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Open Poetry #34
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OPEN POETRY # 33 Continued (I'm hooked)
| Open Poetry #34 |
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OPEN POETRY # 33 Continued (I'm hooked) |
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Honeybunch Member Rara Avis
since 2001-12-29
Posts 7115South Africa 
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(I could blame it on the rain today but it's actually my own intent to finish what was started - eventually finish it. Nothing is ever "unintended") How dare I think there are clouds of a different colour in this illuminating silence where only an “I” upon a sea of love called out in the night like a darkened angel. There’s something about August when I whisper your name to the night that dances soul shadows around my reflections higher than a divine connection inside the mind of summer. Who knocks? Only those who will not burn over what she said one night at home when impulse control for everything said jump in Lobby Lady through swing dreams being wind, of course, in seasons changing. Before I understood lightening you did it all and how silently soft memories breathe over the greening of my country after August. I wish the sky, my favorite haunt, and rain in celebrating a new road would dance of love time after time and clear the canvas of checkboard blues. A king sits high pretty and pink and says, “My heart, I won’t go there no more because I will never leave you lonely W/Sunshine the only one to capture your heart. If you want to find love, I can’t shut this door to me, perhaps merely reflections in the pond or in your pocket of tough love but I know that look, my ironic butterfly, that speaks of “Seduction” in the gravity of love parting sky secrets.” There are miles to go before I sleep but my soul song under my skin like the girl of his dreams on this journey full of many emotions lost in this reverie because I almost gave up straddling the Rockies in the wake of sleep. Please pity me, yonder man with a strong will, because my view from the airport carpet comes to an abrupt end when dreams die young before the first rain. If I could, I would say, “Dip your brushes deeper when melting walls of midnight love buck after boozing it up because I want to know the Woodsman in the flesh not just sunset perfection on the front steps though it be pure joy passing. Invincible is the wrath of fates in lovers rendezvous when kissed by a butterfly the moon of summer, unmoved from all of this and nothing more, not even Casanova without judgment, poemless in the supernatural. Some things I’ve noticed about you, mystical beauty, and these aren’t the musings of an insomniac in jade robe, but intelligent design of pillow talk and tummy soft laughter. Looking at the bigger picture the first of three stages is tantric breathing. It must be there in sweet summer and another ghost though acts of lesser Gods spiral waiting for me. And now there’s this, my heart, we expose our deepest feelings in the pitch black while sipping at the well with no chaser in sight but love is its own reward under umbrellas of summer. Oh, mirror, mirror you don’t know what silence is through the glass beyond the tunnel’s end and she cries again a single tear in the tug of summer. Weep for the moon imprisoned In this foggy season of stormy portend as far as the ache will permit. Watching you sleep this night quietly I’m in awe and I remember tender words of a poem’s beginning to a certain single man. I love you, I love you, I love you, but there’s this thing or” things” - who are you when counting sheep, my devoted love, ripples of love, my lightening rod? Hey Honey, I’m listening! Hmm? Emotional coma, the survival instinct, wordless and sleepy in the mist of broken dreams. Perhaps, perchance, the slaughter of sheep in the moon’s aftermath or my eager fingertips broke the safety walls in silent hunger. Warm waves of love for just a little boost but how often, tattoo man, with sanctifying grace aided by vintage wine or should I just wander in the wonderlust wearing blue shoes through warm puddles winging it? There was a time when I cried because I had no shoes but all is fair and the decision was my own to be nature’s creature. If you would be my lover where oceans meet, I’m sure the prophet of the Apocalypse would foretell everyday pleasures, dear poet and sleeper in ice castles. Between sermons of yesteryears and artistic expressions I sat and waited a reposting of a favorite Long-John poem in the land down under. Grounded without you, the sounds of nature no true companion. on this Roman holiday. The only heaven I know is this caress of love, guitar man, in my meadow of clovers and when you hear the raindrop falling … blooob, sigh in waiting for I ride the waves with a dorsal fin in the land of Faerie Fair. Questions, questions; what happened to my crown of plastic flowers? Weep not, four days of Eastern exposure will put the kiss of fear into the thief of happenstance and secret lovers in the scent of memory will attend a monkey’s wedding unconcerned at what tomorrow brings be it a Susan day or too much testosterone for the masked bandit to resist the feel of Suzie. He is a lost and lonely boy seeking messages from above through an eye of double exposure. I have no name for this. Perhaps through it all light weight humour will be stepping stones to a bump in the road tucked away till morrow’s skies pledge leather and lace, a pretty face, for storm riders. You said you would hold a yard sale for misery and Christianity and an empty heart to bring serenity but – poof windswept thoughts in a basket of dreams - no excited crowds waiting in silence. My Lancelot, lighten up in summer rain of this summer of love under our star, salmon red … daring you behind the laughter. How can I free your mind? A kiss, another love letter, more of the same, or are you too mean for change in this the artful warp of time? I smile, kiss-kiss, you Tarzan, me Jane before Sunday Mass and I get like this in the silence of breaking free from my time in a bottle clue-less. Once upon a rainy morning an erotic moment of passion to placate me but just another day’s gamble – sigh – love ‘O’ Mine, horny toad, in the recess of the day, independence day. All in all, insecurities and confessions of things that float fill up empty spaces and I think I’m going back to work for my muse has up and left me holding strings of broken hearts saying “no” to the memory to soften the day. |
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Enchantress Member Empyrean
since 2001-08-14
Posts 35113Canada eh. |
Helen I am so pleased to see you continue through the pages of Open 33! These are such fun to read and I know a lot of research went into putting them together. Brava lady!! This is fantastic!! ~Smiles & Hugs, Nancy~ ~ Let peace begin with me... ~ |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
Ive read your others and have to tell you these really are a treat and cleverly done... and its interesting to read and realize just how many titles I actually rememeber...Im curious how you do this...we are talking thousands of titles!!-- So how do you choose them--in order of how they were posted? I cant imaging being able to keep them all straight as well as write something incorporating them and still have the poem make sense...but youve done a wonderful job... I hope the insomnia is better...but we have enjoyed your muse's creative endeavors  |
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suthern
since 1999-07-29
Posts 20723Louisiana |
I agree... these are a treat. *S* It boggles my mind to think of your patience... and creativity! *S* |
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passing shadows Member Empyrean
since 1999-08-26
Posts 45577displaced |
GOSH! I LOVE how you do these! |
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Magnus
since 2001-10-10
Posts 14135South Carolina, USA |
I am very impressed with how you have weaved it all into a very good read. Well done...yepper!!! |
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miscellanea Member Elite
since 2004-06-24
Posts 4060OH |
Wow! I can't fathom how difficult it must be to incorporate all these titles! I have trouble just doing a simple crossword puzzle, let alone this! It's been fun, sorting through the titles again. Thanks, Honeybunch! miscellanea |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
If you have done NOTHING else, m'dear, you have driven us that have read you onto higher forms of titles than ever before... I think your quest to write poems based on titles...is giving us a new glean on how to position words so that the title alone... is a poem in its own right/write...right?  Oh, lady...you are having WAY too much fun... |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Helen I agree with Karilea....! And, I think this is an amazing talent you have. I would never have the patience to do this and make such a sensitive poem...I wouldn't even try.  |
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Susan Member Ascendant
since 2004-03-27
Posts 5104walking the surreal |
Yipee - so glad to see this - what fun - brilliant my friend -  SusanHappiness isn't something that happens to you, it's created from within you. Joy is a state of mind. |
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Honeybunch Member Rara Avis
since 2001-12-29
Posts 7115South Africa |
Thank you all for reading. I do very much appreciate your responses. It gives me more pleasure than mindlessly watching tv and the poets here sometimes say things better than I could myself. The real test is still to come - there are so many titles I have so far skipped so the absolute last one will have to be the ramblings of the ... insane, I guess. |
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