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Thread: Calling Card Thread (Poems by AWers)

  1. #26
    carpe noctem Sarita's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2005
    I'm sharing 2, because I want to! (I couldn't pick one. I picked 5, to be honest.)

    The World Conspires

    I travel afar to forget,
    to silence my raging thoughts.
    Red is the dawn beneath cloud cover,
    Love's flight ends with touch down
    amidst greening meadows, rock and hill.
    Cold wind rushes past chills my hands,
    my heart aches, empty without you.


    When breezes sweep by, I feel it
    your fingers in my hair.
    The suns heat radiates,
    it's your body against mine.
    Earth whispers your name in my ear,
    the birds are talking about you.
    All the world conspires against me.

    Winter's Toll

    Air, chill and fresh
    Breath, white and visible
    Clean and crisp is winter's night
    white with snow, white with moon
    Round, pure, he peers down
    full of knowledge, full of unknown
    mocking, taunting, he looks on
    aware of winter's toll, aware of winter's toll


    "There are moments when, whatever be the attitude of the body, the soul is on its knees." ~ Hugo

  2. #27
    Bufflehead mkcbunny's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2005
    Oakland, CA
    I feel like I wasn't being current by posting such older content earlier in this thread, but I can't really post the poems that are within the context of my current novel. This is something that came to me while I was working on the book that doesn't yet have a home. I don't know how it stands up here, really, because my background isn't in poetry. But here it is:


    Stark it was, the cooling night
    Blowing past her pillow
    And there we were, a bloodless sight
    That stirred her from the shadows.

    She watched me as I gazed upon
    The moonlight from her window
    And then did see, both me and thee,
    So thinly drawn and sallow.

    For we are dead, both you and I,
    As ghosts we dance together.
    And dream she does, asleep again,
    Head drifting like a feather.

  3. #28

    Talking Brand new user, brand new poem

    I am such a newbie, green wouldn't begin to describe me. It's great to read all your work and absorb the enthusiasm. Here's my 2nd only poem ever:


    Had not

    Known of love

    Until she came.


    Uninvited, unannounced;

    A thousand candles burning -

    No, that was her smile just for me.

    A thousand candles to warm my heart.

    And a thousand lovers could not compare.

  4. #29


    Dear Yogurt King:

    Beautiful...I am also a poet, new to the site. I just stumbled across it and am thinking about signing up.

    There are many types of poetry, but the most incredible ones are those that stir the heart and change the cells in your being. Yours does just that.

    Keep writing and posting!

    Capri 383

  5. #30
    figuring it all out
    Join Date
    Dec 2005
    St. Louis, Missouri
    Hi Gang

    Definitely not a poet but here's a fun one.


    Barren shades of whiteness

    Confined and unemployed

    Reflective in translucence

    An empty plaintive void.

    Colorless infinity

    Waveless skyless ground

    Steady flow of nothingness

    Echoes silent sound.

    Vacant objectivity

    Naked to the eye

    Stripped of all humility

    Left with questions - why?

    Circuitous and spherical

    Sheen like polished glass

    Circumference that’s seamless

    Borders none can pass.

    Yet ever is there beauty

    Unembellished yet so small

    How else could thus describe

    The midst a ping-pong ball.

  6. #31
    figuring it all out
    Join Date
    Dec 2005
    St. Louis, Missouri
    oops... sorry for taking up so much space... don't have this thread thing down yet Happy New Year All!

  7. #32


    Quote Originally Posted by Capri383
    Dear Yogurt King:

    Beautiful...I am also a poet, new to the site. I just stumbled across it and am thinking about signing up.

    There are many types of poetry, but the most incredible ones are those that stir the heart and change the cells in your being. Yours does just that.

    Keep writing and posting!

    Capri 383
    Thank you so much for the encouragement, Capri. I would love to see what you have to write as well. There is such a maze of poetry sites out there - this is the first one I found where it seems there are some quality work and conversations going on, from my amateur eye at least.

  8. #33
    cloud watching September skies's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2005
    under my September Skies in sunny California
    I don't write poetry (other than as class assignments)
    so I can't really have one that represents my style. But about a year ago, in college, my instructor wrote several words on the overhead projector and then had the class write a poem (in class) using as many words as we could. I managed to get them all in. For extra credit, we could write a second one but it had to be totally unrelated (or different theme) than the first one. Since I keep all my assignments, I just went and dug out my binder.

    These were the words: loud, slick, field, cloud, frog, bladed, steel, ache, horn, house, rain, gray, lamp, false and pure

    I know - I suck at poetry - but it was a class assignment and I had no choice but to complete it.

    This is what I came up with for poem No. 1

    The Bottom of the 9th
    The loud cracking of the bat
    was heard across the slick field.
    Skies cloud and a frog croaked as
    he bladed acrosss bases.
    With a steel ache on his side
    he horned over the home plate.
    Cheers raining down from the house
    Graying the visitor's hope,
    shattering their lamp as they
    falsely claim pure injustice.

    My instructor liked poem No. 2 better (that pervert)

    Loud screams of pure fright heard
    from the field beyond the house
    of steel, as lightening rains upon
    the slick roads beyond. With an
    ache of false love and clouded
    with lust, he horns her deep
    over and over as a sharp blade.
    No remorse of her fading lamp,
    Finished and content, he ckicks a frog,
    And as her skin grays, he leaves.

  9. #34
    Inked Mom WVWriterGirl's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2005
    West Virginia
    This was written in the fall of 2002, after an October visit to Washington, D.C. and a viewing of the VietNam Veteran's Memorial and the Korean War Memorial.
    Touch Me

    Touch me
    And feel my many hearts
    Run your fingers across my names
    And be reminded of what you'd rather forget.

    Touch me
    And feel my raindrop tears
    See the fear and determination
    That are etched eternally across my granite face.

    Touch me
    And let your emotions take hold
    Trace my words of inspiration
    Let yourself feel the cold of my marble remembrance.

    Touch me
    And let me be your guide
    Through friendships made and tragically lost
    In the heat of war and chaos.

    Touch me
    And be completely aware of the moment
    Feel all that you can, for me and my buddies
    Allow our names to ring for eternity.

    Let me
    Touch you, and tug at the strings of your heart
    Feel my joy and my fear, my love and my loss
    The Veteran's spirit that lives on in this stone.
    I am an/a:
    Unrepentant Rift Player
    Loving Wife and Mommy;
    Writer of Fantasy & Horror Novels & Shorts; and a
    Person Without a Personal Webpage.

  10. #35

    Post SUBMISSION: "The Trail" (c) Paul Ferguson


    The cowboy peered

    At passing cars

    His jaw tight

    Searching for a

    Familiar face

    The girl he loved

    His shoulders fell

    As with a long last look

    He boarded the bus west

    To ANYWHERE there

    It was his own fault

    He had been restless

    Now he was free

    The tear in his eye

    He willed it to be

    Up ahead

    He could already see

    The colors of dawn

    Streaking the sky

    The sun was behind him

    Where it belonged

    And everything was right

    With this picture

    And nothing was wrong

    Though the coyotes

    Had quit

    Their mournful howling

    And by now

    Were hunting a place to rest

    He could almost hear the quail

    Coming out of their nest

    Calling to him

    He'd go home

    Back to the ranch

    He was a good hand

    During roundup

    They'd need every man

    He'd straighten his shoulders

    Best he could in the seat

    And wiped his eyes

    "There were girls," he thought

    "And then there are women"

    He pulled his hat brim low

    Over his eyes to sleep

    Knowing there were neither

    This cowboy would ever keep

    © Paul Ferguson

  11. #36
    Join Date
    Aug 2005
    Redneck Happy Hour

    Gussied myself up as fast as I could,

    if I want a barstool, need to be there by four.

    I wore my black Nazi stomping boots

    Cause the place is usually swarming with whores.

    The Starlight Lounge is where I hang out,

    drawn to the ambience inside.

    Two faced women stab each other in the back

    and fugitives from the law find a safe place to hide.

    I drink warm beer served in a can,

    and listen to the same country songs,

    of cheating hearts and long lost love,

    and old worn out mutts who have died.

    Like a fly to a **** pile,

    a buzzard in a field,

    Carl circles the room

    while I’m dancing with Bill.

    I preen as I guzzle,

    laugh as I swill,

    a shot of tequila

    downed with a pill.

    My home has soft comforts,

    piles of good books,

    offering sweet quiet bliss.

    But who in their right mind

    would want to stay home,

    when they can come

    to The Starlight

    and partake of all this?

  12. #37
    Elf Queen Yeshanu's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2005
    Up a Tree
    To Mary

    I remember the sorrow,
    the regrets,
    the anger.

    Sorrow, remembering
    the past.
    A station wagon filled with grass
    for our horse.
    You pulling my hair —
    it was YOUR rocking chair.

    The past...
    OUR past...
    and now it is mine alone.

    Regret, remembering
    all we did not do together.
    All I did not say.
    I never told you
    I love you.
    I never told you
    that your poetry ripped apart my soul.
    We never talked
    about anything important,
    or what we could do
    about the world’s pain...
    and now it’s too late.

    Anger, remembering
    your last words.
    You tried to live,
    you tried to love,
    but you gave up and killed yourself.

    When you couldn’t understand the assignment,
    you burnt the school down.

  13. #38
    practical experience, FTW ricahardo's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2005
    To be honest the Water Cooler and its friendly resident gang have been the inspiration for me to come back to poetry ( and to move forward I feel) for the first time for a long time. So here are a couple inspired by the Poetry game.


    How now genius?
    Thou tantalizing specter of the half-light.
    In waking moments I see you,
    Clear, tangible, within my grasp and then -
    A will o'the wisp, dancing reflections on the wall
    Of my darkened room,
    From some unseen illumination.
    If I could but hold you,
    Make you mine for an hour or two,
    I could triumph, conquer all before me,
    Cross the T's and dot the I's,
    Fill in all the blanks -
    I can almost feel it -
    The veil of darkness flickers back and forth
    In the breeze of possibilities,
    But then it's gone -
    A fleeting figmentary radiance,
    Breaking through into the swirling mists of
    The ordinary.

    Bloody Women ( with apologies to Wendy Cope).

    Bloody women are like bloody taxis
    when you need one you just stand there in the rain,
    when you don't, a score or more
    surround you and complain

    about every little thing you've done
    that really don't deserve
    the biting little comments
    that eat into your reserve -

    so what - you left the lid up
    and forgot to pull the chain?
    Who cares if the door's shut -
    has the whole world gone insane?

    Can't I take a pee
    without incurring nature's wrath,
    and when comes to that -
    I may well take a bath!

    I want to be the master
    of this, my own domain -
    but women seem to think it
    a right and royal pain.

    Still there are some compensations -
    a women's gentle touch -
    and I seem to find that with her -
    I don't screw up as much.

    So I suppose that bloody women
    are like taxis in the rain -
    you know that if you've got one
    you're a winner in the game.
    Life,Love and Sport

    Look out for my new book: Angles - A squash anthology at

  14. #39

    Here goes. . .

    I am a newbie to the board- wonderful, btw- and have been building up my courage to post here for too long now. I'm a lifelong poet- all of spent in the closet! So here goes, my calling cards to you all. . .


    My white trash raising cateches up with me sometimes.
    I forget my proper grammar, pretty speech,
    lofty phrases, and college vocabulary.
    You can only pretend for so long
    before the past comes back
    to chase you down.
    I've got a little bit of my momma in me,
    with a splash of Daddy thrown in for good measure.
    And sometimes there's nothing better
    than the sweet, sweet burn of rotgut tequila
    streaming down your throat.
    I try to avoid the christmas-light strung rooms,
    where the smoke and music
    wash over me
    reminding of what
    I was meant to be.
    Occasionally I tumble
    and allow myself to feel
    the wicked pleasure
    of being absolutely nothing.

    My Childhood Park

    Piles and piles of fallen leaves,
    shades of autumn strewn about,
    as if seen through a kaleidscope.
    A playground swing hangs,
    broken and half flapping in the wind.
    Tires grace the land,
    hanging from the bars,
    stacked up like donuts wating to be eaten,
    lined up perfectly for hopping.
    Bicycle paths worn bare with use
    encircle the park,
    nearly hidden amonst
    overgrown weeds and thistles.
    Underneath the dilapidated picnic awning,
    cushed beer cans scatter in the wind.
    Glass crunches under my feet as I walk,
    and no children play here anymore.

  15. #40
    practical experience, FTW oneovu's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2005
    I don't know if I have a style, unless maybe undisciplined is a style. In any case, I like how this one plays. Thanks to william for his help.

    The Artist's Companion

    I gaze amazed into truth
    An image distorted, or not?
    Bent bloated to thin
    Chin over swollen lips
    Is it I?

    The matter echoed
    ‘Til rescue arrived

    Saved, so brave, from inside
    Torn from its mad grip
    He cried...

    It’s a ****ing spoon!

    And, thwacked my sensitive mind.
    Last edited by oneovu; 02-05-2006 at 08:37 PM.
    There is no such thing in life as normal.

  16. #41
    NOooooo!!! rekirts's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2005
    Land of Living Skies
    Interesting challenge to find something that's representative of my work. For the most part I write light, humorous verse, although lately I've been getting more into ballads. I love to tell a story in rhyme whether it's funny or sad. This piece is pretty recent and I actually wrote it with the intent to write music for it so it can be sung at Ren Faires and such.


    My mother was a wise woman;
    she gave me this advice:
    If any man asks for your hand
    you’d better not think twice.
    Good men are few and far between
    so don’t be hard to please.
    You take what you can get, my dear
    ‘cause men don’t grow on trees."

    "The men are always going to war
    from paupers right to kings.
    They get themselves done in that way
    with swords and other things.
    They bleed there on the battlefield
    and lose their foolish life
    when they could be quite safe at home
    making whoopie with a wife."

    "The ranks are thin when they return--
    there’s not a lot to choose.
    You take what you can get, my dear--
    you hesitate, you lose."
    And so I wed a highwayman
    Whose riches, looks and charm
    made any trouble worth the risk
    that he might come to harm.

    Yes, he was hunted by the law
    but thought himself quite clever
    I begged him to be careful
    and he answered me, "Whatever."
    The night he robbed the squire’s son
    they caught him in the act,
    took him to court, the judge pronounced:
    "He’s guilty. That’s a fact."

    My mother was a wise woman
    And I took her advice
    A highwayman asked for my hand
    I didn’t dare think twice
    Good men are few and far between
    I wasn’t hard to please
    I took what I could get, mama
    Now he’s hanging from a tree.
    You again? Uh...yeah.

  17. #42
    Just a figment… dahmnait's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2006
    When you figure it out, will you let me know?
    The more I read of my work, the more I am finding I do indeed have a style.

    If I Were A Poet

    If I were a poet
    I would write in verse
    And rhyme
    Of long flowing silver
    Night sky wanderings
    Linking the moon
    The soul and

    If I were a poet
    I would speak within
    The heart
    Of tiny goldfish
    A glittering of hope
    Beneath the endless
    Grey drudge of

    If I were a poet
    I would sing the praises
    Of beauty
    Perfumed and powdered
    With sweet auburn locks
    Her milk white skin
    Cascading gently across my

    If I were a poet
    I would piece together
    My words
    Waxed delicately and
    Woven through
    Reams of pulpy wood
    Shuffled thoughts of injustices and

    But alas, no poet am I
    My muse instead
    A colander
    Filled with greenery and fluff
    Unable to piece together
    A single verse
    The words, though eloquent in their escape
    Through tiny vents they

    I would write
    I would, if only
    I were a poet
    Last edited by dahmnait; 11-15-2006 at 10:44 AM. Reason: Links no longer work. I guess this means I can resubmit since I own the rights. :)

  18. #43
    is this how it ends? SuperModerator poetinahat's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2005
    I don't know
    I wrote this piece specifically for this thread. I'm also posting it in the forum proper.


    I. John Coltrane

    He uncoils his hidden mood around you
    conspires with you in plangent, aching peals
    this is manhattan in the warm night rain
    a dusky cloak of spotlight and smoke
    he knows you never knew him
    but he makes you feel
    a love supreme
    as he did

    II. Miles Davis

    He suspends light brassmute shafts around you
    thrills you with a perfect, unplayed note
    this is the calm, dark, rolling shifting ocean
    a strange suggestion of absinthe and dreams
    he changes colour's name
    but he makes you see
    kind of blue
    as he did

    III. Thelonious Monk

    He fingerplinks out starlight sparks to wake you
    teases you with cryptic, rightwrong chords
    this is beatnik cafes in the afternoon
    a glad note that your dreams are real somewhere
    he defies evening's gravity
    but he makes you cry
    'round midnight
    as he did

    IV. Epilogue

    They made their new, fantastic constellations
    then showed us their exotic, brilliant truths
    their temple is a cool, eternal universe
    a vast kaleidoscopic jazz of sounds
    they strode as living gods among us
    and we were in that number
    when these saints
    came marching in
    Last edited by poetinahat; 03-21-2006 at 03:46 PM. Reason: 'these', not 'them'

  19. #44
    practical experience, FTW JRH's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2006
    Tacoma, WA
    It would be impossible for me to present a single poem that represents all my poetry as what I do is too varied. At times, I write strict rhythm and rhyme, while at other times I employ free verse, but often I'll write with a blend of the two. Most of my earlier poems were short to medium length, Most of my newer ones have been longer, (although, I have been writing a lot of Haiku and Senryu as well.

    I seldom write anything directly personal as I consider that the province of "Verse" but often draw from personal experience to build poems on classic themes or Love, War, History, Philosophy and Social Criticism.

    Here is a poem that encompases most but not all of those elements.


    The Final Cycle

    Cycles turn in an endless gyre,
    As life renews like a phoenix's fire,
    Always the same,
    But always changing.

    Am I in need of new images, then,
    To express the changes that I see,
    And if I am, What might they be?

    How about, the "Horsemen" smirking
    Above the spinning Earth.
    In truth, they're flourishing more today,
    Then in their prime.....

    Or could it be that now's their time.

    War is rampant.
    New Diseases abound.
    Famine is everywhere.
    Death follows them around.

    Not images I'd choose to embrace,
    Yet, this might be their time and place.

    Could the END actually be coming?

    Prophesies of many kinds
    Have said so for a long long time.
    Revelations, Nostradamus, Edgar Cayce, and more,
    The time lines on the Pyramids, the legends of folklore.

    And the signs are there......

    Depleted forests produce NO air.

    Polluted seas CANNOT maintain
    The bounty that they once sustained.

    War never ceases,
    Only moves around,
    As men find new reasons
    To cut each other down.

    (Not to mention new ways to kill.....everyone)

    Diseases are surfacing
    For which we have no cures.
    Medicines we trusted once
    Are no longer sure,

    And finding new solutions is
    Much harder than before.

    Icebergs melt., and oceans rise,
    Crops die and famine starts.
    New tectonics threaten
    To tear the world apart.

    If this be the final cycle,
    Then, let it end in style,
    Whether with bang or whimper,
    For this ending's for all time.

    Copyright (c) Fall 2003 James R. Hoye

    Last edited by JRH; 03-19-2006 at 07:19 AM.

  20. #45
    House Dragon Anya Smith's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2006

    Silent Voice-Poem

    This is my latest poem. It appears in one of my science fiction stories. I know the meter is not perfect, none of my poems are, but see what you all make of it.

    Silent Voice

    Worship not my splendid visage but my creations,

    My astral tapestries, woven from bright strings and threads,

    Jewels strung with love and care from my imagination,

    Upon the worlds, I sow them to spread.


    Worship not my name but that of my offsprings,

    Their transient glory and lasting love, ephemeral sorrows and toils,

    Sparks of perceptions in the celestial winds tossing,

    Until they connect with the Silent Voice.


    Fear not my Furies that shepherd you towards wisdom,

    Tremble not beneath the echoes from the dawn of creation,

    My blessing will grace you with a molecular Kingdom,

    Yet the Silent Voice needs no adulation.

  21. #46
    Engineer Sonneteer Norman D Gutter's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2006
    Arkansas, USA

    Clams or Quahogs?

    contents deleted by author.
    Last edited by Norman D Gutter; 02-26-2007 at 06:26 PM.
    I blog, therefore I am.

    My author page at Amazon's Kindle Store.

  22. #47
    Walks in the shades. Rivana's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2006
    Gothenburg, Sweden
    I write very different types of poetry in terms of style; rhymed, un-rhymed, free and form. Mostly what I write though is serious, often a bit sad or angry, but with a note of hope as well. I do best with philosophical pieces and strong emotions.
    I'm not sure what I'd show as characteristic both of my writing style and personal character, that I haven't already posted, but I think this will serve well enough...


    If I Should Fall

    If I should fall today
    and crash down into the abyss
    Let them remember me for who I was
    and scatter my ashes with the wind
    If my time is at its end
    and the sands have run out
    Let them remember how I lived life
    and was not afraid of dying

    At that time –when my eyes close
    in peace for one final time
    Or unseeing stare out into the universe
    When my hand is stiff and cold
    Let them remember the steely gaze
    that was ever tempered with joy
    Let them remember the love that I had
    for the simple pleasures of life

    If my journey has ended
    and I have nowhere left to go
    Let them remember the proud strides
    and the path I trod before them
    For the dead carry no regrets
    and I lived my life as I learned
    So if you see me on the day of my falling
    cry not for I fell for my dream

    Last edited by Rivana; 11-20-2006 at 09:31 PM.

  23. #48
    banned as an incurable tosspot davids's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2006
    Just a little ditty about addiction and my fairy tale mind-the two often go together


    I know about pots
    and ends of things
    like rainbow's glossy slippery wings
    nocturnal damp surrounds the land
    where elves and fairies sprinkle dust
    that loads my head and runs my nose
    and cramps my lungs
    to fill my heart
    with sprites and mites and tiger toes

  24. #49
    Press Any Key Doctor Shifty's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2006
    Newcastle, Oz
    Much of my poetry is a processing of the stuff surrounding my life. If I have a calling card poem in that, then this one is its foundation.

    Standing in Front of the Dragon Lady

    Poem deleted - A few days on air is enough for this one.
    Last edited by Doctor Shifty; 12-21-2006 at 03:40 PM.

  25. #50
    figuring it all out Rhymer's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2006
    Ontario, Canada
    The Blaze

    Set fire to my pen,
    ignite my words
    until they’re seared
    into your memory.
    When emotions smolder
    and paper turns to ash,
    sift remnants for lyrics,
    pull verse from remains,
    until inspiration sparks
    and my pen is lit again.

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