Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jul 2017 witchy woman
wordvango
ah
 Jul 2017 witchy woman
wordvango
ah
there are characters in romance in wit
in seances that try to pull wool
over your blind eyes

smarter fools than I
catch their games
their playfulness

I believe in them

or want

for I

am star struck and  earthbound

wanting more to life
I sit and hope for  aliens to visit

conjure up visions of ghostly
visitors on full moon nights
werewolves

daredevils  
tight walking Imagineers
peering into an abyss

with thoughts
from the realm of make  believed
childhood innocence

fairy tailed

I love stories and dreams and romance
I love tripping over my two big clodhopper feet
and falling through

my ******* nearly breaking

my ****** neck

again
 Jul 2017 witchy woman
wordvango
nature to this
the entire atmosphere
dark backgrounds
composed of silhouetted
stiletto nudes posed
starkly blocking the sun
leaving
long trails in the morning's
rays of the darkest nights
wild  entertaining
as  long shadows slowly ebbing
slowly so stealthily
back into the gray
 Jul 2017 witchy woman
Traveler
Years ago
Upon a ship
Crossing
World
Wide seas
I did my time
In the serves of
Ronald Reagan's
Navy

Hurricanes
I've road a few
Sea sick misery
Home sick blues
Riding walls
Of violent
Waves
Above ancient
Sailors
Sunken graves

When Gorbachev
Finally gave
The post cold war
Took the stage
Yet the Russians
Navy still
Rattles it's blades

The Caribbean's
Cast a spell
Beautiful ladies
Hot as hell
Tropic voodoo
Nights
As if
Living every
Exciting moment
Of a magic life

Liberty boats
Bars and brothels
The Mediterranean Sea
Spanish charm
The beauty of Italy
The warmth of Sicily
I shall return someday
Dear France
To the friendly shores
Of thee
Menton, Toulon
From dusk to dawn
Where love is given free

Until then
It's the sea
To shining sea
For me!
Traveler Tim
 Jul 2017 witchy woman
wordvango
a bit decrepit
rigor mortis  feels
as if it sets in
and I am breathing
wrinkled gray was worn out
like yesterdays smelly shirt
and yet
with still the hopes
and dreams and mindset
of a four-year-old
on Christmas Eve
 Jul 2017 witchy woman
Candice
I wait aimlessly for your arrival
Just to see your smile
To hold you in my arms
To keep you from the world's harm

As I sit waiting
That moment I am creating
When I can finally see you standing before me
How lovely would that be
I hear your car outside
Last time I saw you I cried

As I run to meet you
I realize our love is true
Our bodies meet with an embrace
And all I can feel is my heart race

We spend hours together
We're two birds of a feather
I enjoy every second I have sitting beside you
Butterflies I get from you, as if our love is still new

The way you say goodbye
And the way you cry
And hug me so tight
In your arms it feels so right
Kissing you for what I know is the last time for awhile
Oh, how I'll miss that smile

As I walk away from the only thing I've ever really known
Home doesn't even feel like home
All I can say is that I miss you, Bay
Knowing you're about 130 miles
Hello Poetry


Yearned.
Ached.
For so long, for a community,
That values the ineffable wonder
Of a wordsmith's creations, intended to
Repair himself and the world with bullets of
Verses.

And here you are.

Like/Dislike, matters not,
So long as we value each others work,
And the the heart echoes within
What the eyes read and the mouth whispers.

The array and disparity of your names,
A delight,
Each name a poem
In its own right.

So I resubmit a question for your consideration,
The answer is now known,
The answer is all of us.
May 2013
---------------------------------------------------------


­Who's Who In Poetry  



T'is a curious thing,
these verbal peddlers, tribal members,
famously well known to no one,
perhaps at best,
a kindred few, fellow-travelers.

Each a troop,
bloodied, purple hearted,
word-wounded,
anonymous unto each other,
yet all bonded intimates,
in solitary struggle united,
yet sea-parted by the very nature
of the solitude of composition.

All poets are Cain scar-marked,
purposed for everyone to see,
a warning to rabbled boors,
imagination suppressors!

World:

cherish these flawed ones,
gentle these frail but gritty,
the Lord has tasked them
to be prophets in one tongue untied,
undo the strife of Babel's division.

Poets!

Be the harpooners
of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody,
comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy
to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders
into crinkly eye-lined smilers.

With clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
teach us our free-to-see peep show,
reveal, unseal us
with **** empathy!

For who's who in poetry
is all of us!
saviors and failures,
recorders and decoders,
night writers of the oohs and aahs
of dreams and nightmares.

When this poet cannot,
no longer, anymore,
tastes his poems upon your lips,
keep your poems within his heart,
then he breathes no more,
and becomes one who was,
yet is,
because of you,
in poetry.
---------------
Postscript (1/25/17)

Even more true today, than four years ago.
Thank You.
a revised, minor modestly different, version was published in Feb 2016 as
Orphans and Poets, Peddlers & Members https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1564122/orphans-and-poets-peddlers-members/


and then finally another different variant, more personal was published in
Aug 2016 as
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1734088/the-harpooner-of-the-unexamined-life


the harpooner of the unexamined life

"Be the harpooner of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody, comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders into crinkly eye-lined smilers."

writ many years past, just another dusted off phrasing,
composed from life's lecture notes, collected by eyes tired
from the hazing,
eyes wearied by the addict-strong,
incessant observational needing,
of celebrating the loopy,
they who make this planet
capable of laughing at itself,
a helping habit for mutual survival...

should you spot a man ungainly wrought,
weighted down by a harpoon cross
cursed  'pon his Cain-marked back,
you need not move to the other side,
'tis only a make-believe poet,
with his recording device,
seizing your rhapsodies to rhyme,
his collected artifacts, your crinkly smiles,
his meat, his metier, his chosen career,
a comfort caresser of your illusions into
a shapely sculpture of words for you to keep,
a token of your now examined worth,
a celebration for the keeping...
___________-

special thanks to those who rediscovered these poems recently and brought them back to me for refreshing cherishing these old word friends.
 Jul 2017 witchy woman
medha
you & i
 Jul 2017 witchy woman
medha
you and i
we'll move on
and forget all of this.

and maybe we'll even
find whatever it was that
we were looking for elsewhere.

and perhaps
we'll understand
why it ended the way it did.

but what we had
was precious and it'll
always exist somewhere.

in dying leaves and
the silences we shared
and maybe, the moon too.
Let them
fill the eyes
Let them roll
down
the cheeks
In
emotion
we          
speak

Next page