Gelisgesti Poets Cranny

jjorge, I have not seen you these many times.

Are you a poet? Or maybe just a sometime one, as I am...

I wrote the one above when I was really angry at my flat-mate.

In fact, the only poems I write are when I am overwhelmed with emotion.

I wrote a poem for the trapped miners last year. I know it helped get them out.

this is what I wrote for the miners....

A small yellow
half-handful of joy
and breathy abandon
brings the message of air.
Can the blackest jet night
allow a jonquil hope
and nose press'd gasping
reach up to catch the
feathers and ride them out
to the light,
an impossible weight
burdening the downy wing
the little yellow breast of canary heart,
known to deepmine muscle heart,
lover of life and work
lover of rock silence.

Bravo B. It flows to the mind as it flowed from.

jjorge, good to read you again, write some for us please.

Kara

I remember your poem about the miners and discussing it with you on Doug's abuzz poetry thread. It's lovely.
Your son, as I recall, also wrote two brief but moving poems on the same topic.

I am first and foremost a poetry READER which I consider to be a critically important 'Office.'

Poetry readers are much needed and, it seems, in short supply.
I recall one well known poet's only half joking remark that 'for every reader of poetry there are a hundred people writing it'.

That said, I too, for better or for worse, have the urge to write poems.
As I've said elsewhere however, I have trouble thinking of myself as a 'Poet.'
Perhaps it's because I am in such awe of the poets I love that it seems presumptuous for me to use that term for myself.

I guess I am a little more comfortable thinking of myself as an aspiring or novice poet.

In fact until last year I had not really completed any poems. I had some notes on possible poems, a few lines etc. Then on Doug's thread I commented that my poetic urge was 'bound up' and I 'probably needed some sort of 'meta-muse-al'.

Doug responded with a little poetry challenge and voila' I had a poem!
Since that time I have written fifteen or twenty small poems. Most of them light hearted a few of them more serious. Several of them I have posted either here or on abuzz or both.

So, I definitely have the urge to write poetry.
Would that a great urge ensured a great product...Alas it does not.



PS

Your poem above ('Why did I open my heart...') is a beauty.


Doug

As I related above I owe you a thanks. You helped me push off my little grounded boat.

However some of those upon whom I inflict my poems may be hoping that my little boat goes over a falls as soon as possible!

<<and I 'probably needed some sort of 'meta-muse-al'. >>

I don't remember you saying that on Doug's thread, jjorge. I love it. Real poetic imagination.

Thanks for your kind words about my novice poems.

Doug did the same thing for me; he made me brave enough to post a poem. I would never have done it without his encouragement.

Hi kids, glad to see you are playing nice ;o)
jjorge, bet you could write a great poem about your anticipated trip over the falls .... lota metaphors in them falls ...

The falls eh? ....h-m-m-m

Meanwhile here's a little one I did on the 'Spontaneous Poetry' thread:


'Little Note'

My modesty's well earned
in a lifetime, free of acclaim,
When I croak, no admiring bog,
Nobody knows my name.

Even though it's late
My pains don't abate
While roses are red
I'm going to bed.

Each night I go asailing
on my silver ship of sleep
gossamer wind in silken sail
carries silently into the night
while standing on the bow
I lift my arms, enter my mind .... And leap .....
into the blinding darkness
below, my silver ship of sleep
becomes a wish
then dissapears completely
away I flew
transforming more
into something
so discretely
then I awoke
as a fading voice spoke
there is more
come back
and I'll tell you

Beautiful, Doug, and good morning. And for once (or twice), I understood what you were saying completely. So tell me more.

If only I knew more ... such is the power of Hypnos

jjorge, well done. I like that. Is the Poetry thread a good one...lots of posters?

Doug, you took me along into hypnos with you. And I don't know where it leads, either, but I enjoyed the trip.

sumac, Now for some serious stuff, okay? I know you have it in you.

Serious stuff, Kara? My God woman, that was very serious stuff in my 4 liner. But perhaps the fruit of my loins, my grandson Kevin, can do better. Just received by me today:


A Fall Wish

I take walks in nature, it's wonderful.
Trees are blushing red, to be bare soon.
The air is icy, cold in my lungs.
The mountains are speckled in color.

Golden crowns on trees are fit for a king.
A cascade of blond leaves fall to the ground.
Not one cloud in the sky.
The limbs of trees reach for the sun.

The icy breeze goes down my spine.
The leaves are boats on a pond, some floating, some sunken.
Leaves are playing in the water.
I feel calm and peaceful inside.

Leaves are a golden carpet covering the ground.
They must feel dizzy and sick from their long journey from their place, once on a tree.

I wish today would never end.

Sumac

Tell Kevin that's a great poem.

sumac, that was very impressive - especially for a 10-year-old. I hope you and others encourage him to continue with his creative ability.

Thanks for the encouraging comments. I will certainly pass them along and have encouraged his parents to come here with him to see his poem on the internet.

But I did something incredibly stupid, for which I was justifiably called on the carpet for by Kevin's parents. I included his name, age, and full address. Being an adult site, and full of pride, it never occurred to me that there were dangers out there that I need to keep in mind.

So I have edited out that information. Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea culpa.

The pressure's on
my brain doth burn
another line
an image
a water color tapestry
of things to learn
of secrets shared
of mystical ports
where no one dared
visit with open eye
and thoughts abare
come with me now
set loose the firmament
think of a place
your heart never went
a solem place
filled with merriment
where tears of laughter
are never shed
merely imagined
as is whatever you are after
and so it goes
in your world of truth and beauty
where stubble often grows
burmashave


Doug

MUWAHAHAHA
GOTCHA!!!

Yes, you did. LOL. Burmashave indeed. And I understood that one too. The fault with my understanding poetry, yours or anyone else's, is mine, not that of the poet. Verbal intelligence? The way my brain is wired? Who knows. Has always been so. I have to strain and concentrate or I don't "get it".

OK OK so I borrowed it .... Kara did it a few poems back

We do not see properly
Because if we did, we wouldn't
As it is far too frightening
To contemplate with the eye
Worse, still, with the eye and brain
So our perceptions are always off,
It is the only way we can protect
The fragile and terrified selves
That we have become within.

On those times and place when we can
Place ourselves open and honest to the sun
There are but fleeting glimpses of ourselves
Reflected in others or in something out there
But never do we completely bare ourselves
To the white light of reality that is too bright.
For to do so would be to make us too vulnerable
To all that can cut and slash at our souls.