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Thread: Calling Card Thread (Poems by AWers)

  1. #1

    Arrow Calling Card Thread (Poems by AWers)

    hi all:

    this might be a bust, but i hope that's not the case.

    i thought it would be nice to have a thread where each contributor to the poetry forum, whether a one-timer or a regular, could post an original poem that in some way conveys their style, their level in the craft, or just an emotion or philosophical musing that in some way represents them.

    so, consider it an open invitation. my only request is that we use this thread for the poems only (with an explanatory note, if you'd like), rather than breaking the flow with comments or crits. such responses are, of course, welcome in a separate thread.

    UPDATE: i've opened a separate thread for discussion of any of the poems posted. please post comments, questions, etc. there.

    so there you go. i'm going to look through my stuff and see what i can come up with, and i hope some of you will do the same.

    it would be nice to have a place that illustrates the range of poets who visit here.

    Last edited by William Haskins; 12-06-2005 at 06:51 AM.

    Thorn Forest: A Gift for AW

    My poems on Twitter. Please proceed in an orderly fashion.

  2. #2
    practical experience, FTW elisadasilva's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2005
    South Mississippi
    Great idea Haskins. What do you think about having a poll for each poem to rate it?

  3. #3
    practical experience, FTW elisadasilva's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2005
    South Mississippi
    Yey! I get to go first!

    Mud Song

    I' ve been preaching to a stump
    and one green frog who blinks in rhythm with my pulse
    about the vanity of mud;
    the clarity of guilt;
    the sanctity of the sunrise bending above the willow.

    A dying cloud is descending into the lake, slowly drowning, silently
    while a fish flips his tail in a thump of disdain.
    The cicadias begin a wheezing chorus of hallelujahs,
    and the frog hops one indifferent leap.

    Yellow speckled oaks, stunted and thin, cast their limbs about;
    spread freckles of shadows upon the grey wet ground.
    I hear a mourning dove call, an ageless, sorrowful sound
    and nod my head, hand against my mouth, to fight the doubt.

    The bluejays descend to peck black ants
    and shriek at the wind that carries their cries.
    I sink my hand into the mud,
    make one print, sloppy and vague,
    then hold the dirt cold in my palm
    and ponder how the day could pass.

  4. #4
    Thanks, special friend for my avi! AW's Treasured Chocolate Birthday Lady Susie's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2005
    Among the chocolate fairies:)


    I'm going to send "The Streets" poem out for publication.
    Last edited by Susie; 12-06-2005 at 09:04 PM. Reason: ---

  5. #5
    One of the most important people in the world kdnxdr's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2005
    near to Dogwood Missouri

    The Indictment: Shievo in Two Parts

    1. my hands
    are clean,
    I washed them,
    the media, a basin;
    and I washed them every day.
    (OUT damn spot!)

    while your richtor gasps
    shook my bathroom floor,
    I attempted to paint
    my face
    to feign a blush
    and I washed my hands
    during the morning news
    (OUT damn spot!)

    the business of my nothing
    caught up
    to the speed
    of your eyes
    and I found myself caught,
    so I washed my hands again
    in the afternoon lull
    (OUT damn spot!)

    we saw the evil-man
    with our insect eyes
    and we licked
    the guilt off groping antennae,
    we knew
    in our collective conscience
    your earth-rattling breath
    would soon stop
    and we would be free
    to go about our business
    of nothing
    (OUT damn spot!)

    the ball wasn't ours,
    the game in another's court.
    besides, you weren't mine-
    and it only hurts
    when it hits home.

    the wheeze,
    a death moan,
    heard 'round the world-
    not yours-
    but ours, as you listened
    to us
    washing in the six o'clock news
    (OUT damn spot!)

    2. the pope he ain't
    no more,
    John Paul
    we buried your love
    but, hey, thanks;
    we're glad you had some time,
    and a little help,
    you did it without a hitch.
    the ceremonies were great
    your clothes looked cool
    your exit was full of grace.
    may you rest in peace
    and be remembered well,
    history knows your name.

    I know you ate,
    and drank a bit,
    comfort was never spared.
    you, the pope,
    a sacred life,
    desereved the care
    and dignity.

    the church couldn't
    afford the shame
    (OUT damn spot!)

  6. #6
    'Twas but a dream of thee El Jefe MacAllister's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2005
    Out on a limb

    heh--Just cuz William asked so nicely

    Styrofoam bitter coffee
    going cold but
    There's a Gas-n-Go ahead

    A broken line and static
    through the windshield glare

    The note just says
    I'll try not to do this to you
    too terribly often.

  7. #7
    here for a minute...catch me? P.H.Delarran's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2005
    N. Cali
    The Moment

    The woman turned closer,a
    smile already formed on her
    lips, and my desire to touch
    them became my will, so I leaned
    into her breath and so quick
    was the wetness that I felt
    it was my own.
    Then I found her will
    and teased it, until she gave me
    her desire, and her confusion,
    allowing us to breath for one
    another, and the sounds that
    escaped could not be identified
    as hers or mine, but only as
    something that had been held
    for too long
    Last edited by P.H.Delarran; 02-23-2007 at 09:32 AM.
    ~hope to see you again.

    Absolute Poetry, Vol. 1 - out now

  8. #8
    wishes you happiness JennaGlatzer's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2005

    Tracing I love yous on your shoulder
    So as to make it a challenge
    Letting one letter spill into the next
    Like it might just be a pattern
    And not a word etching
    When your only thought
    Is the breath of near-sleep
    Hoping against hope
    That you’ll notice
    And trace back to me
    My execution is timed and planned
    To feel careless
    To know
    If you are paying attention
    To my stubby fingers
    Even as sleep beckons
    If you can sense
    My eight-letter
    Grand proclamation
    Again and again
    Like when I said,
    “I love the way you look at this angle”
    And you said,
    “I love you from all angles”
    So I’d have to decide for myself
    If you were talking about my looks
    Or me
    One week after we met
    But I knew you meant me
    And now I trace letters
    To return the volley
    To see if four years later
    The hypervigilance of love
    Still makes you want to know
    If every meandering stroke
    Is for you

    I am no longer here. If you'd like to visit me, please find me at or on Facebook. Thanks!

  9. #9
    practical experience, FTW Nateskate's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2005
    Somewhere in the mountains

    Time will tell if my wanderings here on this
    Grand ball of dust were of great value,
    Or completely in vain. More likely it is a
    Combination of the two?

    Grand towers and palaces will one day fall
    To the strength of weeds and rust. If I have given
    My time to the edifices built by my hands,
    The winds and rains will prevail,
    And the sands of time will blast away until they
    Become a haunt for jackals.

    I question my contributions, the weight of my
    Words uttered and thoughts written, and the impact they will leave,
    And yet, some times I still speak as a fool with both lips and pen, and
    Prattle on about worthless things.

    Yet, I comprehend a single well-place hello, a smile,
    Or act of kindness mixed with merciful words,
    May impart such grace to the hearer that their lives are enriched,
    And they are forever changed, and good things are set in motion;
    And these trickle down for many generations.

    My name will not long be remembered when I am parted, but
    Perhaps my legacy will be? Gracious words or towers of rust,
    I think I have chosen my course.

  10. #10
    lover of fonts zarch's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2005
    Caution: The Blues

    The blues, slow-dancin in my soul.
    Eyes-closed blues.
    Head-shakin blues.
    Keep your ears glued
    to my jazz.

    This ain't light stuff
    nor silly fluff.

    These are the sounds of Harlem.

    and of the Deep South.

    So be careful where you step, friend,
    because in the end
    you'll get stuck.
    Stuck in slow thickness of the blues.
    And those blues,

    Those blues, they'll stick to you.

  11. #11
    Walkin' That Road brokenfingers's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2005
    Last edited by brokenfingers; 04-06-2007 at 11:34 AM.

  12. #12
    Smilie Fanatic JAlpha's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2005
    Usually at my computer
    The creation of my haibun poem, Break Away (published on Flashquake)
    was nothing short of a huge "breaking point" in my writing. I had been jockeying back and forth between poetry and short fiction for years, always sensing there was a middle ground to explore.

    The haibun form often involves a visual element, so it was the perfect marriage for my academic art background as well. Ultimately, my serendipitous exploration of the haibun form turned out to be much more than a cross training exercise for my creative energy---it was the beginning of what has become a sustained period of my published pieces and contest wins.

    The moral of my story---don't be afraid to step out of your "comfort zone" when it comes to writing poetry.
    Last edited by JAlpha; 12-06-2005 at 07:24 PM. Reason: faulty link


  13. #13
    delicate #!&@*#! flower Perks's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2005
    At some altitude
    I don't write much poetry, but I enjoy doing it when my mind is muddled. Nice to make something of the tangle.

    First Kiss

    It ended when your lips left mine
    Drawn from me on your slow smile
    One long look
    Mischief sparkled
    Sparkling tingled on my tongue
    Tingling glittered down my spine
    Glittering glowed within my core
    Glowing blushed bright on my skin
    Circle turned - I looked away
    Blushing caught breath in your throat
    Catching trapped my heart as trinket
    Trapping held your hand in mine
    Until you thought to let it go

  14. #14
    Make mine a double entendre Cassie88's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2005
    I feel my last two poems - A Memory That Stays - Sisters
    represent some growth -


    Here is a work in progress...It started as an exploration of my love/hate relationship with Autumn... not sure where it will end up.

    A Change of Heart

    Spring meandered down my lane.
    He offered warmth and rings of gold.
    A yellow rose was in his hand,
    But flowers lie and wither old.

    With promises of sweet amour,
    The summer sun reached out his rays.
    I blocked his hands with tinted panes,
    And yearned for sentimental days.

    Soon autumn ran into my arms,
    A sailor back from other ports.
    I thought I'd sing contented then,
    But heart and soul sighed out of sorts.

    The words he spoke were far too grand.
    One touch awakened fragile cries.
    His cashmere hues, they stoked a fire,
    Too beautiful for human eyes.

    I slammed the shutters, locked the door,
    And stilled the ballads in my soul.
    I waited hard and hid inside,
    My love, I pledged to ice and coal.
    Last edited by Cassie88; 03-16-2006 at 02:03 AM. Reason: add

    The Absolute Write Library

    Today's mighty oak is just yesterday's nut that held its ground. - Unknown

  15. #15
    Join Date
    Aug 2005
    Great thread. Most of the time I end up writing comic verse, but I'm making a conscious effort to 'grow up' in my poetry at least, so here's a one-verse Sapphic ode (yes I swallowed a poetry dictionary...)

    Without you even noticing,
    I watch you touch a coin or key
    or pen and how I wish the thing
    you touched was me.

    Not quite up there with Wendy Cope, but...well...

  16. #16
    practical experience, FTW unthoughtknown's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2005
    Adelaide, Australia

    Makes more sense to me than anyone else but anyway...

    He Took A Shot Too

    It's about as stifled
    as it can get
    It's about as straight
    as you can let it
    be -
    it's just noise
    (in the form of specks)
    and it's just time
    (wasted so carefully).
    Mediocrity pays the way
    and mediocrity makes my day,
    he says it's the poor lighting in here
    but it's more than that.
    Oh hail, hail
    to the outside world...
    Last edited by unthoughtknown; 12-07-2005 at 04:22 AM. Reason: Fixed formatting

  17. #17
    Stand in the Place Where You Live KTC's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2005
    The following poem is very typical of what I write. I usually just write what I know and in Free Fall. I go into my memories to write a lot of my poetry. Otherwise, I write a lot of off the cuff stuff, too.

    (The following was published in Quills Canadian Poetry Magazine, Spring 2004-I think?)

    A Douglastown Summer

    Blueberries pregnant in adjacent fields,
    A hillside away from a tumultuous flowing river
    Now brown from the efforts of industry’s birth.
    Hot sun strikes the rolling hills,
    Reflecting blue the summer haze,
    As we lay tracing pictures within the cumulus clouds…
    Thoughts rising above the passage of time,
    Resting here in memory’s heart.

    Beside the field,
    Northumberland, a mall.
    A park of steel birds,
    Mobile homes and broken dreams.

    The span that crosses into Chatham,
    Green and vast, the steel
    Climbing out from shore to shore,
    Concrete roads with yellow lines.
    Solid, yet moving within the breeze.

    We throw apples from graveyard trees,
    Into the broken headlight’s glow,
    And wander recklessly,
    Along winding dirt bike trails,
    Speeding through the muck of yesterday’s rain.

    Up through the woods…a speedway
    And a school with jungle gyms,
    Where endless summer nights are spent
    Counting stars while hanging from limbs of trees.

    The fair comes through in August,
    Summer’s last hurrah,
    Setting up in fields across the way,
    Where blue tendrils disguise
    The sticky cotton candy waste.
    **PRE-ORDER my 6th novel, PRIDE MUST BE A PLACE now! Releases February 6th, 2018! (LGBTQ Young Adult)
    Get Burn Baby Burn Baby today! Now on the 2016 In the Margins Book Awards List!

    I blog
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    I have 5 novels published. You can see them here on my Amazon Author Page

  18. #18
    Mother of All Addictions mommie4a's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2005
    Northeastern Ohio
    Some of you have seen this one before. For better or worse, it's still one of my main calling cards.

    Mother of All Addictions

    Others came before you,
    but you’ve lasted the longest.
    And when I can’t have you,
    I replace you with another.

    I destabilize without you,
    Like an atom without a nucleus
    Its orbits out of control,
    Until you re-enter my system.

    We remain
    Close enough to satisfy,
    Distant enough to resist,
    Too weak to break free.

    You are both catalyst and parasite
    Who seduces and satiates.

    With you,
    no equilibrium exists.

  19. #19
    Just Sing. Eveningsdawn's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2005
    Mass & Ohio
    I have a then and now. Stylistically, at least. The first is my all-time favorite poem from when I started writing, and probably my first success. The second is my style right now.

    Look Deep

    Look deep into these eyes
    And tell me what you see.
    I truly hope you will not glimpse
    The creature that is me.

    Who only comes in moondark,
    When she cannot be seen.
    Who bears the name of killer,
    Who bears the name of Queen.

    Sharp ears and sharper eyesight,
    Quiet stalks and quiet kills.
    Whose howling brings bleak terror,
    And gentle night noise stills.

    Look deep into these eyes,
    And tell me what you see.
    I fear that you already know
    The creature that is me.

    hell found me
    for the first time
    when i opened
    a certain book

    a hell of true evil
    drawn in the red of blood
    and pink of raw flesh
    and black of night

    a hell spelled out
    in cursive writing
    telling of abominations
    that shouldn't be told

    hell found me.
    but i was the one
    who opened the book
    and showed it the way.
    "When writing a novel that's pretty much entirely what life turns into: 'House burned down. Car stolen. Cat exploded. Did 1500 easy words, so all in all it was a pretty good day.'" - Neil Gaiman

    I am a NaNo 2006 Winner! I just fail at putting the icons in my signature!

  20. #20
    Bufflehead mkcbunny's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2005
    Oakland, CA
    The only poems I have written are part of mixed-media pieces. You may peruse some of those from long ago here: Archive. I don't think any of them work out of context, but they are a representative snapshot of a point in time. I like to think I have a sense of humor now.

  21. #21
    It's a New Year! rhymegirl's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2005
    New England
    An Apple's Life

    Red and juicy when you’re ripe,
    fresh picked, polished,
    not a bruise in sight,
    and so tasty,
    with every bite.

    Mushy, sheen-less
    when you’re old,
    bruised and sorry,
    scarred with brown-skinned holes.
    Rotten apple,
    dried-up body,
    lifeless soul.
    I mostly hang out in Office Party. Mostly.

    It Bloggles the Mind

  22. #22
    Warrior of Truth Paint's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2005
    Standing at the precipitous cliff, believing I can fly.
    Ever write a poem that turns your whole style around? This one did it for me and I have written poetry like this ever after.



    Clear glass
    Tall windows
    No problem

    Cat scurries to
    Languish in warmth
    Purrs sweetly happy.

    Color honors me now
    Turn rich orange pink
    End of day so soon.

    I go to sleep perchance
    Dream purple and blue hues
    You will miss me sadly.

    Huddle under your blankets
    It will be cold without me
    My yellow to keep you warm.

    So see me sliding down the wall
    Hurry turn on the lights
    Puss moves with me. He knows.

    I am most satisfied if I can relate one of my social issues into a poem:

    Women of War

    Women of war are waiting
    Looking at photographs,
    Nicely framed on the mantle.
    Glass stained with worried fingers
    Touching lips, eyes, and hair.
    Waiting with anxious dreams, fears.

    Women of war are leaving
    Leaving crying children
    Gritting their teeth, wrenching, weeping.
    Spilling blood on crystal sand
    Women warriors defending,
    Belief of a better place.

    Thank you William--good thread
    just bloggin--
    thoughts on survivor shows; book reviews--

    See My Chapbook--"Star in a Darkened Sky"

    "for someone
    who would save me by
    cutting out my tongue."
    A Howling From the Belly--Aaron Abeyta

  23. #23
    Join Date
    Aug 2005
    Everyone else's contributions makes me think I should retire.

  24. #24
    practical experience, FTW
    Join Date
    Feb 2005
    I don't write much poetry because quite frankly I suck at it. This, however, is one that I like.

    But Who Should
    Liesel Garmach

    But who should speak of love and roses,
    tell the tales, and tickle toeses,
    whimsically we share our stories,
    our pain, our joy, our sorrow, our glories

    From whence the day is nearly done,
    we've thought of friends, every one,
    solidly we've dreamt our dreams,
    and of ourselves, shared a gleam

    But who should speak of sad moments,
    make the most of tragic events,
    laughingly we tell our lies,
    smiling into each other's eyes

    Each dawn, its brakes upon the night,
    keeping preponderance upon the fights,
    angrily we spit out our views,
    hurtfully, we screamed our news

    But who should speak of idle souls,
    who water the plants and pound the nails,
    barely keeping ourselves alive,
    forgetting our wistful desire to thrive

    At night the song is nearly complete,
    we did it all, yet so discreet,
    cheering our efforts to win the war,
    knowing once done, we'll do no more

    But who should speak of sparrow's songs,
    silenced by talons so deep, so long,
    warbling a verse with little meaning,
    death - the ultimate soul deep cleaning.

  25. #25
    i opted for an older poem of mine. i don't know how representative it is of my work as a whole, but i think the minimalism of it and the imagist approach is fairly indicative of how i work most of the time. anyway...

    Red River

    What do you see in the flow of the river,
    In its soft, red clay-soup crawling?
    Time—like a vine—
    Creeps green and slow,
    And tomorrow,
    That dream,
    That broken song,
    Is as far away as yesterday.
    Last edited by William Haskins; 12-08-2005 at 10:25 PM.

    Thorn Forest: A Gift for AW

    My poems on Twitter. Please proceed in an orderly fashion.

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