OPEN POETRY # 33 - one small step

How to Join	Member's Area	Private Library	Search	Sanctuary		Login
Main Forums	Discussion	Tech Talk	Mature Content	Archives	A home without a wall, Our haven without ends, A circle we all call Our Family of Friends!

Honeybunch
Member Rara Avis

since 2001-12-29

Posts 7115
South Africa

0 posted 2004-12-02 02:51 AM

Sugar, the secret to self esteem,
forever eternal in the tooth of time
but there’s naught like abstinence
to bend the willow’s bough
from constant faith
of sweet nights in Bankok.

But I’m just thinking of you and Memphis,
a world that was right,
and when time, much slower then,
when the eyes of a wanderer
said, “Let us say goodbye tonight”.

I am condensed, drifting down
the summer cusp fall
at the surprise of frightened feelings
whereupon into God’s hands
and at work with Brian, Billy and A.R.
I placed my smooth talkin’ Romeo
knowing time unfolds
momentary contact
with a dear poetess
though two minutes too late
in this seasonal slump
of a blue moon’s phase - phase.

The tender moment of Sweet Williams
“I love you, Elsie”
the gift of life and constellated bond
sent sweet Karen soaring over Dixieland
past summers hill
but I, salt of the earth,
like a disconnected mosaic
home to bedlam ballet,
no detour.

How blue this moon
with no bouquet in a flower
or twilight magic
deftly spreading your hues
over this remainder of one.

“To give is to receive”  -
delete delete delete –
and he’s counting the wooly ones
till God’s poet’s seeds
speak soft words
of commitment and love.

“Is she all I ever wanted all this time?
A poet tree straight from the heart
lost in colours of insomnia
chasing the wind in memory …,
untitled?

Sweet Savanna!... fet … fet … fet
Yes I can:  a response – Wrong number,
I dream of Suzie through love’s eyes,
not a tartan wild but perhaps
finding misses right
and my blues baby –
still, she is spring,
she could be … drunk lust,
pink feather death
or all of what has settled
to weave the want
when fathers cry
in retirement dreams.

Deliverance!  Hold me up, Sharon,
Charlotte was my muse, no swallows tale
but I’m quietly listening –
a voice from the archives
of flowers, sand and moonlight,
more again, a book of poetry,
but, my weeping willow,
only my sister made me cry
and Congress and 9/11 report!

Mexican candy where you were,
once in a lifetime
because love grows in relationships
not in a letter to a man
though night time nature canvas
a common breath.

On warring sides, I am south
and I can’t be beholden to one
still finding my place
lamenting and changing rue
in empty afternoons.

Well, now, imaginary butterflies
in Clara’s vision – yay –
instrumental healing among us – garbage!

However, writing her extinct
in autumn brushed July
a down pouring, shivering flowers,
and fever of course,
in picture of a night scene
and lopsided Rorschach of in out thoughts
for these were the seasons of our love
and who we are –
two hearts purple, one part gin.

And the moral is …
this gift I cannot give! ”

milkweed
Junior Member

since 2004-09-07

Posts 42
fields of gold

1 posted 2004-12-02 04:02 AM

You are an amazing writer. I thought the ending was great!

passing shadows
Member Empyrean

since 1999-08-26

Posts 45577
displaced

2 posted 2004-12-02 05:19 AM

I cna't wait to see what you do with 34

Honeybunch
Member Rara Avis

since 2001-12-29

Posts 7115
South Africa

3 posted 2004-12-02 06:06 AM

Thanks, Milkweed, but I'm only doing the collating - the poets' titles are the words.

Dixie - Hey, I'm not that mad as to attempt #34. Whew! No way! #33 has perhaps allowed me to say all I need to.

Dark Angel
Member Patricius

since 1999-08-04

Posts 10095