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Ticklefingers
Senior Member
Posts 710
Louisiana

0 posted 2015-10-21 03:27 AM

imprisoned as a captive thought
dreams lay in hopes tomorrow
mornings' fragrance sweet and clean
though moist with tears of sorrow

should in passing would we meet
inclining to be gracious
much more each one of us could see
how strong our love has made us

without your touching gift for word
my pen lays uninspired
ghostly figures impressed in pulp
tell of spent desires

like scattered leaves in tortured breezes
so my poetry has fled
all the memories once so vibrant
lay still now amongst the dead

She told me "play one for your supper Danny and maybe you'll get breakfast".

Lori Grosser Rhoden
Member Patricius

since 2009-10-10

Posts 10202
Fair to middlin' of nowhere

1 posted 2015-10-21 06:26 AM

Love this poem, love this stanza.

"like scattered leaves in tortured breezes
so my poetry has fled
all the memories once so vibrant
lay still now amongst the dead"

Even though TF, the whole poem is testimony to the fact your poetry is still with you.
I know the feeling. ~L

JerryPat2
Member Laureate

since 2011-02-06

Posts 16975
South Louisiana

2 posted 2015-10-21 07:23 AM

Poetry is a most wonderful experience
as we move our words around to where
they make sense to us . . .

Then there are days of utter futility
when we cannot make sense of those
very same words.

~*~ When they give you ruled paper write sideways. ~*~

Ticklefingers
Senior Member
Posts 710
Louisiana

3 posted 2015-10-21 12:38 PM

Thank you so much Miss Lori.

This is an older piece that stills conjures up recollections within me that haven't yet morphed into memories, if you catch my 'drift'.

I believe that you do, therefore I also believe you are a woman of great fortitude and understanding.

Always appreciate your visits.

88's friend

She told me "play one for your supper Danny and maybe you'll get breakfast".

Ticklefingers
Senior Member
Posts 710
Louisiana

4 posted 2015-10-21 12:42 PM

Speaking of "drifts" JerryPat, when you say:

quote:
"Then there are days of utter futility
when we cannot make sense of those
very same words".

...you know what you're talking about!

I thought it was me just me!

Carpe Diem!

She told me "play one for your supper Danny and maybe you'll get breakfast".

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