The Shadow of the gnomon...................

This is a wonderful topic, Letty. I enjoyed reading everyone's work in it.

Its flailing arms flew in on white-washed streets:
Pale suns arose, and called upon the dead
Peel skin of lifetime's worn out memories:
Some raw and young, some wintered down with age--
Our time joins wide with this unflinching freeze,
Whose flailing arms flew in on white-washed streets...

Wow!

Fantastic, drom.

Musicians and poets and artists
And stuff
Can play and paint portraits
In smooth and in rough.
A carbonized view of
Somatic--semantic
A vignette of harsh
With panache of romantic

Thanks, Letty! It might have been a little better if it were not spontaneous, but I'm glad that you liked it .

I liked that: you have the talent of knowing exactly what to say instead of wasting words.

What would the world be without poets?
I shudder in dread in this thought.
Around us would remain unblemished
From portraits of waggling words;
The sun and the moon would wait idly
For someone to think about them...
Emotion would rail off in fury
Then weep, like something lost from home.
We can never be without poets
To pierce and to slacken our souls.

Morning all.

Ah, drom. What a delightful way to remind us that "...all is right with the world.." when there's a bit of the sensitive in us.

Gotta get some coffee before I make another attempt.

"Here come the city cops,
here come the pigs,
here come the honkey boys dressed in blue.
They're goin' to whack you, boo, boo, boo.
Here come the city cops,
here come the pigs.
Porky's gonna chop you, boo, boo, boo.
The whole damn force
Gonna have a piece of you
Waste not, want not
Gonna have you for supper
Boo, Boo, Boo

well, CS. See the animals are still drinkin' up sound on London's streets..

Very, clever, Brit...And boo to you, too.

A MAGNET

To the west
Beneath the sun
Stands a village
With
Historic Pride
It can see for miles --- (Roman Tower looks out to sea)
A heart --- (Norman Castle defends the King)
A soul --- (Norman Church defends the Faith)

That was then
and
This is now
The sun has moved thru
many orbits
The moon thru many phases
dragging us
screaming ever onward

Travel forward
Thru the years
Getting closer to my time
When I can cast my shadow
Press my hand
Place my foot
Leave my mark
That some shall see

Historic pride
May call for me
Family memories
Of horse rides
In the castles shadow
Cobbled footpaths
Cottages that
Pre-date founding fathers

Roofs of thatch
Oak beamed ceilings
Walls ingrained
With life itself
Old yarn market
Weatherworn by 400 years
Packhorse bridge
Both built to last for ever

What draws me here
This magnet of years ago
Family roots
A haven from
The bombs of war
With grand parents
Who did not know
Life in a war torn city

And so
From time to time
I travel back in time
To take a look
Remind myself
Of what was once
And what is now
The City is my home

WOW!

I see that this sparrer does more than just chirp.

Beautiful with a fantastic paradoxical ending.

on easter island i see
stone heads
like dominoes before me
the unseen finger
push them into shrouds
of utter mystery

Great, edgar. I've always been taken with archaeological incompletes.

The man with the butterfly net,
Discovered the city in a tangled jungle
Devoid of civilization.
Its gods and idols stood
An empty watch over what was.

Awesome, colorbook. I am captivated by that last line.

oops... Letty I accidently deleted it. Here it is again.



Brittle space upon the horizon
echoes reverberate to endless songs
morning has awakened
bringing beauty among saddened darkness
open your weary eyes
the splendor is known to those who seek

Clouds fleeting soft as a whisper
dew covered grass glistened with sun
flowers lean reaching just to touch
reflections upon endless waves
an adventure has begun
bridges find no barriers
the journey only ends if you silently look away

Don't want to lose that poem, colorbook. Thanks for reversifying. Heh, heh.

An eye upon the sperrer,
Crossing becomes narrer
As we look for birds in flight,
Silver wings of plight
Rustle in enigma,
Brand our soul with stigma
That only water can wash clean
Without a seam.
Within a stream.

A brilliant pair of poems: I'm impressed.

I'll be back soon with a poem..

Desire to touch
Arms that stretch
Hands that reach
But the gap's to wide

Much to say
Words that speak
That can't be heard
Cos the gap's so wide

The mind is held
Inside flesh & blood
The spirit reaches out
Crosses the gap

Communication
Cornerstone
Cleverly
Complete

c.s. The gap is never too wide.and remember this. The four C's could be the four winds and the seven seas.

Today I saw the ocean bare,
Seaweed floating in her hair.
I thought of waves that swept the shore,
No ravens saying, "nevermore"

Just caught in nets of gossamer,
Songs still played on dulcimer.

Lyres as in the Roman days,
Flutes of Pan that caught the phrase,
Lion thou art to main returneth
Dreams that sparkling needs discerneth.

And in the end of sweet dismay
We calmly did our work today.

The days all inner twinned
emotions never die
they wrap around the heart
fashioned deep inside

Among the rivers deep
floating time as if a stream
as passions clearly cry
to mount up in a dream

Upon a sacred hearth
repents a worn and waking soul
turbulent tears will fall
in oceans swept to flow

The given time transpires
cloaked splendidly at dusk
as moments gather all the love
and savor all the trust

colorbook, I hope you have done something with your poetry. You manage to take "the word" and turn it into sharp images.

It is my hope that all A2Kers will occasionally visit the original writing category and either comment or write. Edgar's thread has run so beautifully, and that's as it should be, but once a thread gets very long, it is difficult to keep up.

Edgar's Spontaneous Poems thread is quite long, but it is a great place to practice and develop inspiration.

Letty, I write poetry for the fun of it, I've never thought of taking it seriously.

Another two wonderful poems. Colorbook: do you think that you'll ever try to be published?

All this talk of the ocean reminds me of the wind.

The wind speaks

I never risk showing myself:
I sprint past houses sheepishly, discreet:
A flawless failure, whom you never meet,
Who falls from favour, fleets from town to town
Seeming to tumble, breaking days away
So awkwardly! Such is my nature: once,

The voice collected us in halls of rain,
Us spirits. To the sun and moon
It gave dominion over night and noon
And gave them both wild cloaks to twine the world
Around their worn, wide fingers. My lot was
More principal: to veil;

To work the soil between the sun and death;
To run on pointlessly amongst the rest
And much more tasks to show that I am blest.
So I wither the sky and shake roses'
Blood boughs, as my wide power grows,
Taming the road, through old slacks of nowhere.