|
|
Posted on: Jul 13 18, 16:06 |
Assyrian
Group: Gold Member
Posts: 250
Joined: 1-November 15
Member No.: 5,282
|
Clearly, above the hubub today, the hounds’ bays, piercing, sustained, drown out all other sounds, as if a dome of fogged silence shuts out all but the fierce barks, yelps, howls and growling.
The hounds’ owner sits, calmly, on a ridge, knowing precisely where the search leads. He has adopted the measured, well-advised course maintaining the disciplined process of discovery, arrest, and conviction.
He pauses for a solemn look into the disarray of the valley, then nudges his charger’s reins back to from where he came, the mountain where eagles live; he’ll consult with a hermit there, who has forsaken all comforts for the headstrong life of refusal.
The horseman will simply sit to a cup of the hermit’s special blend, and as he leaves they’ll exchange nods, nothing more; enough is enough.
|
|
Forum: Free Verse Poetry for Critique -> Seren'...
· Post Preview: #150902
· Replies: 1
· Views: 4,717
|
|
Posted on: Jul 13 18, 16:03 |
Assyrian
Group: Gold Member
Posts: 250
Joined: 1-November 15
Member No.: 5,282
|
An otherworldly white rose appears full bloom on the mantle to soothe our harsh tomorrows. Where does the lithe spirit we abandoned loom? Alive, alive in memory, not in sorrow.
The dread apparitions that claim you nightly, will they too, come with us on our final run, then in drear spite, haunt us anew frightfully, and dwell in this dream’s remainder like a sun?
Will the fear of what we’ve come to understand, proud in lop-top-sided triumph, embrace us? A thousand turbulent miles from land lies more land, here, the dolphins hypnotize with arcing trust.
The ocean of our past informs us, and gleams; beneath tormented skies, prophets’ poems speak while silent seamsters sew spirit to our dreams. We can’t forget what we’ve lost for what we seek.
Can we summon the extent of what we know, how we know it, and make when conform to now? There is nothing more sound than a falcon’s show, only a dove’s return with what love might allow.
|
|
Forum: Fixed Form and Rhyming Poetry for Critique -...
· Post Preview: #150901
· Replies: 1
· Views: 4,812
|
|
Posted on: Apr 2 18, 23:26 |
Assyrian
Group: Gold Member
Posts: 250
Joined: 1-November 15
Member No.: 5,282
|
She assaulted my eyes with percussive light, ratatattatting against dream window panes, pulse set at zero, she amped it up to racing, her sauciness teamed with shy eyelid flutter.
Her voice had the tone of midnight river-flow, not a hallucination, a vivid portrait breathing answers to street ruckus, hushed revelations.
There was a wispy nonchalance in her walk, as she snuck quick looks over walls she knew not as barriers, but vantage to a better view.
Across a Ukranian café table, we sent glances each other’s’ way, both of us gaining insight into that first-sight axiom’s truth in spades, carrying the night before us into florid delights.
Desire, unbidden, entertained us with its ins, its outs, its provocations alive, rapt in a view of sensuousness sprung alive, alert to our bodies’ twisting, indelicate, sensual spasms.
In an after-hours club, carousers brushed past us, brash, blind to our active magnet-attraction. A fight commenced, I sprang to separate them, bottles crashing, chairs upended; hostilities ceased, she moved from the back, and touched my arm lightly.
I asked her to dance; put off by the whip-lash dancers, she demurred silently and bloomed inside me with notes of her own feline dance, unrevealed to any other witness, as I embraced in thought her burgeoning waist, lithe as mist.
Pre-dawn at her fifth-floor walk-up, eros tossed us back and forth next to the kitchen bathtub, until a well-centered kiss found our lips willing. I ushered up another request for a dance now; her lips, still moist from mine, separated into an unspoken sly pout, defining non-resistance, and we moved to the center of these recollections. |
|
Forum: Free Verse Poetry for Critique -> Seren'...
· Post Preview: #149931
· Replies: 0
· Views: 3,789
|
|
Posted on: Jan 31 18, 15:34 |
Assyrian
Group: Gold Member
Posts: 250
Joined: 1-November 15
Member No.: 5,282
|
I.
Their families at war with each other, rabid dogs at the heels of a stranger, one angry son to a feuding brother. In their own measure, away from danger, they intertwined hands, welcoming desire, and gifted each other unwonted bliss. As the clans’ rivalry spun in a gyre, the two became aware of their abyss, a deceptive potion would remedy the dark mire, albeit a desperate cure. Deadly, morbid, ill-advised, the recipe effected a demise of hearts still pure.
In full wedding night posture, unavowed, forever’s dusky form served as their shroud.
II.
Poppin’ off at each other, kinfolk were, nasty coon-hounds worryin’ a preacher, young frisky whelp to a nasty neighbor. Hid away from peepin’ nosy stalkers, they clutched each other tight and long, gave each other a tasty dose of neon blue. Families pissed as tom's in a gay cat bar, the pair jumped up to their situation, blotter acid mixed with pure thorazine might prove the cure to their dilemma. Too far-out, spacy, the cocktail, spookily turned both their lights to endless black,
dressed for the hook-up, down for night, laid-out, ebony eternity draped them tight. |
|
Forum: Fixed Form and Rhyming Poetry for Critique -...
· Post Preview: #149477
· Replies: 1
· Views: 4,836
|
|
Posted on: Jan 29 18, 14:41 |
Assyrian
Group: Gold Member
Posts: 250
Joined: 1-November 15
Member No.: 5,282
|
Flea market booths, displays, a quickened, one-day settlement in Albuquerque winter sun. Talking politics, resistance, why I’d moved back to my birth country, to fight imposter dimwit don.
Current partner in the fight said, "back in the 50’s in the army, Korea, black guys, it wasn’t so good, but gradual now, getting better." Moving in, conspiratorially, soft confidence, I told him, a Navajo craftsman, "there’s a rainbow inside me, red, white, black, brown, yellow, no blue though, that’s outside me, up there, big, overhead, what all those colors inside reach for."
Under that same blue, later, on my route, innocence raced pell mell. Two tiny latina chicas, long whirling, swirling, black hair. They raced in parking lot dirt, alongside Tony’s Taco truck, quitting for the day. Big sister leading, younger sister trailing, both happy, squealing meteors.
Me, sciatica-struck, hobbling with new wood cane, making jokes with other cane-wielding citizens: "You one of the three Legged people too?"
After embarrassing fall, teetering over into a vendor’s display, where I had chosen an Indian bag, flute player design, for sister-in-law. I turned to go back, a small Indian girl in my path, moved just a fraction to miss her and lost balance, crashing thud, crumple into middle of display, hearing glass shattering as I landed.
The curious gathered, I rolled to the side, apologizing for whatever I broke, I’ll pay for that, I heard glass break. Someone handed me the hardwood cane, I, weaker than I could accept, inched up in some pain, you alright? choiring at me. A teenage Latina gave me a water bottle, back to infancy, dependent, on the kindness of strangers.
Dizzy head spinning, gathered up crumpled, found the street for home. A straight as a Navajo arrow vapor trail shot over me, headed down to the targeted far horizon. I craned my neck to the limits of pain, trying to capture the white puff streak’s beginnings, not able to see, not able to, not able.
All those colors inside, moved outside me now, like separate, endless skies, all with their hands extended, towards me, helping me up, and up, and up. |
|
Forum: Free Verse Poetry for Critique -> Seren'...
· Post Preview: #149466
· Replies: 2
· Views: 5,225
|
|
Posted on: Dec 5 17, 15:49 |
Assyrian
Group: Gold Member
Posts: 250
Joined: 1-November 15
Member No.: 5,282
|
https://soundcloud.com/rc-james-user841120068/z0000418I looked out this morning, blues ‘s far as I could see mmmm-hmmmmm-mm, blues ‘s far as I could see checked my mail, blues was all addressed to me I went an’ picked up my guitar blues fell out like rain Yahh – ohh – mmmhmmm – mm fell out like rain An empty pillow your side ‘a the bed all that remain I’m gonna ride on down on the coast at Gulfport Ride on down, down on the coast at Gulfport Swim on out ‘til these blues sink to tha ocean floor Ain’t goin’ nowhere, just spinnin’ my back wheels mmm-hah-mmm-mm-mm spinnin’ my back wheels you evah had tha heartache you know how it feels change your mind baby, better keep it to yourself oh yah, baby, mmmmm-hmm- keep it to yourself used to these blues now, I don’t want nothin’ else keep it to yourself I’m used to these blues I don’ want nothin’ else |
|
Forum: Free Verse Poetry for Critique -> Seren'...
· Post Preview: #149115
· Replies: 2
· Views: 6,178
|
|
Posted on: Nov 11 17, 20:33 |
Assyrian
Group: Gold Member
Posts: 250
Joined: 1-November 15
Member No.: 5,282
|
I
Insight hummed in Abelard’s classrooms; logic was seduction’s offshoot. Virgin thoughts bounded beside him on sodden or sunny streets. Devoted to Trinity renewed, he undid the tacky syllabus grown musty.
Heloise, niece of Lord Fulbert, whispered to her classmates, voicing change. She released will o’ the wisp from papers of antiquated hubris, and looked for a guide, a teacher, who espoused possibility in all. In his lecture room, she saw the half of herself she thought she’d never find, fast in his eyes.
Clarity spoke to both; beyond breath, they forsook all to sigh's effusion, love streamed agua pura freshets lucid as words that hold their own rain.
II
They embraced, Fulbert blind to it. Abelard’s lessons bounced with classics and brimful hearts. Fulbert caught them flagrante; the affair, to his knowledge, ended
Heloise sought refuge at his sister’s. Abelard pleaded the force of love at her pregnancy, infuriating Fulbert more. Put off by “sweet chains,” sure of his imminent boredom, the prison of marriage unappealing, she left for a convent.
Abelard’s staff betrayed him to Fulbert’s thugs; knives flashing in the dark, they castrated him, his screams alerting neighbors. Scholars howled misfortune, women nearby showed him profound tenderness.
Shame, not conviction, turned Abelard to the monastery; he taught again. Heloise became first abbess of the Paraclete Abbey, child, sister, mother to the world. Letters show regular contact.
Years later, at a brief reunion in Paris, they realized their love as the holy key.
Theological snipers plagued Abelard up to his last retirement, where he encountered great kindness, no jealousy, for his learning.
1142 he was gone.
Heloise studied for twenty years more.
History: Heloise was a gifted student in 12th Century Paris, neice of Notre Dame’s Canon Fulbert. Twenty years her senior, Abelard, a philosopher/teacher, was intrigued by her wit and intelligence, on an intelectual par with him. They became romantically entwined, though such a relationship was forbidden at the time. Heloise became pregnant, and they fled Paris. They were plagued and harrassed by the uncle’s interference in their lives. Heloise escaped to a convent in Argenteuil. Fulbert set his hired assassins on Abelard. Their love endures in countless letters.
|
|
Forum: Free Verse Poetry for Critique -> Seren'...
· Post Preview: #148914
· Replies: 1
· Views: 4,244
|
|
Posted on: Oct 18 17, 16:51 |
Assyrian
Group: Gold Member
Posts: 250
Joined: 1-November 15
Member No.: 5,282
|
Love’s a word beyond words.
Language, duncelike, can’t explain it. You want it past all meaning, like a rosebud opening in surprise inside a breeze in your chest, so breathtaking you're afraid it's not yours to keep.
Sometimes it’s a deluge you don’t understand, that submerges you under skies that clear to the warmth of focus on the other.
Your impassable mountains fall to a new horizon.
Touch alone brings a harvest that shines, grains of sand prisms in its light.
Take this love, you’ll find more.
|
|
Forum: Free Verse Poetry for Critique -> Seren'...
· Post Preview: #148748
· Replies: 2
· Views: 5,269
|
|
Posted on: Oct 15 17, 22:07 |
Assyrian
Group: Gold Member
Posts: 250
Joined: 1-November 15
Member No.: 5,282
|
http://tindeck.com/listen/cogtcI got to take a break – Iook for an opening tu-u-u-ne in distance is a lot more than distance more than a long way to go feeling some resistance got to make a connection frequency modulation is wrong you got to make contact it’s you or it’s all dust not just any connection contact – contact - contact This is also a prayer – a chant a rant – whatever you want it to be what is your bandwidth where are you now make a connection – tu –u – u – u – u – n - in Resonance is out of kilter what’s your wavelength too much resistance are we on the same bit stream connection – make a connection |
|
Forum: Free Verse Poetry for Critique -> Seren'...
· Post Preview: #148719
· Replies: 0
· Views: 3,824
|
|
Posted on: Sep 26 17, 18:57 |
Assyrian
Group: Gold Member
Posts: 250
Joined: 1-November 15
Member No.: 5,282
|
https://soundcloud.com/rc-james-user841120068/z0000286-1Wolves are up on the ridge in the snow It’s cold in this crazy white hair blizzard Don’t look like there’s anywhere to go Last time I saw you I let down my guard You saw inside me a picture of the storm Lost now, that’s just the way things are I hear your voice, only thing that’s warm My dreams need a Lamborghini engine If they’re ever gonna start to perform On the other side of the current troubles On the far side, the crazy side of abandon Like a rag-picker I’ve sifted through the rubble Inside this no horizon, blinding white out Let me tell you clear, I can hear you singing Nobody on their way, nobody hears my shout I’m New York City tough, alway been hard-nosed And right now I’m huddled here in the tall pines, your memory, ’specially when you danced, glows Inside this death-rattle blizzard, all I can clearly see Is you standin’ on the stage at Dominick’s Bar Singin’ like you did, you were gonna set us all free Now, right now here in this deadly silent whiteout I can hear you singing - I can hear you singing Birmingham bells on the North side come ringing I can hear you singing – I can hear you singing |
|
Forum: Free Verse Poetry for Critique -> Seren'...
· Post Preview: #148605
· Replies: 2
· Views: 5,883
|
|
Posted on: Jun 29 17, 05:19 |
Assyrian
Group: Gold Member
Posts: 250
Joined: 1-November 15
Member No.: 5,282
|
(Revision2)
The compass points south to the knife, the guitar, deep song, and the furtive assassin
The dagger readily cuts through passion. The shadowy blade wielder, or rather, the myth, reflects the low life around it. In the alleyway, slinky, stealthy moves possess the killing ground, mythologies dissipate, switchblades lose their owners to blaring sirens. The dagger makes no sound, it weighs on the assassin, flashes to the heart as time; the dead live in the tango. Now gone, past renewal, laid down rope-wise, thorough benediction, they live inside the dance, in the tone of the guitar, in lucid now, in what has been ignored, and what is now uncovered.
Glinting under a fugitive moon, the knife slices through passion; the spectral defiler, cloaked in myth, cuts through low life around him.
In the alleyway, the blade’s shine challenges the sky, mythologies dissipate. The dagger weighs on the assassin. He apprises the razor edge with a wary thumb, then, silently, lacerates time,
The dead live in the tango, laid down rope-wise, under thorough benediction, they live inside the tango, in the tone of the guitar, in lucid now, in what has been ignored, what is now uncovered.
(orig.)
A blade, in faint shadows under a fugitive moon, slices through distorted passion, frenzied low life. In the alleyway, alien wasteland, the blade’s shadow torments the sky. The assassin savors the blade’s edge with an anxious thumb. Then, without a whisper, he lacerates time, the beating heart. The dead, past renewal, under thorough benediction. live inside the tango, in the tone of the guitar, in lucid now, in what has been ignored, what is now uncovered, courage, deep song, and the assassin’s blade. |
|
Forum: Free Verse Poetry for Critique -> Seren'...
· Post Preview: #147629
· Replies: 9
· Views: 9,800
|
New Replies No New Replies Hot Topic (New) Hot Topic (No New) |
Poll (New) Poll (No New) Locked Topic Moved Topic |
|
Read our FLYERS - click below
Reference links provided to aid in fine-tuning
your writings. ENJOY!
|
|
|
|