Spontaneous Poems

Undulating waves of song
Sweep to shore in voyage of care
Traveling back from where they came
Infinity their torch to bare

In quiet night and ever motion
Descending ever further on
Timeless winding caps encircle
A redundant journey has begun

My hair goes grey, in a way
only the harsh light of morning knows.
Night's shadows with their fearsome breaths
cover me, and take me to a place where
colour blurs, and radiant stars come out
to shine. Is this destiny mine? I ask the grey,
and they say "hey, whatever works, we don't get paid
to be your crutch, or hutch for self-deprecation."
I think of two lives made possible by
the coming of the night, and the coming of the dye.

A wilted flower cannot sing
If it never rains in spring
The earth so thirsty does it get
to quench its thirst when it is wet

For Eva

[She cannot look upon the faces of the fallen without crying.]



So?
Do cry a little.
Weep.
Tears tell your soul
there is still
someone
out there.

It has no other way
of knowing
about the way
you live/love
save
when the heart sings
or breaks.

Weep a little.
Water and salt
Carbon and air,
the elements
flow through
two billion souls tonight
and there within
yours speaks
Ah
it says
yes,
tears.

I love still,
I still live.

Joe

Thank you, Joe.

Hallowed out inside the mind
Something lost is so unkind
Eat the food that makes good sense
You won't wake up to be more dense
Ply the muscles stretched each day
Work them out so you can play
Control your body's usage and
You'll be thin and not expand

Hi, colorbook. Where ya been keeping yourself?

Hi Edgar, how have you been? I've been busy with gardening and outside chores. Also, my family has a website and I've been restoring and colorizing a lot of black and white pictures of my ancestors.

We have a big site on Ancestry.com also. It's lots of fun and it brings us close to people we no longer see - and people we have never met, but are in some way related to.

fat flakes
grown grass
long lakes
long last

Same here. We have two sites, but one of them is smaller and more closely knit, starting with my Grandfather and Grandmother on my mother's side.
They had ten children and lots and lots of grandchildren.

When I got my first computer I typed in my father's full name and hit search. I was immediately guided to a family tree on Ancestry.com. I learned that my father died in 1948. It was the first news of him I had been able to find since I last saw him in 1945, at the age of three. I have been with Ancestry ever since.

You can find out all kinds of things about your relatives that you never knew.

I'm not sure which I like better, drom, the French or the English. I did have a bit of a Franglais moment with the words 'balles' and 'balls', although I'm not quite sure what sort of cross-cultural symbolism lies buried in that. Really beautiful.

Thoughts on a John Prine verse:

"If dreams were lightning, thunder were desire,
this old house would have burnt down a long time ago." -John Prine

A quiet storm unleashes it's wet power
upon a mean-spirited dry earth,
turning dirt to unctous, veangeful mud.
A quiet man hikes through the muck
and stuck, calls upon his dream of peace,
and his desire for release.
The skies open, and sharp bolts tear down the trees,
Thunderous blasts temper the cruel earth with ease,
and so the quiet man walks on home,
comforted now by the raging tempest
that began as a simple, quiet storm.

We walk on by
and cast an eye
not feeling quite together

We can't go out
without a shout
perhaps it's just the weather

We think of love
with push and shove
and ask if it's a tether

I love both of yours, Cav, especially your thoughts on a John Prine verse; it always surprised me, given his talent for songwriting, that he never became as popular as he should.

Thanks for giving your opinion about my poem; I'm glad that you liked it-- I wasn't sure how I felt after translating it into English; I preferred the rhyme and cadence in French. And I translated balles as balls until I remembered what I had meant, too; which is rather quite weird...

So delicately is the flower
After rain of springtime shower
As petals reach in evenly flow
It's finally time for it to grow
In warmth of sun in full amount
Inflicting havoc on the pollen count

Our dreams collide
where tulips run free
and make strange bedfellows
of the grassy hills

Our dreams collide
where the wind caresses the golden fields
and calls the wheat sheaf brother

Our dreams collide
at the edge of a bone-dry riverbed
where a pained otter wonders why
he can no longer swim

Our dreams collide
by the foot of a mighty oak
content to keep on reaching
for the heavens

Our dreams collide
in the black sepia pool
of a frightened octopus

Our dreams collide

collide

cascading where the sunlight
kisses the corners
of your all too perfect eyes