Gelisgesti Poets Cranny

ginko intolerant
Reply Thu 18 Sep, 2003 01:22 am
Jackie, I know what you're saying. It's lifes most demanding stage. It is at this time we must question our existence.

Here's one for you. Let's see if you can associate with my quandary. I'll call it, "Dreaming of God".

In the silence of my slumber darkness of the day recedes.
Here resides the tiny mumblings, shining out my wanton deeds.
Naked long ago I wandered among the dead and sleeping swine.
Lately they are strong reciting, hallowed kingdoms in simple mime.

Upon the morning in my bed, with greatness fleeting from my head,
the wonders of how all that's right, to my distress takes puzzled flight.
The day has risen up in anger! It stomps the embers glowing red.
A jealous task imposing master hunting man until he's dead.

Again the silence of the evening is poured upon a haggard mind.
and whispered, winking, little murmurs point to wisdoms we might find.


Major kudos to spellcheck by the way. It suggests that someone loves me.
Funny it doesn't recognize itself as a word though.
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Reply Thu 18 Sep, 2003 09:42 pm
I hurl my emotion
sadly laughing
into the strange new day
desperately clutching
warm well known yesterday

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ginko intolerant
Reply Sat 20 Sep, 2003 01:02 am
Compressing all that into five lines and making it look casual. It's not of course, but to me that's the catch. It's what it costs the author to see things that gives substance to thier views.
With that in mind, see my father.

Watching a part of me, my breath, my blood, the substance that cast me as shadow.
Watching from a distance of mutual reckoning and never revisited.
Watching his unyielding solitude and finding those same feelings alive in me.
Watching him fall, breaking into only a few parts that were filled with so little.
The course of these events are like an anglers lure trolling dangerous waters.
The lure shined in certain ways as it passed by the eyes of the hungry.
The resonance of the spinner and the glimmer of the spoon sang a lonely tearless tune.
The spellbound stalking predator followed in a daze of self fulfillment.
A rush and strike of prey on lure found both unprepared for the struggles ahead.
A sudden pull against the strike and a predator is fighting for its life.
A collision of will set on the stage of heritage, determined by the inherent faults of man.
A Shakespearian epic of consequence upon descendents declared lowly in the fanfare of the common.
The monster is cunning, and without the reason of thought the dual is played, pain upon pain.
The watching shudder at the thrashing while the causal acquaintance smiles and kisses.
The evil working the prey and the lure shines brightly as the fight is engaged in relentless fury.
The line of the lonely is not designed for a concerted fight and snaps. The lure is lost.
Watching the strength of my convictions be carried away as a trophy I am confronted with myself.
Watching the lure, carrying sharpened triple barbs, be devoured and still stomached I am amazed .
Watching the discarding of a lure lacking resonance or glimmer, I am felled.
Watching my children and my wife I am uniquely thankful., the edge of fate avoided
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Reply Sun 21 Sep, 2003 02:16 pm
This is the first poem I have read in this forum and I am impressed. Maggie
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Reply Sun 21 Sep, 2003 07:14 pm
Welcom Jackie, Ginko and Cusick

I know the answer
the reason is clear
you can feel
the taste of fear
it flows from a spring
it's echo's ring is all you hear
turn to face it
learn to embrace it
listen as it whispers
mysteries without reasons
time is patience
the answer clear
the antithesis questions
existence without fear

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Reply Mon 22 Sep, 2003 12:33 am
Cusick, You're not goin' nuts;
Your unintended posts fell to Moderator cuts.

Duplicate posts frequently occur when a user perceiving the site to be"Slow", or "Hanging up between pages", or "Unresponsive" clicks "Submit" a few times before receiving the confirmation of the submission. Usually, if "Submit" as been clicked, the post made it here, but for whatever reason, the confirmation just isn't reaching your machine. Sometimes its best to just close your browser and navigate back here before assuming a post "Didn't go through".
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ginko intolerant
Reply Tue 23 Sep, 2003 11:50 pm
Gelisgesti, it isn't me that this comes from, but my view of how my father sees things in a nursing home. Of course it is me, only in his place. It is hard to look at. Gather your strength and look. Am I wrong to fear this?

Caught in a spiral of avoidance that is hounding me right down,
negative thoughts try to catch me, I can hear their howling sound.
Always thought I've had the answer but I'm searching for some light,
My identity's in question and I'm running for my life.

Cold and dark are the carvers of these stones of granite.
Now I fear that they quarry for me.
Reaching out are the rule makers of this humane planet
Makes me wonder, do they care about me? Will they set me free?

I am given all the good news my ears could ever hold,
Wonders waiting in the oven of a perfect, loving world.
And I know the simple stories, and I hope right with the best.
But my loved ones pass by glory, and in heartbreak is their rest.

Cold and dark are the carvers of these stones of granite.
Now I wonder if they quarry for me.
Touching me through the sorrows of this little planet.
Makes me wonder, will they set me free? Do they think about me?

Little pleasures that I've known are now a fleeting repose.
People struggle just as always but something's wrong I suppose.
Now they're reaching out to help me, but it's from a jaded world,
Answers from these friendly people cannot match what I behold.

Cold and dark are the carvers of these stones of granite.
I hear the grinding of a stone that's made for me.
Hounding me to one small room upon a giant planet.
Now I know they're here to set me free. They've come for me.
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Reply Wed 24 Sep, 2003 04:45 am
In my quiet moments
I listen to me and hear
spoken in unbroken silence
words that I no longer fear
frozen by my impatience
warmed by that which is real
clutching to those time would steal
the mirror of time
reflects what it sees
you reflect what you feel

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Reply Wed 24 Sep, 2003 02:24 pm
The faintest problem, I can see
If I should listen to "only me"
Is that my learning would be impaired.
Isn't life much better shared?

Hello gelisgesti
Nice poetry forum here, covering a panorama of experience and emotion.
I took a cue from your last verse to add a bit of whimsey. Hope you don't mind.
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Reply Wed 24 Sep, 2003 04:13 pm
Hello Rose and thank you very much
you finished me up
with just the right touch

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Reply Wed 24 Sep, 2003 05:27 pm
How nice of you to say.
Well- I am pleased. Embarrassed
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ginko intolerant
Reply Sun 28 Sep, 2003 11:41 pm
Righteous aviator!

Put on the mask of the blues thread bearer.
Look through the eyes of the down trodden.
See the view from here, for only a moment.
The midnight hour demands a witness.

===--- The Blues ---===

There has to be a rhythm, to hold somebody's mind
There's not a man among us who is heard outside the grind
I saw it in the preacher and I saw it in the poet
And in the politician's wind it's the blue's horn he was blowing

Yet I was playing at the funeral and no one would shed a tear.
While I was playing at the wedding, they're sitting lonely in the rear.
They can't begin to show the fact that they are just a man.
To them the diner's stinking and they'd close this garbage can.

And that's the blues.
Reaction of the world to me.
And that's the blues.
I seem like dog **** on their shoes.

Listen to me brother rappers and believers of I can,
You are agents of the system, awarded medals from the man.
And smiling at the symmetry doesn't change one little thing.
You're business is your loving girl, you never heard me sing.

There's the skin heads and the jihad, trying to make us understand.
And over here the Irish want a separate holy land.
I have sung the wedding tunes until my lungs are short of breath
Seems the funeral dirge is suited for the earth's kind of a guest.

And that's the blues.
You gathering all that you can get.
And that's the blues.
To you my smell seems like dog ****.

What makes you so damn important quotes someone above the mire,
I said, The earth you are stomping is the mud of my funeral pyre.
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Reply Mon 29 Sep, 2003 04:33 am
Your soul thrashes
in the liquid heat and ashes
to find yoor beginniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing

stop looking for the end

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Reply Mon 29 Sep, 2003 06:59 am
Reply to Geligesty
So sad that a soul should die alone but then dying must be a very lonely business and I hope to wait years to find out.Loved this poem so many descriptive imaged.
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Reply Mon 29 Sep, 2003 07:30 am
Look up
all around
never doubt
what you've found
death is only lonely
for those trapped
what you believe
is only true
while you still breath
let go the branch
follow the leaves
those that you were
wait down that path
to guide you back

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Reply Mon 29 Sep, 2003 12:15 pm
[Not an original poem, but a great one]

"What you think is the right road, may lead to death."
"Evil poeple look for ways to harm others..."

Proverbs16:25,27a TEV
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Reply Mon 29 Sep, 2003 12:27 pm
In the sidelines of our minds lives a man
selling oranges for change on the road,
Another hapless soul begs coins for beer,
"Oh please come here and help me out, will ya?"
Somewhere, our perception must, as needs be,
sift through the deception, the fools and the
tricks, and maybe, listen to our hearts guide us
to the wan waking ghosts truly needy.
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Reply Mon 29 Sep, 2003 07:32 pm
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Reply Sun 5 Oct, 2003 06:05 am
Soul keeper of the crossroads
look not for the way
awaken to
there is a way
travel without knowing
brings to each an endless going
there should always be a slowing
as we pass with burdens growing
oft look back the travelled path
cast aside your ill served wrath
so they will know you
and you shall pass
Soul keeper of the crossroads

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ginko intolerant
Reply Thu 9 Oct, 2003 02:36 am
Cav, it is a garden overrun with thistles, that's for sure. Gelisgesti, here is a look back for me. It is my garden inside. A place that holds a part of me forever. Thank God for that.

We tend the garden in our mind,
We walk among the many vines
Emotion flows from flower's fair
and scent the stillness of the air.

A touch upon her waist is sweet
Her eyes seen lovely, pure and deep.
A place I've found to see her there
A little bridge I've made with care.

The flagstone that I firmed in place
Reminds me of her flowing grace
A swing I've hung at walk's last square
was made that I could smell her hair.

The brook that babbles at paths end
Recounts the softness of her skin
And on this bridge of joyous tear
I feel her whispers in my ear.

To my wife Patty
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