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Passions in Poetry

Just Be.

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Cpat Hair
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100 posted 09-26-2010 10:30 AM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

It has come by this tilt of axis
To late September and the clouds have changed
Too the sky and its blue a hue cleared some how
Of June’s haze and the heavy heat that was July

Trees once grand green in shades cool
Ignite upon the ends with false warmth to fool the eyes
While morning cool pretends it is middle day November
And should be relished as kind
Yet wind begins to carry the errant early orange
In warning of the coming grey dawns

But it is the light that is truest
Being neither judgmental in harsh glare
That finds no mercy nor wan and near sighted
To show only the outlines of arcs drifted white
That blends the senses into a terminus focused
Within the flicker of flame

Late September and I see
How lies the paths through once green not yet
Absolved of footsteps and the deceptions hearts bring
To the journey possessed within stories told as fable
Of once upon a time or ever afters

I see clear the color and hue once tender green
Survive in tangled winds begin
To release their grip
On dreams
Amaryllis
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101 posted 09-28-2010 04:18 PM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

I am enamored with that poem, above... it is so beautiful...  I want to re-read and digest it when I have more time, as you probably read on the Poetry board, I am so busy and distracted (death in the family.)    Cannot wait to get back to poetry!  Thanks for understanding... and for this poem, too. It brightens my day!  
Best to you~
Amaryllis
Cpat Hair
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102 posted 09-29-2010 07:34 AM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

I am truly sorry to hear about the death in your family... my condolances and prayers to you and yours ma'am....
Cpat Hair
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103 posted 10-04-2010 12:52 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

Let lay the leavened dreams
For fear if disturbed they fall

In times of fairy tale the tailor took 7 in one blow
And hemmed himself into a corner where the cuff of hand
Would destroy small pride if not the bones beneath
While a baker down the road sold his wares on street
With calls of hot crossed delight

I rumpled pillow and tried to close my eyes
But Grimm tales and one darker still mixed within my mind
As I thought how concise the woe described befell 2 AM
Yet smothered the dim light of moon with pregnant cloud
As sounds of the runnelled rain played its hiss on panes

Bread rises in fragile form
Capturing the exhale of living air and when it rains
Is slow to breathe

4 AM and I doze
To thoughts of tailors and loaves as jumbled dreams
Knowing dawn will be hidden by cloud
And rain
Cpat Hair
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104 posted 10-06-2010 11:19 AM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

The leftover puddle in the parking lot
Looks like a fat “L” and when I looked in it as I passed
I saw it dissected the sky within its shallows
Laying open the veins of clouds that carried rain
Just a few hours ago

The morning had already bled across the horizon
And crimson had touched to tops of hills
As the sun gave up reluctance for resentment
But in truth
I couldn’t tell if the colors came from the top of maple
Now wearing the bright ball dress it prepares each year
To greet the eve of all hallows
Or if the reflection of lingering rain in the distance
Was bending light to low lengths
As if blood shot the rise was simply staring
After too many days of grey

I stepped around the puddle
Taking care not to disturb the quiet skin
Out of fear that like so many things
I might drown in its depths
Or be caught upon the broken parts
Left behind
Amaryllis
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105 posted 10-07-2010 04:18 PM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Days tumble by, now
on the arctic breath of summer's
slow demise
black linen against paling skin
and flax-wheat hair held still
by silken black
but clear the tear
on its chinward journey.

Cpat Hair
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106 posted 10-07-2010 04:29 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

IN victorian times, when there was a death, the mirrors were covered and the clocks stopped...

your piece here reminded me of that....

and of this...

W. H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Amaryllis
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107 posted 10-07-2010 04:34 PM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Perfect reply, Cpat... Auden said it much better than I...   And thank you for your offerings here, they are fascinating reads and oh I wish I had more time lately~!  So much out-of-town company, etc.  Hoping all is well with you... cannot wait to get back to poetry.
Best~
Amaryllis
Cpat Hair
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108 posted 10-09-2010 02:19 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

The span between thumb and tip
of little finger for my hand
can not cover the distance
between the soft round sound of vowels
and the gap as exists from one precipice
of reality to the dreams of fairy tale

yet It fits well on the clavicle
and if it would soothe the raw day
then it might rest contently
as connection between your thoughts
so hidden within the parsecs of time
and the now I see you struggle to hold
in delicate balance

Perhaps
no divine spark is pictured
and all that exists beyond the moment
is the one to follow
but I believe in touch
and how it can heal
the hole left in us all
when as leaves we turned shades
of winter and fell
from some grace or the fingertips
of broken ends

Would I that the distance
were not so great
and the fall so filled
with cold


Cpat Hair
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109 posted 10-11-2010 01:37 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

Birch grow here
Covering the scars and what remains of ravaged hills
Where the pick and track pulled rich dark seams
From between harder stone to feed the furnaces
That fired a nation born

The big ones are gone
But it is said that once you could find
Bare stripped bones where with skin torn
They had made the fragile craft natives used
For some wounds never heal

Still,
This copse that forms in lines along the rubble
Stands with trembling leaves now burned by Autumns wind
And the reflection of their spines grows crooked on waves
When dawn
Comes with bloodshot eyes to this valley

Higher on the slopes
Hardwoods stand to fend off the hands of greed
But find their fellows felled for lumber drawn to need
Once for ships, then for sleepers, and now for paper mill
As we learned to read and speak, for we were never still

In the crease of stone she flows
Changed by time and the ready hand of man to tame
The wild he doesn’t understand but sees as the means
To cleanse the alleys and the flush from ore
The wealth man seeks

So the stories told

But today what's left
are birch along
the stone

[This message has been edited by Cpat Hair (10-12-2010 06:44 AM).]

Cpat Hair
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110 posted 10-13-2010 10:46 AM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

Here the birch grow
And when dry, holds upturned palms in supplication
Begging alms of rain from unseeing eyes
While below
In last year’s fall
Black beetles glisten along the back as they
Scurry beneath the mould with whispered clicks
Calling Charon to his ferry
So some believe

It would be fitting to me
For my last journey to be that across the river
And I wonder if there the trees might have bleached white spine
As the birch do here
Or do they stand as ash on ash until the wind
Sweeps them from the root to air
Only to be formed anew when midnight’s ghouls
Dance bare skinned taunt of sins
To the newly arrived

Still,
I see beauty in the birch and in the beetle’s homely harangue
Knowing they fit well into the myths written on page
As they add a subtle elegance to the rubble
Where rooted
They soften our rape of hills and the ravage of stone
Left behind when the seeking of fortunes and
Mortality was bought with the backs of immigrants
And those who simply wished to survive
One more day to drink a pint, and pay the ladies
Down at Adeline’s for a few moments of skin
In hopes of softening the beetle’s click
When it came for them
Unworried as they were about the fare

I’m not from here
And can only see the birch and higher on the flank of hill
The hardwood that have filled in the scars
Not knowing of the families fed or lives changed
When the pay from mines or timber stands bought futures
Undreamed in other lands

So how can I condemn
The copse of birch with upturned palms
Or the beetle’s call
Beneath?
Amaryllis
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111 posted 10-20-2010 02:20 PM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Oh these are beautiful... how I wish I had time to inhale poetry the way I did this past summer~! I am here, popping in now and then... but haven't written anything of substance for weeks. I'm sure it will swing my way again soon. Thanks for patience and for the gems you've studded along this thread!
Best to you~
Sharon
Amaryllis
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112 posted 10-27-2010 04:46 AM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Dawn, and the wind is penitent
after a night`s violence
through the spaces between bare limbs.
A graphite sky weighs perilous,
too exhausted for rain,
knowing there`s always tomorrow.
A rakish Jay springs in the elder branches,
hops to the rain-dark mulch
and scatters timid chickadees
in bursts of monochrome,
his jewel-blue a welcome vision
for winter-weary eyes.
Cpat Hair
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113 posted 10-27-2010 09:18 AM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

very nice ma'am... you capture the scene and add a splash of colour.
It is early though...for winter weary eyes.
We have much yet to see of stark grey limbs, gunmetal skies, and cold winds...

truly nice to read you again...
Amaryllis
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114 posted 10-27-2010 09:58 AM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Thank you...  I did think it early to paint it so December (or February), yet the stripped sensibility of winter spoke to the metaphor better than Fall did... as the dearth of  (for me) finally lifts, and I find I at last have a moment or two to write... and visit these blue pages...   plus, it truly has been grey/raining/windstorming  here lately, which has stolen the greater part of the color from the limbs, leaving Mr. Jay a study in aqua saturation in a black & white palette outside my window.  
Oh, it`s great to be `back!`  
Best to you~
A
Cpat Hair
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115 posted 10-27-2010 10:31 AM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

your metaphor works well and writing is not limited to "timely" use of seasons to express the intent...  
the fact I was moved to speak to the weary being early, simply says you succeeded in drawing me in as a reader to care and express concern for the author... which should tell you your metaphor works well


Yes, the Jay can bring a bring moment of colour, but I have often found their greedy and bullying ways at times unsettling
as they chase away the monchrome titmous or chickadee... all within the cycle of what is... but I have always found myself rooting for the plain and often under appreciated..
lol

Amaryllis
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116 posted 10-27-2010 11:21 AM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Thanks for the kind words~ yes, I have to agree re: the BlueJay`s nature! Today I focused on his redeeming qualities (color, flashiness) and downplayed his boorishness  lol     Typically they are the pest around the feeder.
.
Finding poems that were stoppered-up crowding at the door... wonderful, since I`d wondered where they `d gone!  Time for writing.
.
.
She steps into the sequined skirt,
pulls a purple  blouse
over the softer, golden silk of hair,
drapes the red-fringed shawl
about slim shoulders,
slides the opal, zircon rings
upon small fingers,
clips the hoops, faux pricelessness
tight unto the pink, inviolate ears.
Her gypsy-grin comes gradual,
as the kohl and turquoise lids
lift in surprise-
so wrong against the clear glass
of her innocent eye;
spakle, spangle, mystery-
my daughter, twelve,
tries the costume on...
bewitched by the quasi-woman
in the mirror.
Cpat Hair
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117 posted 10-27-2010 11:39 AM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

oh~~ tender and well captured...
an age of innocence dressed in bright colours and the surprise of how transformed by costume we become someone else...

very nice!!  
Amaryllis
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118 posted 10-27-2010 12:00 PM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Thank you... yes, the moment became poignant when I realized a lot more was going on as she spied her face in full makeup (she doesn`t ever wear it yet)... the pre-teen awakening to the magic of being a woman, and all that entails... had a lump in my throat, why couldn`t she have wanted to be a fairy or princess again? Because, Mother, she is growing up.  (gulp.)
Cpat Hair
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119 posted 10-27-2010 12:05 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

(chuckling) yes mom.. children do that, and they go through all the things young women do, or young men.
It is both a source of uncertainty and of joy... of anguish and pride...
it is never easy to let go, we always in some way want them to be the innocent they once were and we want so badly to protect them from all the world's knocks and dings, dangers and damnations..


but Mom~~  as long as she has you and knows she can come to you, she'll be ok you know~~
Amaryllis
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120 posted 10-27-2010 12:10 PM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Thanks for the vote of confidence!  My children are a wellspring of poetic idea. But I suppose all of life is, really.
Cpat Hair
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121 posted 10-27-2010 12:19 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

yes, I suppose life is... anyone or anything that moves us can also move the words inside us to try and capture the emotions or to chronicle the times...

it says a lot about who you are that your children are a wellspring of inspiration. It speaks clearly of your heart and the love you have for them and family. I certainly enjoy reading the results.....

Amaryllis
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122 posted 10-27-2010 12:30 PM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

For the days I observed
.
.
When the insistent clatter of obligation
sent my feet on a charleston of hurry
or rattled a morse of annoyance
and wrapped the ends of the tired day
in flannel exhaustion,
sometimes I`d find that quiet hour
slipped sideways into the evening
like the backward book you hope to hide
among the blaring bindings,
only the gilt edges of page
to tilt and glint from the shelves-
it`s then I`d walk among the birch
and trail wistful fingers along the paper bark,
content to merely pass silent here,
breathing the sentinel magic
among the rows, a day and then I`d know
they`d stay forever- my footsteps
light, on a carpet of  autumn...
so quiet here, a hushed magnificence-
even as the far-off thrush
echoed my name, my name
Cpat Hair
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123 posted 10-27-2010 01:16 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

beautiful ma'am...
we find peace where we look
Amaryllis
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Posts 1325
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124 posted 10-29-2010 12:23 PM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Rip
.
.
Strange how it bobs to the surface again-
I thought I`d ripped the past to shreds,
a confetti of soft white edges, pellets of color and time
where only an eye or an unguarded smile
winks in the wreck of our history;
never regretful, no- this rage of justice,
hunted every snapshot of our youth-
it felt good to do this, good to grasp the white borders
and pull apart that sanctimonious blonde,
separate her unlined grin, undo the arrogant beauty, ignorant eyes-
mince the nubile form of tawny promise-
the print he liked to stare at for hours,
not knowing how the accusation in his eyes
slammed like a sour wave when he`d look up.
.
But there, I see a shadow of the years,
grin mockingly from his top dresser drawer-
stupid jezebel, why won`t you go,
leave me to surrender to time;
I made peace with the crow`s feet, the padding
each child`s legacy on my thighs,
silver striae I`m proud to carry
on the stomach, wonder of a woman-
where innocence once grew,
beneath my heart-
could you claim such, idiotic girl?
No, your only magic is a glamour
in the foolish eyes of men,
where is your substance,
wrapped in glitter?
You`ve no idea all you will become.
.
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