New Wave of Sad Romanticism

Nice writing. It must be good because it makes me worry about ya.

"But sore losers make for persistent beggars
that cling to possibilities and close-calls."

I particularily like these lines.

The entire piece was captivating, dickster. Welcome to A2K and we all hope to see more of your vignettes

Actually, Cava and Letty...
I'm not really all that new. I visit this site pretty often and I've posted quite a few things before. As a matter of fact, I"ve never really been recognized so I stopped posting. Truthfully, though, I think you both have extraordinarily nice writing but I don't often make replies. EdgarBlythe also catches my attention a lot. For the most part, I don't write depressing stuff, these two are my most depressing... I prefer to write things that are more happily romantic. Here is an example:

Fate of the One Desire
The strands alternate in lightness and darkness, contributing to the elegance and smoothness of her subtle spontaneity.
The wind brushes her hair as the blond threads cath the glint of celestial warmth, adding to her radiant being.
The dark threads capture the essence of a shadow that seems to hint of the mystery and elusiveness of her singular, lonesome beauty.
The hair waves away from her flawless, gentle face, flowing outward as if trying to spread its grace throughout.
Her soft gaze wanders and her pretty lips are parted thoughtfully as her back arches oh-so-slighty, accentuating her soothing curvature.

After tracing her lithe form with one's eyes one might be compelled to believe a lie, that her delicate limbs express frailty.
Although I am also a person to become awestruck by her appearance I see her for what she really is, not for what lies on the surface.
My stare follows the fullness of her feminine figure, up past her fine waist to the ample bosom where one hand rests as if to ward her heart from the threat of faith.
And I think: "If only she would give me her heart, I would cherish it with such commitment and care as has never been seen nor its like ever to exist again."
For I see what she is underneath her perfect shell, I see that she holds her heart to secure it from the pain that might assail it if given the opportunity.
I see strength and wisdom in her, the traits of a goddess, and I know the truth about her, the answer that others cannot come to grasp.
She is my necessity, the one that I must pursue until pursuit is no longer an option in death.

As she stands upon the brink that yawns over a waterfall's plummet she turns to look back upon the rocky terrain that has become her path.
There, away on the horizon, are the meadows, woods and swamps that she has already trodden, she turns away from them with composed closure and some regret.
The river of dreams courses beneath her feet, winding away to unknown possiblitities... She wonders where the river of dreams might take her.
Just before she begins to dive I call to her from behind a bush and show myself saying"
"I can't let you do this, you are a part of me and to see you float away to a new life would crush me."
She replies without looking back: "I'm sorry, this is what I must do. Time does not stand still and other things are out there awaiting me."
Her loose hand hangs by her side as I come nearer to her.
I speak: "Yes, we shall encounter many things in our time, I would like to be with you through it all. I am coming with you forever."
Her loose hand closes on mine as we look down at the fate of our desires and I sense her relief, I know that she is smiling... We take the plunge.

Tragic and depressing, dickster. Ever heard the song Gloomy Sunday? Your piece reminds me of that song.

Dickster, don't leave A2K just because you don't get responses to your writing. If I may suggest, respond to other writers and critique their stuff.

Hey, Dickster. You still here?

The Remnant
And so goes the remnant,
memories once worn like a pendant,
I feel what was really meant
deserves no remembrance.
So how goes my competence?
Do you not find it marvelous
that your charms held such potence?
How you have been merciless
in deceitful cunning
deserves awakening
from both ex-participants.
Though I strove for persistence
to show you great magnificence
my attempts met your essence
and were thwarted by its elements.
What I thought to be sensibly sensual romance
deserves no place in the past future or present.

Come to think of it
The only romantic writing that I now like is the tragic and depressing stuff... all the happy stuff seems obsolete for me at this point in time. But, hey, don't get me wrong, I'm not some manic depressive here or anything... I just write sad stuff on certain occassions.

Sing-Song But Still Within the Realm of My Writing
A Night to Remember

Organize your cuteness,
I'll be around soon,
and if my efforts aren't fruitless
then we'll both swoon.
Touch-up your divinity,
gorgeousness in its epitome,
we'll pass the evening
at my pad wrestling.

A toast to good times,
I boast of good wines.
Drink your fill
and pay the bill,
you owe me a kiss,
let's enjoy this.

Break out the candles,
strike up the flames,
feel the burn from within.
I know your handles,
hide and seek games,
cops and robbers... I'll always win.

I feel the candles in my soul,
flickering relative to my giddy control,
do you feel it also?

A toast to good times,
I boast of good wines.
Drink your fill
and pay the bill,
you owe me breakfast in bed,
but I'm not looking all that far ahead
because I lose myself to you instead.

In happiness and in sorrow, Dickster.

I guess if Milton can do it; we can.

Glad you're back, my friend.

In answer to your poems:

all the memories are locked away
In some soft place that does not stay
Long.

Though they are buried deep inside,
We find so sadly
We can't hide
The song.

And then one day in night's soft cloak
A telling beam of light,
A Second sight,
No right
No wrong

There is some wonderful work in here... I've written a spontaneous psiolet, which could be seen as responding to both of your sets of poems...

O, taint me with your touch.
'Though both our blooms are gone and life stops short;
'Though we have not spent much

Of time or innocence, we sailed away
From our beginnings, only to be caught:
O, taint me, with your touch.

'Though we have not spent much
Time lain in fields as freely as the rye
Blown from all corners by the shrivelled sun,

Wondering when day past, or where we'd begun,
Our thoughts presume this fluent ecstasy:
So, taint me with your touch.

'Though one slow-snaking touch
Uncoils itself in meanings, 'til we see
Our strokes are nothing but our bodies' way

Of trying to convert our sanguine dreams
Into some scorch that can be felt, and seen,
Still, taint me with your touch.

'Though we have not lived much
Fighting the wind that blew us through the sky,
We've sat beneath lime trees, and passed verve by:

But which will perish-- memory or touch?
Or shall both linger? Will our minds incise
The paths hands trod once, on our withered skins

Long after they once trailed them? Will our pale
Chins burn where fatal kisses lay
In mirrors years from now, amidst our sighs

That brushes in pasts past us all too quickly?
No: they'll wilt up in all but memory.
In young years, we amass our happiness

On which to drink in age: necessity
Demands youth give a place, a love, a scene
To live in, always. So, taint me with touch

Which, at once, means so little, and so much.

Drom, drom, drom. That is absolutely fabulous. Just got through listening to a new guy recommended by sinatrafan79. Now I can't find the thread.

Your poem and that music just went together.

Thank you, Letty; I'm really glad that you liked it: I personally thought that it was too long-winded and.. dithering-- yet another poem from someone else's opinion; but I wanted to leave some sort of note to show that I was here, enjoying your work and that of Dickster.

Dickster, excuse the aside, but for some reason, I can't locate that thread that I just answered, and it doesn't show up in my posts. I've forgotten the poster's handle, but it was something like sinatrafan79, and featured a new singer that was really good--Matt Lusk, I think.

Sigh. Well, I'll try later, I guess.

Nothing dithering about that poem, Drom.

Thanks for your support.

My searches can't even find a Sinatrafan... ; I found three posts about Lusk; one of them was about erectile disfunction, the other by Gautam about his hair; and the third was this.

I'll use my own tool, to see whether I can find the guy anywhere.

(My search came up with sad old men, and a place in Wyoming; what a combination...)

Oh, my Gawd, drom. I know that I didn't dream it. I'm not certain the kids name is Matt Lusk...(still laughin)...but he's going to play in Casino, whatever that is....

Letty, we have it at last! He's called Matt Dusk .

I'll be damned, drom. I just asked about the thread in Forum help. Thanks, my friend. I still don't understand where that thread went.

Matt Dusk? My word.