Poetry Round (find your self within)
We sit together in spirit, if not in body,
You join me in the Poet's Nook,
A few frayed and weathered Adirondack chairs
Overlooking the Peconic Bay,
Where inspiration glazes over the water,
And we drown happily in a sea of words,
Commencing:
You say unto me, whitecaps, I reply,
"Solitary swimmers, poets, arms crooked over head, in the sea of us"
I say flooded with gratitude, and Stephanie replies,
"Thou art my carved destiny-and the river that permits my blood to flood...And all this noise shall fall into poetry; Which every day grows statelier and comelier.
You say to us Moonlight, and we laugh, delighted, for she has given us
"This love can be ours,
Under the iridescent moonlight
Embraced within one another,
To live for an eternity,
Languid and soft"
Someone calls out Bala,
And Vicarpio Gale favors us with his words,
"a poetic rain, in small print, fills the white sky page"
And we pray nightly, that come next morn, he will rain upon us once again
We pretend it is night and there are
Stars to Touch, but this poet of pax corrects us and writes, t'is but,
"late afternoon sun slanting
behold, jaune compassion
alfalfa ocherous leans willowy in wind
distance of silence yearns on
afternoon shadows lie within majestic vales"
Who is it that calls out
Have Mercie B.e upon us,
for she reminds us of what we B.e tasked individually,
"Provoking ideas and intoxicating imagery overflow from within and yet somehow you can't see. There are dreams that run wild inside of this heart and there is no way I'll let them be tamed"
Sunshineflowers every where,
But even more beautiful when she coaxes us to laugh
at ourselves
when writing of true love,
"Why don't i have bananas, said the monkey.
The tiger said, because you are my soulmate"
Did you C Holmes reminding us that
"when you're certain you've
painted the next Van Gogh
with the swirls and gusts
of blues so pure,
any mortal would
stop stare & lose track of time?"
Fyi, Fyi,
"Her callous persecution insinuates,
The elusive flaws of humanity and life,
It implicitly elucidates,
The sombre reality"
About certain Angels was writ, that both in heaven and on earth, she was garbed, for
"She wore an air of mysticism
Her memory bore prophetic visions
From ancient egyptian
And judaic traditions
She knows every star system
And every night is a mission
Where she wishes and wishes
For help from the legends"
Emily has met an unwanted friend, familiar to all of us,
"Cemented shoes
And silenced talk
It's even hard to describe
Writer's block"
Sara B. from B'kara, that's in Malta, gives advice most sensible,
"Times they are a changing
make everybody feel blue
just turn up the music
and forget what you're supposed to do"
Victor claims not to be a
"poet, a musician even less
but I may be kind of a beggar
when I beg of you
don't forget me
or let your music fade out
of my rainy days"
Dare I disagree? **** right I do!
Little RedWritingHood, from my city hails, so wise, far beyond her years, reveals that,
"people try to
make me see reason
or their definition of it
but reason is relative
as is too much in this world"
Should I go on? Why not!
Something's are ForeverMarvelous, like
"Hurt is fading
Fists are pumping
Bass is trembling
Some are hating-
But I keep dancing"
mybarefootdrives me forward because
"every seed of thought
starts itself out like a whisper.
Until weight behind words
allows them to stand on their own merit"
Maria GH could be an old friend, who
"draws me near,
it's slender form bleeding into
the background.
Slowly, kindly,
it extends a hand and
I take it
as to forever hold comfort
in mine"
Andy from Mombasa, your poetry
"conspires to purge me of my sense of reasoning
Leaving me bare to suffer the perils of an incongruous world"
And I am a better poet for it...
Brendan' I've watched your words,
"Crack the veil of tired souls
cloaked in lonely sorrows,
broken by faithless wanderings,
and feel the strings course through your veins"
I am blindsided and Blastsided when I read
"Onomatopoeia
I love words
for their meanings
their woven tapestries
but also
for their taste"
For I know exactly what you mean
I am exhausted. So many gems to decorate
My body, my soul. I must stop here,
So many of you have reached out, none of you overlooked.
Overwhelmed, let us sit together now
And celebrate the silence that comes after the
Gasp, the sigh, that the words have taken from
Our selves, from within.
Once again, in your debt.
If I could do nothing more but write your names, I would be endowed with thousand more poems.
OOPs, occurs to me someone may not like my excerpting their work, so let me know if its a problem and will edit....hopefully not and taken as the compliment it was meant to be!
