A POET -
is a person expressed his/her imaginary thoughts in possessing special powers.
its just a thing my heart stole from my soul...
words tied together with string and bones,
feathers and stones,
pulled from the heart
until you're pulled apart
and reassembled like a jigsaw,
so pure, so real, so raw,
love and hate, joy and fear
words that dredge up a forgotten tear
words that make you think and feel
and turn emotion into something real
tangible clouds of creativity
(when asked about relativity
Einstein admitted he'd made it up
pulled some words from an empty cup
and strung them together, trying to explain
the rambling that bounced around inside his brain)
you ask what is poetry, this my reply
and i wrote all this without being high!
You can’t truly call yourself peaceful unless you are capable of violence. If you’re not capable of violence, you’re not peaceful. You’re harmless.
Wouldn't you rather have a nice cup of tea?
Tongues tripping through onomatopoeic ballrooms
To the crystal bowl resonance of prosaic instances
Sprung to life in language, illuminating the quotidian,
Showered in mirror ball refractions of metaphoric
Images which coalesce suggestively along the perimeters
Of mind into wallflower meanings, yours for the asking.
Don't believe everything that you read.
Caledonia Cascade,
stood where The Barley House stood,
built of earthen stones and molded red clay
in tiny woods of streams near Tallulah Gorge
and mountain memories I recall,
the stirring of my Brandi.
And like Vermouth and sins
of honeysuckle wine and kisses,
beneath the waters tall
as sun sets' in Georgia
on fields of scented pine combs,
stood where The Barley House stood.
The Reunion - by Bhuckepoo
I was restless all night in anticipation.
Thinking of our long awaited reunion.
Was it possible to try and recapture
the very first love of my faded youth?
My memories were flooded with our
glorious but tumultuous relationship.
How I would sit in class daydreaming
of your inviting enticing, captivating form.
Now we finally meet at the break of dawn,
Just like we have so many times before.
I stand before your magnificence.
In awe of your pleasures awaiting.
The breaking sun silhouettes the form
of your seductive breathless beauty.
Your very scent triggers my memories.
And beckons me to renew past exploits.
Nothing but you can stir this passion
within me in such an addictive way.
Will you receive me as companion
or send me tumbling in rejection?
I can wait no longer in my impatience,
as I slip into the wetness of your folds.
I remember your salty taste upon my lips,
Diving head first into your undulating motion.
You push and surge as I stroke with all
the power, soul and skills of my being.
Cresting, gliding, and moving in unison,
your promised pleasures are unmatched.
But if you're not treated with careful respect,
I know that you can be cold and unforgiving.
Our reunion is almost finished and joy complete as
I slip and slide faster and faster into pure ecstasy.
This glorious long antisapated encounter is now complete.
Breathlessly I gather myself for another beckoning round.
Only God may truly understand my love and devotion for...
Surfing.
Winters Day - by Chuckepoo
That winter's day was pure and white,
A nip of cold in morning’s light.
The chimney’s smoke was twisting high,
Reaching up to the grey blue sky.
It took me back to our faded youth,
A less complex time of trust and truth.
The days were long and filled with joy,
Our love was fresh, not brash and coy.
The still air was broken by icy chill,
Snowflakes falling on the window sill.
The journey was long, my trek complete,
It was now time to rest my weary feet.
I saw your cabin just up ahead.
A place of warmth to lay my head.
Now I was finally standing at your door.
My heart was full, but my love was more.
You welcomed me with glowing smile,
And invited me to stay awhile.
I lay with you, sprawled by the fire,
Your sensual touch ignited my desire.
Our bodies burning from lust and flame,
This union removed all the past and pain.
You moaned your pleasures in my ears.
Our song was sung through joyful tears.
We laughed and played like no time had past.
But our history showed we could never last.
My time was up and we knew I could not stay,
But I would always cherish this cold winter's day.
Now lays a coronet of a puppet
Like a marionette with strings broken
And tokens on its eyes,
With a cracked wooden heart
In the sally port of a shoe box
On a shelf turning to dust
And lockjaw with splinters forgotten,
A patched-woke minstrel wearing a fool's cap
Of moppet who's varnish is adrift,
In cold dank dark losing it's glint
With testicles coughing
Awaiting its butter to soften
And sticky goo of worms returning to boo,
Now pining it's puppeteer.
It wasn't but an antebellum love song,
As she whispered "Old Dixie" to me
Then expired beneath the gazebo
Leaving this old fool in misery
Hammering away as the cottonwoods blow
Deep down in "mici zibi" beneath the catalpa trees
With Spanish moss dripping high humidity
And the cicadas whistling on the bark,
It wasn't but an antebellum love song
Near a town on the Alabama border line,
That the shadow of Caledonia set beside me
Ass I sipped sunshine tea with a sprig of mint
And then put her ass ashes in a Mason jar,
Deep down in "mici zibi" beneath the catalpa trees
While awaiting the coach to Birmingham,
The gentle southern breeze sung "Old Dixie" to me
And now taking my wife home.
A shimmer darkness falls over my pall,
with a scintilla of ink my last breath call,
'fore the spade diggers lay me final sleep
and my shrill thralls forever coffin deep.
Gone are the lips that caressed my fess,
kissing shadows of my pantomime host,
as your soft breath eased my pain,
lost in words with erotic stain.
A simmering thigh cast an eye,
drawing last hand of a Yarborough,
discarding my sinful boast,
last words of a poetic ghost.
On the shoals of forgotten tides,
a shimmer darkness falls over my pall
like a stone cold of old bones,
saving prose for my final rest.
This THREAD has turned out to be RATHER SPECIAL!!!
(You guys are SO CUTE!!!)
SUCH talent here!!!
xx SF
It has to have rhythm, it has to have rhyme
It must be in sync like a clock ticking time
It mostly is short, but at times it is long
At times it's called powerful, sometimes... not so strong
It is loneliness, fear, it is utter despair
There are days, that it shows, I just no longer care
It is hate and compassion and the things I dream of
It is friendship and faith and the greatness of love
It goes on, like the seasons, the sun and the tide
When it has to come out there is no place to hide
It is force, a compulsion and perhaps it is me
And I can not contain it, it is my poetry
A little kindness can be so valuable, yet costs almost nothing
In many countries being gay is a crime, and even in modern societies, politicians try to legalise discrimination. Your voice can make a difference. Have a look at All Out to find out how.
Hey... pssst.... that's an l (as in luscious) at the end of my name, not an i Emotion recollected in tranquility.
It's those big, squishy brown, floppy things you try to keep from stepping in while walking through a cow pasture.
Poetry is many different things to different people. To me I see poetry as as expression of feelings and ideas. Some happy and some sad.