Post a poem you've written or had on your mind.

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no rules

[Haole Girl]

1. I alaready posted this one recently...

...but it's all I have on hand at the moment:

"The Mirror"

She sees her face in the mirror
In the morning light
A wrinkle never noticed before

How quickly the years go by
How difficult it seems to say good bye
To the way her smile could open doors
And the way it feels to be invisible
Much more difficult than before

She thinks of that hat of straw
And the glimpse in the mirror
she saw
with her face beet red
The garden was hot that day
And she laughed at twenty
At the image she saw
And hoped it would be quaint
Or respectable
Or easy
to age
She could not have been more wrong
if she’d been truly insane
And wonders why a person so
jaded
would still feel pain

She quickly washes her hands
Not even looking as she leaves
And knowing sooner or later
She’s going to have to believe
In herself and her strength

Searching deep down inside
she knows she has the will
to survive
She’s used it all along
Though carried by her beauty and smile

Now she truly finds out
what others warned her for years
And she knows she is able
It’s time to face her fears.

[Blue-Jay]

2. Written years ago for a "bad poetry" contest:

Boss Man:

Big brother, checksigner
and compiler of my
yearly holidays
my urine tester
boiling fester
creativity molester
You cling to me with
a paisley noose
and dangle me from
the building top
with a double windsor knot
like the puppet I've become.

__________________________________________________

I won "honorable mention" in the Bad Poetry contest that was held by a now-defunct alt weekly.

[CaliforniaPeggy]

3. This is an old one...

There is death here

They say you carry the seeds of your death

Inside you

I’ve just caught a glimpse of mine

A small piece of my heart

Just rolled over

And died.

And

Funny thing


I have no tears for it


Not yet anyway

[Prisoner_Number_Six]

4. A poem I wrote many years ago.

BALLERINA

She dances lightly
across the floor-
A Ballerina child
She whirls and leaps
so prettily
and lightly tips her toes-
Her arms outreaching
to the world
Her head so high and proud
She smiles her secret,
knowing smile-
The music's in her soul!
Perfection, grace
and easy style
are in her every move
Young lady, dancer,
Ballerina-
Beautiful and proud!

© 2008 Steven A. Hessler
All Rights Reserved

[RainDog]

5. not by me

To Eva Descending the Stair
--by sylvia plath

Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear;
The wheels revolve, the universe keeps running.
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)

The asteroids turn traitor in the air,
And planets plot with old elliptic cunning;
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.

Red the unraveled rose sings in your hair:
Blood springs eternal if the heart be burning.
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)

Cryptic stars wind up the atmosphere,
In solar schemes the titled suns go turning;
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.

Loud the immortal nightingales declare:
Love flames forever if the flesh be yearning.
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)

Circling zodiac compels the year.
Intolerant beauty never will be learning.
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)

[madinmaryland]

6. There once was a man who took a ....

ooops

:hi:

[Skip Intro]

7. Lyrics, Flyod, Poetic.

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

[Robeson]

8. One of my all time favorites...

...

Caligula's Horse

And it came to pass that Caligula's horse
Was proclaimed senator.

A fair horse, almost divine,
It strode majestically into the hall,
Greeted everyone with due regard,
Taking no notice of rank or office, even of the ministers,
And went straight to its appointed place
Modestly,
As if it were ashamed of being there.

It immediately saw through those around it,
Murderers, profiteers, sycophants, wheelers and dealers
It never assented
to the conquest of other countries,

To the lowering of salaries, or to the raising of prices,
Nor did it take any notice of pompous speeches,
Never did it applaud,
but listened to the speeches of the orators
with sheer indifference
And it never dreamed of taking advantage of its senatorial
position to publish fat books.

On occasion, glancing at the sleepy faces of its citizens,
It would dream of how it used to frolic in the meadows,
Of the clear blue sky, of spring water.

Later it was engulfed by such sorrow
That the senators began looking askance at it,
They began murmuring about its wild past,
About the dubious company it kept, about its unbridled lifestyle.

Nonetheless, it lived a long life
And it used its power better than anyone else had,
That is:
not at all!

[skinnyjeans]

9. Birdy in a parking spot splot!

[Heidi]

10. Date of estimated return from overseas by Steve Mason

Date of estimated return from overseas (DEROS) for my soul:
By Steve Mason, VVA poet laureate

At times when I am calm
I remember
that even if you waited for it
nothing came as suddenly
as gunfire
and nothing (not even the Lieutenant)
seemed as stupid
as the silence which followed

At such times I know also
that each of us
who fought in Vietnam
was spirtually captured by it,
and that each remains
a prisoner
of his own war-

It is, therefore, not surprising
that for some (like for me)
the AfterNam emptiness
published no D.e.r.o.s.
for the soul....

Yet, in moments better known to me,
when reason drifts
and whole worlds are illuminated
with Platonic images
dancing images
dancing against the cave-walls
of my mind,
lit by a single candle
borrowed from a twilight wish,
I take the stairs two-at-a-time
and wait in the second floor window
of my days,
hoping that someday will come next morning
and that I'll recognize the soul of a much younger me
come diddy-boppin' down the street,
eating a sky-bar
and hefting a duffle bag
filled with new and more believeable myths
that I might live by
(not to mention back pay)
while humming something about
going to San Fransisco
and something about a flower in somebody's hair

Frankly, I don't know if I'd throw flowers
or run down stairs, meet him at the curb
and beat Hell out of him-
leaving me the way he did!

I mean, i't not like my damned soul,
dressed up like Jennifer Jones in drag,
and waved farewell with a lace hanky
from the base of a Bon-Sai plant
in a To do Street floral shop
while i woke the next morning and
couldn't cry anymore
or laugh like before
or give a **** period.

And my soul didn't go berserk
under the too bright light
of a Government Moon
and go roaring down Highway #1
doing a wheely on a cycle
like James Dean in a steel pot
and flak jacket
laughing Red Baron kind of laugh
and quoting Kipling's Barrack-Room
Ballads--

No.

My soul just did
what most souls did.
Just disappeared one afternoon
when I was in a firefight
Just "walked away" in the scuffle
like a Dunhill lighter
off the deck of a red-neck bar.

Peculiar,
A man can lose his money,
his woman
(even his mind)
and still he can come back,
but if he loses his courage
or his pride
then-
it is over.

And what of a lost soul?
I ask myself
when madness invades
scattering today's headlines
like March Hares
leaving nothing at the table
of my reason
beyond one crumb of truth
and the enormous bloodstain
on the white cloth of my youth-shaped
(if you come around this side
of the table and cock your head
just so)
like a distorted lunar projection of Vietnam.

And careful, don't strike your knee
against that table leg
cause then it jumps alive
like somebody flunked
the ink blot test
and knocking over the candlabra
dives out of the window of my sanity
to run naked down the street
lined on both sides by
Vietnam vets
who couldn't sleep either
and just followed the blood trail
like mute somnambulists
in a black and white foreign film
because they heard that tonight
their shared nightmare
(with Vietnamese sub-titles)
had called a muster of lost souls
to be followed by Nam,
Bloody Nam,
leading a one man parade
and twirling a baton
that looked like nobody's penis
I ever saw
and probably belonged
to the guy in back of me
poor bastard.

Geez, it gets scary in here sometimes,
do it not, Brutha?
And oh, sister, do you have songs to
sing?
About war without glory
and love beyond reward.

Maybe someday God will mint a medal so beautiful
no words are printed on it
and all of our sisters
who were there with us
would get one
and everyone, everywhere who saw it
would know just what it was
and would find a "thoughtful place"
to go sit down in for a week

And then maybe God would let us have
a picnic (bigger than the moon)
and all the boys and girls
of daddies whose lives they saved
could hold hands
to make a daisy chain for the sun.

And when it was all done
the big people
would make God a prayer-promise
never, never to do anything like Nam
again
And when the cheers died down
the sun would bow his head
ever so slightly
so the children might wish their necklace
`round his head
and when it was in place,
all of a sudden-
faster, even then gunfire,
everybody's lost soul would
just come floating down like a
bright balloon
on a string

and mine would wink at yours
and pretend not to see me
and when everyone got his,
All the children would sing
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!!
over and over again.....

_________________________________

PORTLAND, Oregon Steve Mason, a soldier and poet who became the unofficial bard of the Vietnam War, died on May 25 in Ashland, Oregon. He was 65. The cause of death was lung cancer his family said. Mason's poems were particularly appreciated by many veterans of the Vietnam War. His poem "The Wall Within" was read at the 1984 dedication of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, known as the Wall, in Washington. His poetry concerning the war was an effort to make sense of it and to connect with others who had had similar experiences in Vietnam, said Diane Weirch, his former wife. Mason began by writing love poems in the 1970s, co-writing "Moths and Violets" with a friend. Eventually, he began opening up the wounds of war in blank verse, publishing the trilogy he is best known for - "Johnny's Song: Poetry of a Vietnam Veteran" in 1986, "Warrior for Peace" in 1988 and "The Human Being - A Warrior's Journey Toward Peace and Mutual Healing" in 1990.



http://www.dailytidings.com/2005/0316/031605n1.shtml


http://www.dailytidings.com/2005/0316/031605n1.shtml


http://www.dailytidings.com/2005/0316/031605n1.shtml

[RainDog]

11. This one was constantly on my mind earlier today.

The lyrics of a song that make me want to cry.

Attics of My Life
(greatful dead)


In the attics of my life
Full of cloudy dreams unreal
Full of tastes no tongue can know
And lights no eye can see
When there was no ear to hear
You sang to me
I have spent my life
Seeking all that's still unsung
Bent my ear to hear the tune
And closed my eyes to see
When there were no strings to play
You played to me
In the book of love's own dream
Where all the print is blood
Where all the pages are my days
And all my lights grow old
When I had no wings to fly
You flew to me
You
flew
to me
In the secret space of dreams
Where I dreaming lay amazed
When the secrets all are told
And the petals all unfold
When there was no dream of mine
You dreamed of me

[zabet]

12. Heh heh....

The clouds were dark,
and sky was blue.
Down the road the
shit truck flew.
It hit a tree,
in the curve,
And a man was killed
by a flying turd.

:rofl:

[Dogmudgeon]

13. Ode to a Frog

The thunder roared
The lightning flashed
A tree fell
A frog got smashed

--p!