Hi, cav. Just kidding. I like the poem. Colorbook as usual, and drom also, doing good work.
Heh heh, edgar. Actually, it's not about colliding at all. It's all about the octopus.
Hot is the word these days
As we go about our ways
And air condition feels great
But the light bill I will hate
larryta2
You must be from Houston too.
Another war to hate
Another cause to blame
I no longer care
What brought us there
Pride only costs our shame
one day i asked my muse,
what have i got to lose,
if i abandon care,
give it up, like my hair!
would i still be able to choose,
the most fabulous pair of new shoes.
my muse was non amused.
(they do that you know when alone)
evil thoughts, me of, it accused;
it said i must go,
quite alone in deep snow,
quite barefoot, until to it,
my feet are quite used.
so sadly i wandered alone,
and not unlike wind i would moan.
dejected and sad,
a most miserable lad
when suddenly the ring of my phone,
brought me back to the start of my poem.
one day i asked my muse,
what have i got to lose,
if i abandon care,
give it up, like my hair!
would i still be able to choose,
the most fabulous pair of new shoes.
She walked with Byron through a night
of hidden crimes and clammy thighs,
When all asunder came a fright,
something not for gentle eyes.
"Oy, me knickers, what you playin' at?"
"Knickers, knockers, and all that..."
What lovely banter pierced the skies,
Byron took some mental notes,
"Le petit mort, and then one dies,
Excuse me mistress, where's my coat?"
Great poetry everyone.
So naïve
no gun in hand
Went to help prepare the land
As pictures started telling stories
Of torture in all categories
Revenge was sought to show the way
As innocents are ones who pay
Horrors sought for none acquit
End each life bit by bit
I agree, colorbook. Lovely to see you again, Edgar; I've missed your poems severely. How is the writing group going?
A poem from another's perspective.
'I guess that I will drift at wind's swift speed,
Carrying sand that gathers at my feet.
I guess that I will drift, as does a stone
Brought by the bigger surf, and quickly gone.
I guess that I will drift quite like a sun
Weakened by moonlight, brought into the sea's
Cascading night. I guess that I will drift;
I barely wish that someone would stop me.'
Hi, drom, colorbook, cav, gel -
The writing site is good for me. Two of my short stories were well received and also received some good editor's pointers. My first submitted poem, Once Upon a Perfect Time, was well received also. I submitted the one about "I love to dance with the arthropods", just to test the water. It was ignored. No time to write more. I'm at work.
That's really surprising, Edgar. I was talking to Britain's Millenium Poet, Simon Armitage, a few weeks ago, and one of the subjects that we were discussing was 'poets in hiding.' I remembered the arthropods' one off by heart, as well as one that you posted in one of Letty's threads; he was really impressed by the way that you can adapt so many styles, but make each one your own; that's so rare, it seems.
I will hit them with a few diverse offerings and if they don't care for my kind of verses, I shall only give them the fiction after that.
I remember a while back, that you used an excerpt from "Arthropods" in your signature. I enjoyed the humor in your poem and I imagine if they knew you better, they would have enjoyed it too.
Psssst - The guy running the site puts his own poems on there and so far I don't like any. Poetry is such a subjective thing, compared to other forms of writing.
Oceans of tears
Spill at the shore
Crying a song
Not heard before
Shifting of sands
In altered degree
Delivering waves
Sent back to sea
Motionless power
Helpless to defend
A movement so endless
Among colorless blends
Sing with the waves
As they clap at your feet
Feel what they say
As they beg for retreat
Keep your voice loud
As you sing its sad tune
Follow the message
That life is in ruin
A circle of prisms
Surrounding the glow
Sparkling as water
A long time ago
Dancing of faeries
In bright colored array
As crisp fog awakens
The moon on the bay
Enchantment in daydreams
A musical fare
Consider the magic
A dazzling glare
As you open your eyes
And gape at the sight
The wondrous great moment
You found on this night
It was Mrs. cav's birthday today, and there was a fine lunch with a whole bunch of friends. Things have been a little tough lately, financially and what not, but she is strong, and puts up with a lot more crap from me than I do from her. Anyway, I penned this for the occasion. If you think it's horrid, feel free to tell me, I have thick skin:
My wife, of the cropped hair, barely there,
But radiant in red-dyed, fluffy locks,
To frame your flaming eyes in perfect symmetry.
My wife, keeper of the eternal burning fire
That keeps desire strong and stretches patience
To its limits. I bleed, you plead that you are not
Strong enough indeed, but then there is the ace
Beneath your sleeve, that makes me believe,
Not just in us, but I. The spirit wakes,
The heavens quake with a great
Thunder. Shaken, I ponder love,
And understand it does not come
From above, but from within,
And being sincere from ear to ear,
I grin, and think of you, strange dove.
Happy birthday Ms. Fancy;
your piece says it most eloquenty; i second it.
