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Jamesb Aug 24
Sometimes words are weapons
Add an s or a certain order and
They will cut to the bone,
Eviscerate a  bowel,
Destroy a dream,
End a life,
Break a lovelorn heart

Other times sans s fronted
They caress a weary cheek,
Lift up a tired soul
And reassure a faltered
Dream that its time
Too will come to
Faultless fruition

We speak thousands of words
Every day of our lives
Without thought,
And spoken they come
With added edges and jagged spurs
Of intonation, tone,
Expression

Or with balm for healing,
Warmth for the cold
Respite for the bewildered
Mind and soul
Lifting up repairing all
And making good
On harm

But beware the poem
Most of all! for it
Is a fearsome trap
For the unready author
Who writhes upon the created flow
Struck from their own verse
Read well by another,

For poems tell our truth
Warts and all,
And like singing lay us bare
To critic judge and common herd,
Who hear, absorb
And find us whole and
Nowhere left to hide,

We are forced to face
Reaction,
Reaction to our souls and hearts
Captured upon a pen's point,
Pinned to a board or a page
And read aloud
Where all can see

And what do you hear?
What do you see?
My God you see
The real and naked,,
The one and only,
Me.....
Reflecting a shared moment (which lasted an age) with  another poet here when I sent more than I realised and they heard their own read with passion and truth.

Not so much bruising as a unique exposure to someone who knows me  and I them, rather better than we either may have intended. I wonder if this resonates with anyone else here?
Jamesb Aug 15
Sunlight filtered
By trees that last night
Stood nearly silent guard
About us as we  broke
New ground,
Dapples the canvas
Of my tent

Daylight and day bird's chirrup
Would deny the mystery of what went before,
Gone the soft silence
Of the silver moon,

Perhaps too that which
May after all be but dream
Despite the delicious languor
In mine limbs and
Through my soul

I lay betwixt and between,
Half awake and
Half still clinging
To my dream when with
Movement not of mine
Tousled brunette over a shy and sleep creased smile
Says "hi"
I think many will identify with the underlying tenet of this one. That exquisite realisation that it wasn't a dream after all...
Jamesb Aug 15
You will not
Feebly try to waft
My attention away,
Nor use inebriant half no's
To divert mine intent,
No slack jawed half closed unfocused
Gaze will look searching
My face from a haphazard pillow,

For I will not permit That easy excuse,
Nor will I be a
Half memory or an
“Oh that happened - again"
There will be no groggy awakening
Thick with the night before's effect
To face a morning guilt or shame,
Oh no...
Not this time,

This time amidst
The trees and dark
Your every sense
Will know the path We tread,
And not by map nor memory,
For none before ever felt like this,
And there are no maps on page or screen
That show or describe the delicious
Delight of our destination,

So all unknown Dreamed half of,
Yearned for in
That sense of "there must be more",
And here it is,
Alive and true and happening not in a screen near by
But you,

A you who is free
Of alcohol and drug,
A you who's mind is clear,
A you who is party to what may follow,
A you who adores not endures the
Anticipation the foreplay
And the game
Above all a you who takes full part,
Who says yes because she's asked,
There's an elusive thing I'm trying to capture - every poem does I guess. Maybe the reader can judge my success
Jamesb Aug 15
Weeks of wrestling
With the line
And feeling
Your footing
Slip on ever
Less dependable
Gravel

Feeling not just
The solid power
Upon the line
But that imperterbable strength,
That fearsome yet calm focus

As a fish once caught
Is reeled in not to rod
And not to shore,
But to new self knowledge
Evermore

Feet now wet
Toes dipped in the waters
Which soon will
Close above as you
Slip delighted
Beneath their waves
This is one of a few poems about that precious journey from innocence or naivete to one's true passion and power. Different aspects inspired by a true friends tale
Jamesb Aug 15
No drink nor drugs
No fog nor *****
This time,
No feeble wafting
Or barely stated
"No" nor "please"


No victim yielding
Passive acceptance
This time,
No waking slow
After the fact
The ****,

No sense of being
Used in absence,
Your body spread
And penetrated
While your mind
Was far away

This time awake,
This time Participant,
This time giving
That well used yet still
Functionally ****** part


This time to feel
Every scrape of fabric lost,
Every embrace,
Each caress,
Every fingers touch

Upon private skin
That never felt
So alert so alive
So aching to be
Enjoyed
Provoked

And no pretence
This time,
There is no innocence nor
Excuse that's worth
The name

For this is you
And this is us
And we both know
The rules of this
Fine game

So thus are you
Woo'd
Seduced,
Deliberately stepping in harms way

Yet safe as your mind
Wanders again but
A different way,
A way of awareness and delight

Til finally that release
And surrender by
Conscious will,
That step across the edge of reason

That fall craved fully
Half a century
Comes finally
Home to roost
Based upon the struggles and the awakening of a remarkable person
Jamesb Aug 10
And so the lightning  
Has lost its malleable nature
And the need to be tucked in
Has faded,

I know longer see what is needed there,
Which way the spike should point
Or where or how to redirect
To better end,

I see just how much sleeker
And better fit is the
ball of natural energy that
Previously I did mould

And watch it dart away
Upon its own way
Independent and angry
Beyond my help

Exiting my aegis
For pastures new
Wherein I play no part
But to hold my cheek and check a tear

To feel that slap
The ache
The smart
Jamesb Aug 10
And there it is
That slap that we discussed
And was said would never come,
A stinging roundhouse
***** of a thing
That even half expected still hurts,

Is it the stinging pain that hurts?
Or the attendant change of heart
And the failure to hold to
That hard won learned
Body of knowledge and
A system of belief?

Believe me I am big enough
A straight on punch with a closed fist
Is going to be absorbed
And then be reacted to,
Counter struck
And then followed by attack

But in this I cannot,
Will not counter nor attack
For this is not a fight
That I desire and neither is there a victory
Nor a war to be won,
Just sadness at losing

Once again
Sometimes we get things wrong and there is nothing we can do about it
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