Writers

Hide and Seek

Hiding inside, the little girl peeks through
Is it safe to come out into the world again?
Or should I remain safely tucked away?
Small traces of her essence seep out
someone has touched her inner sanctum
coaxing her out with hints
that not everything out there is wrong
Someone has made her feel
that there could be something wonderful
Can she trust again?
Can she give all of herself again?
She feels someone
who will not take advantage of her good nature
She feels someone she can really trust
She feels someone
she would like to share herself with forever
She sees the little boy
peeking at her from behind his wall
She feels he may be thinking the same thing
Taking a step from behind her wall
she wonders if he will do the same…

Us
Male and female, clutching together to form one solid entity.
Carved from the wood of a tree,
the giver of oxygen which provides the breath of life.
Formed in a circle, a symbol of eternity.
Together as one, partners in the circle of life.
Tightly fused, we can create a bond no one can break.
Looking inward at one another, we continue
to grow together as we help each other learn
all that is within us. Naked we expose our
Weaknesses to each other so we may become
stronger with our knowledge of each other.
As a ball we become mobile, rolling through life,
discovering all the wonders there are to see.
Holding fast to the shape as we hit the bumps that threaten to break us in two.
Made of wood, floating on the ocean of life, we set sail…

Night to Remember
by Jacob Silver Coman

It was a night to remember
In the crisp, cool air
The stars were dancing like foxfire
And my nose was in your angelic hair.

We were held together by some magical spell
Then, your eyes flashed like the brilliant diamonds above
I looked away, scared, afraid, up to the celestial bowl
I glanced back, only to find... a gateway to your soul.

Your gaze cleared my mind of all impending fear
It felt amazing, wonderful, extraordinary, to hold you near
In a trance, I pulled you close- oh, so tight!
Then a hand clasped mine and the electricity seemed just right.

As your lips touched mine
The flavor, like honey, tasted so divine.
The feel like a chilling breeze in December
Yes, I believe this was definitely... a night to remember.

Love that one Hooked

I used yesterday's storm as inspiration for this one. I think it is slowly coming back to me

Music of the Storm

Booming thunder plays it song
Echoing off the mountains
Filling the valleys with its bass tones
The wind chimes in
Whistling through the trees
Playing its flute-like tune to the sky
The rain falls
Using whatever it can reach
as a percussion instrument
Clinking on glass
Thumping on plastic
Tapping on aluminum
Plinking in puddles
Streams rise
With a bubbling gurgling sound
What a beautiful orchestra nature creates
When its thunderstorm passes through town

Once by the Pacific
by Robert Lee Frost

The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in,
And thought of doing something to the shore
That water never did to land before.
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,
Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if
The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,
The cliff in being backed by continent;
It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There would be more than ocean-water broken
Before God's last *Put out the Light* was spoken.

I like the one the guy wrote what happen to it MYSTERYY. I just like reading poems.

My Feet
by Gelett Burgess

My Feet they haul me Round the House,
They Hoist me up the Stairs;
I only have to Steer them, and
They Ride me Everywheres!

Hooked, I felt kinda funny once I thought about it, posting poems someone wrote to me. I wasn't sure if they would be taken as I meant them to be; something well done and worth sharing. I also thought the story may have sounded a bit vain, though it wasn't intended to be. It was just something I thought was very cool. I can re-post them if you would like. In my years on the Internet I have come across many very talented writers and poets who have graced me with their works. Some are a bit too steamy or personal for a public forum. I have some really great stories friends of mine have sent to me to enjoy or critic. Most is in printed format so I have been trying to digitize it for safe keeping. I will work on sharing more of both my work and that of friends and past relationships as I transfer it all to my computer.

"Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn."
Thomas Gray

Bump

The Dream
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Love, if I weep it will not matter,
And if you laugh I shall not care;
Foolish am I to think about it,
But it is good to feel you there.

Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,
White and awful the moonlight reached
Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere
There was a shutter loose- it screeched!

Swung in the wind- and no wind blowing-
I was afraid and turned to you,
Put out my hand to you for comfort-
And you were gone! Cold as the dew,

Under my hand the moonlight lay!
Love, if you laugh I shall not care,
But if I weep it will not matter-
Ah, it is good to feel you there.

The bridle-path, the river bank,
and where they crossed I took a length
of hazel bark, and carved a boat
no bigger than a fish, a trout,
and set it down and saw it float,
then sink. And where it sank
an inch of silver flesh declared itself
against the sun. Then it was gone.
And further south, beyond the bridge,
I took a nest of cotton grass
and flint to make a fire. Then watched
a thread of smoke unhook a pair
of seed propellers from a sycamore
which turned together and became
a dragonfly that drew the smoke
downstream. But the fire would not light.
Then at night, the house at the mouth
of the river. Inside, a fish,
a trout, the ounces of its soft
smoked meat prepared and on a plate.
I sat down there and ate.
It is the way of things, the taking shape
of things, beginning with their names;
secrets told in acts of sunlight,
promises kept by gifts of rain.

A thread on "All Communities" brought this back to mind. It's been 18 months with no action. So here goes, if even for one post......

“Southern Comfort”

No sushi.
Or, cheese tapa hidden in mango salsa.
No lamb in little white corsets.

Just catfish.
Fried in seasoned iron.
Corn battered and crunchy as the old south.
With come-back sauce to spark your dunkin'.
A man’s helping, heaped with sides of comfort.
Melba’s red ‘tater salad.
Made-up with tart mustard and back-yard dill.
Sunday greens cooked with thick slab bacon
and tongue snapping hot peppers.
The kind to make a momma proud.
And, a king’s spread of sweet-potatoe pie with gold churned crème.

The plucky waitress in sun gingham,
french-twist piled high,
sashays past antique settings
and old friends on mismatched chairs.

About writing:

Poet's Quest

At night by the light of a single lamp, I try to write my best.
Words are my mission, to find the right ones, my test.
Create pictures, stimulate senses, a reader’s journey my quest.
I sit solitary. Words do not come easy, I explore which are the best.

For clarity, substance, the reader will understand my intent.
Mundane life is the reader’s experience, with my words to make a dent
in time, allow the reader to journey to a place of peace to invent.
Words fraught with thought, from my mind, reader’s joy my intent.

Zeus send forth your daughters to help me with inspiration,
I rack my brain to put the right word to paper for creation
of the proper time, place and setting in my mind’s desperation.
I search for the right pacing, and word for my reader’s inspiration.

Calliope, muse of the epic poem, help me create
Clio, muse of the heroic poem, help me create
Erato, muse of the lyric poem, help me create
Euterpe, muse of the love poem, help me create

Mysterry, I like it, I love Poetry and I think it is good.