow! Deep stuff.

Emily Dickinson - 1830-1886






I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, eyes –
I wonder if It weighs like Mine –
Or has an Easier size.

I wonder if They bore it long –
Or did it just begin –
I could not tell the Date of Mine –
It feels so old a pain –

I wonder if it hurts to live –
And if They have to try –
And whether – could They choose between –
It would not be – to die –

I note that Some – gone patient long –
At length, renew their smile – 
An imitation of a Light
That has so little Oil –

I wonder if when Years have piled – 
Some Thousands – on the Harm – 
That hurt them early – such a lapse
Could give them any Balm – 

Or would they go on aching still
Through Centuries of Nerve –
Enlightened to a larger Pain – 
In Contrast with the Love – 

The Grieved – are many – I am told – 
There is the various Cause – 
Death – is but one – and comes but once – 
And only nails the eyes – 

There's Grief of Want – and grief of Cold – 
A sort they call "Despair" – 
There's Banishment from native Eyes –
In sight of Native Air – 

And though I may not guess the kind – 
Correctly – yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary – 

To note the fashions – of the Cross – 
And how they're mostly worn – 
Still fascinated to presume
That Some – are like my own –