Poems...come share your work.

[SingularNYCFemme]

This is absolutely stunning. Thank you for sharing it with us here.

Originally Posted by I'mOneToo

six feet tall
gorgeous tendrils
of curly blonde hair
i ran my hand through it
caught it in the back,
entwined it in my fingers
held it
pulled it slowly
our lips
so close
i moved to her ear
whispered
my suggestion
"yes"
was her answer
"first..."
ah, negotiation...
"i need to..."
what, what?
in her timidity
she bit my neck
i disengaged to ask
"what do you need?"
she licked my earlobe
gently
and whispered her request,
"i need to see your ID."

baby butch.
diaper dyke.
barely 21,
yes, I showed her proof.
a year later
we laughed about that
at our anniversary dinner
when we celebrated
our one-night stand
that held up
through 12 months
of silly string
and delusions
that made up
our "R"elationship
we exchanged rings
called ourselves married
enjoyed all the trappings therein
and were thus... trapped.

many years later
when history
repeated itself
i tried to remember
that kind of september
when life was so tender
though it wasn't always mellow
and september is not always
kind

but i have learned
through all those septembers
that when october comes
blowing leaves into corners
where they get stuck
in the cobwebs
on the shelves
of the mind
there will always be
a fall
and i will always
catch myself

remembering with kindness
the septembers that fell apart
and drifted away
with the falling leaves

[SingularNYCFemme]

The child of city streets
forever dreaming of forests
woodlands and worn paths
the Queen Anne's Lace on the side
of summer camp roads

Ferns
all those frowsy blowsy leaves
bowing beside the paths we walked
that's where I was spoiled most
in the glens and secret walkways
of childhood summers far from concrete

I adopted a rock once
not far from the tent in which
I slept covered in cool breezes
a special rock requiring just
a slip of a climb

My thinking rock
the summer I turned 13
the summer of my adoration
of a counselor
Lynnea
who taught me massage
and ran away in the middle of the summer
with some stupid boyfriend

Just before she left
she came to me and swore me
to secrecy
and then gave me a massage
a backrub
and I adored her even more
crying when she left because I knew
she was truly gone

My rock was my solace
my solitude
just 20 feet beyond my tent
at the edge of camp
and on hikes there were
Queen Anne's Lace
Black Eyed Susans
and thousands and thousands
of ferns and their fronds

[txdoc]

She enunciates clearly my unformed thoughts
Sowing seeds of possibleness
Stroking my intellect
Gently probing my beliefs
Brushing past my horizons
She enters me
Surrounds me
Becomes me
While she listens to the lilt of my song
Creating us with voice and laughter

[cinderella]

I totally disagree with that analyzer - I don't write anything like this. I don't feel any rhythm or flow in his poem.

Originally Posted by Kast

It seems, at first glance, that he's a storyteller of sorts. Everyone loves a good story and I'm sure back in the times of old - these were the people that would stand around the fire at night and amuse, earn their keep by reciting a 'yarn', and were very much loved in the community... (gosh, my imagination - can someone catch it! - it's running down the path there...) lol

"Instructions
by Neil Gaiman

Touch the wooden gate in the wall you never
saw before.

Say "please" before you open the latch,
go through,
walk down the path.

A red metal imp hangs from the green-painted
front door,
as a knocker,
do not touch it; it will bite your fingers.

Walk through the house. Take nothing. Eat
nothing.

However, if any creature tells you that it hungers,
feed it.

If it tells you that it is dirty,
clean it.

If it cries to you that it hurts,
if you can,
ease its pain.

From the back garden you will be able to see the
wild wood.

The deep well you walk past leads to Winter's
realm;
there is another land at the bottom of it.

If you turn around here,
you can walk back, safely;
you will lose no face. I will think no less of you.

Once through the garden you will be in the
wood.
The trees are old. Eyes peer from the under-
growth.

Beneath a twisted oak sits an old woman. She
may ask for something;
give it to her. She
will point the way to the castle.

Inside it are three princesses.

Do not trust the youngest. Walk on.

In the clearing beyond the castle the twelve
months sit about a fire,
warming their feet, exchanging tales.

They may do favors for you, if you are polite.
You may pick strawberries in December's frost.
Trust the wolves, but do not tell them where
you are going.

The river can be crossed by the ferry. The ferry-
man will take you.

(The answer to his question is this:

If he hands the oar to his passenger, he will be free to
leave the boat.

Only tell him this from a safe distance.)

If an eagle gives you a feather, keep it safe.

Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; that
witches are often betrayed by their appetites;
dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always;
hearts can be well-hidden,
and you betray them with your tongue.

Do not be jealous of your sister.
Know that diamonds and roses
are as uncomfortable when they tumble from
one's lips as toads and frogs:
colder, too, and sharper, and they cut.

Remember your name.
Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found.

Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped
to help you in their turn.

Trust dreams.

Trust your heart, and trust your story.

When you come back, return the way you came.
Favors will be returned, debts will be repaid.

Do not forget your manners.
Do not look back.
Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall).
Ride the silver fish (you will not drown).
Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).

There is a worm at the heart of the tower; that is
why it will not stand.

When you reach the little house, the place your
journey started,
you will recognize it, although it will seem
much smaller than you remember.

Walk up the path, and through the garden gate
you never saw before but once.

And then go home. Or make a home.

And rest."

[SingularNYCFemme]

Just posting this here to share it.

There is a lurching within
to realize that plates have shifted
beneath the ground on which I walk
my daily walk

The world seems less safe now
so many people less
all right
so many actions
so wrong

Breathe
I whisper to myself
deep and long
through the days and nights
with resurgence waiting
around a bend or two

Breathe and learn to be
resplendent in self
abide in the truths of
what was before
what is now
open these hands to
work and the world

[luv2luvgirls]

Thanks to the ones who posted links on analyzing your poems.. I really enjoyed seeing whom I write like

[SingularNYCFemme]

Based on the above poem, I write like David Foster Wallace. I find that fascinating and a real compliment.

[luv2luvgirls]

Originally Posted by SingularNYCFemme

Based on this poem, I write like David Foster Wallace.

cool! his name came up on one of mine as well.. just dont remember which one

that is a lovely poem

[SingularNYCFemme]

Originally Posted by luv2luvgirls

cool! his name came up on one of mine as well.. just dont remember which one

that is a lovely poem

Thank you so much. I edited it because I thought it was a bit much to quote a poem that was already posted right above that revelation. I like that different poems have different results; to me it indicates fluidity and movement in style and form. I need to go back and read some of your poems soon!

[Estella]

Our F&B Director asked me to write a preemptive thank-you to his department for what they're going to go through on Thursday, and this is what I came up with. If you've ever worked in the food industry, maybe this will resonate.


As the diners in (our restaurant) all relax and sip their wine,
They’re chatting with their loved ones and enjoying their time,
While the clink of glass and silver and the crackle of the fire
Ensure all feel warm and welcome, with everything they could desire.
And upstairs in the condos the hosts all beam with pride,
As their guests enjoy their turkeys with whatever’s on the side.
And even in the Ballroom there are families tucked away,
To indulge in all we offer on this extraordinary day.

It’s Thanksgiving at (fancy hotel) – on the surface it’s serene
With the city’s finest service and food fit for a king.
But peeling back the layers you don’t have to look too far
To get a clearer sense of just how nuts things really are:

The Kitchen staff is buzzing, from the heat and the caffeine,
Pastry’s hip deep in flour, but they insist it’s just routine.
Banquets are professionals, who consistently amaze,
Stewarding are troopers – but they haven’t slept in days.
And the Servers? Well, they’re smiling but they look like they’re in shock -
And the turkeys are already running for the loading dock.
It’s the ultimate team effort, with credit shared by all -
And there goes (Sous Chef), chasing turkeys down the hall.

If you ask me what I’m thankful for on this November day
It’s the care and dedication that you show in every way.
Only a team like ours could deliver such a feat
While making it look seamless, like you do this every week.
But what’s even more impressive is the attitude you bring
As you’re smiling through the chaos, and perfecting everything,
And doing unto others, as you would have done to you -
So thank you for your service, and Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.

[Hollylane]

[Velvetkitten]

Scales of time tipping in my favor
balancing the before, the now and the ever
After
Mirror upon my soul looking back at me
Calling, screaming urging Awaken!
Mine answered with a resounding call for it would not
Be forsaken
Now time ceases to exist
For it is
What is, what was, what has always been and will
Forever be...
When I look into you and you look back at me

[~baby~doll~]

magic
what is this sound
it twirls me around
surly it is the chant of magic
beating in my heart

tempted by a vision
time for decision
surly this sight
will be scrying all the night
it is bound to be magic

my feelings loosely bound
have me hanging above the ground
candles burn
pages turn
my heart an open book
time for me to look
now i read the words of magic
the spell is not so tragic

a drop of blood does fall
finding yet my call
what was lost is now regained
the linen blouse is blood stained
the tearing of my heart
ripping from the start
it must be magic of a different kind
which comes to call
helping me not to fall

what magic is this
which binds my hands
it alters all my plans
on cold stone alter we all at sometime lie
knowing better than to cry
oh sweet release into magic's hands
makes for me different plans

the crow caws through the night
the familiar spirit of my cat
it runs and hides like a rat
the beak will certainly bite
and this is the magic it calls me best
this witch it comes and sinks into my breast

the lavender glows my selflessness
the white for my lost innocence
the pink shines forth in love
and here i lay the sacrifice
gift i am and still i be
i do not care what others see

they might judge i walk behind
they may laugh as i kneel at her feet
they may think it is insane to relish after loves unique pain
they can call me vile and disgusting to my face
the sweet caress of love will erase
i find myself bound in magic
no i am not tragic
i am purified by my life
though i will never be a wife

this witch is me
waiting here on bended knee
i will wait so patiently
this magic is my love
it burns me from above
it fills me like a dove

i rest my head in the night
i have learned not to fight
i will awake with the suns first light
seeing the beautiful magical day

[Artzy76]

Letting Go

I don't want to miss you anymore...
I don't want to feel the memories trapped in these walls.
You may not be present but your energy lurks and my name it calls.
I can still smell you in my pillow i hold onto each night.
I can almost feel your hands in my hair and holding me tight.
I want the ghost of you gone, out of my sight.
I took down your pictures, locked your gifts away with the pain.
My heart beats to your rhythm, tears they fall like rain.
Frozen by fear I sit stoic by your love stain.
I beg of you to break this spell and let me soar!
I just don't' want to miss you anymore!

[Venus007]

I hang in the eternal still space between whistle and strike
A single exquisite banquet or a cornucopia
Will I arch or hollow
Either way a crossing on that old Windy Tree, the Gallows Horse.