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Thread: Calling Card Thread (Poems by AWers)

  1. #51
    nothing simple here tlblack's Avatar
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    I sometimes write poetry when I am deep in thought but never on a regular basis. I tend to put too many of my own feelings about things into my poetry and it usually depresses me to write them. I find lately that I don't have time to write much at all and sometimes when I do have the time, I cannot get words to form on paper. I also find that once my thoughts on any particular poem I'm writing end, so does the poem. This poem reflects a lost relationship of one who couldn't move forward in life because of being stuck in a continual time warp of life's past and one who tried every way possible to make them see differently.


    Waited

    I looked but could not find you,
    Waiting only for you to say what was in your heart.
    Thoughts that were there, that could not pass the outer rims of your mouth.
    Time passing by without resolve, time gone by so quickly.
    Still I waited to hear the sound of your voice, telling of things unspoken.
    Echoes resounding off the walls of great canyons, lighting fire in eyes so deep.
    Emotions running over, taking no time to think of resolution.
    Only pounding through the mind like millions of tiny insects, each having their own direction.
    Waited for moments in time to share, for times to resolve those things unmentioned.
    For they were stuck within a hardened heart of ice, not to be spoken of again.
    Waited for you to resolve from within those things you hold most debilitating.
    Patiently waited for time to heal that which is so great on your shoulders.
    Time having no end, no force by which to nurture this heart.
    Only a needing of which no amount of time could quell.
    A vision, either together or apart.
    Time to stop waiting - waiting for that which cannot be without resolve.
    Teresa

    "Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who only dream by night." - Edgar Allan Poe

    If you want the pages falling out of your book, be sure to send your ms to PA.


  2. #52
    Luftmensch Emeritus, A.D.D. Pat~'s Avatar
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    I'll post 2 poems, (which I've posted elsewhere on AW). Most of my poetry is devotional poetry, religious in nature, but some of it is whimsical/humorous, so I'll post one of each. Both of these poems are very reflective of me and my life experience; the first one attempts to illustrate the profound love I have for Jesus Christ. The second one was actually written just a couple days after the critique group experience.

    SHE LOVETH MUCH
    (Luke 7)

    I crept into the room where they reclined;
    Alone I stood as all began to eat.
    My weeping eyes were fixed upon His feet,
    And kneeling as the men with Jesus dined,
    My hair with tears of gratitude entwined
    Those feet o’er which I poured my perfume sweet.
    With such a gift my worship was complete.
    Yet as I rose the Pharisee opined,
    “If Jesus were a prophet, He would know
    The depths of sin in one who dared to touch,
    And He from her would all acquaintance cease.”
    My Savior’s answer caused fresh tears to flow:
    “She loveth much who’s been forgiven much—
    Your faith has healed you, daughter, go in peace.”

    ©2006 by Patricia S. Baker
    Publication pending, Live



    CRITIQUE GROUP

    i handed out ten copies,
    then broke out in coldest sweat;
    how could i let them read these words—
    i was no poet yet.


    i can’t remember what was said
    as they critiqued my poem;
    but i could’ve kissed that guy who asked
    if he could take it home.


    ©2006 by Patricia S. Baker
    First published in Writer’s Journal, (Vol. 27, No. 6, p. 42)
    Pat

    Every writer is a skater, who must go partly where he would and partly where the skates carry him… ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

    Inspiration will find you, but it must find you working. ~ Picasso

    Website

    Life

  3. #53
    Too Adorkable for Words pconsidine's Avatar
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    Though I'm hardly an active poet, I have managed to discover a personal style. I seem to gravitate toward short pieces with the barest fragments of images or thoughts. I think a very recent post sums me up the best (the original story can be seen here):


    Depending where you are it may be a quiet night.
    Iowa snow,
    something like that, is amazing.
    But its Sunday.

    You still have power.


    (My favorite is still the one I did for Blue Rock. )
    "Just remember this: You don't get hurt passing out, you get hurt falling down." – My Dad

    Feel free to buy my book:
    An Expatriate Goes to the Museum – A Photo Essay

  4. #54
    caramello, per favore WriterUnboxed's Avatar
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    I'm usually a haiku girl, but I wrote this poem in a blaze of inspiration and have always felt it represented what I like best about poetry: tapping those raw emotions, going into the dark place and blowing it wide open. That's not to say it's perfect - I'm sure it isn't - but I would still hold it up as my best poetic effort.

    The White Garden

    There is a white garden thriving here that frightens me.
    It isn't white with lilies or crocus or snowstar tulips.
    There is no heady scent of jasmine or violet wafting through the air;
    there are no orchids.
    This garden isn't fragrant at all, actually.
    Neither is it knit with beauty, colorless from snowfall or moonbeams,
    or anything rooted in nature or poetry.
    What it is is corpse white,
    nuclear-holocaust white,
    whites-of-the-eyes white.
    Bloodcurdlingly white.

    You can walk in this garden, though it's overgrown
    and people have gone missing in its ratty maze,
    disappeared completely.
    White knuckled weeds choke out all that once lived and bloomed,
    leaching all goodness from the soil until it's white, too,
    like dry, caking clay,
    embalmed earth.
    Still, people go, though the Why of that
    becomes more a mystery as time passes.
    Maybe they don't believe it's as bad as it looks or as they've heard.
    Maybe they think there's still hope,
    that they'll find a four-leaf clover
    --something, anything green and rich and alive—
    hidden beneath the unnatural blanket.
    Then they'll hold it up and cheer
    and everyone will nod and say, "See! See?"
    I think maybe their retinas are burned out by the glare of it all;
    a decent excuse for blindness.
    What other defense is there for missing the point entirely?

    The gardeners are fanged and greedy beasts.
    Hang them, or put a stake through their hearts.
    They rarely appear, having moved on
    to better flowing arteries than this;
    certainly, I've never seen them tending to their plot of despair,
    though I've seen them in it from time to time,
    gazing with potted cheerfulness at their surroundings for the masses,
    ignoring the crunch-crackle of some formerly living matter
    beneath their feet
    --dry stalk or bone; no matter; inconsequential.
    "Isn't it purdy," one might say to the rest
    and pluck at a white smear and call it a bloom.
    He'd breathe in its unfragrance and sigh,
    the great puppeteered idiot,
    even while the vast fiction disintegrates in his hand.
    White ashes drift up and stipple his nose,
    and still the others nod and call it beautiful.
    Therese Walsh
    Author of The Last Will of Moira Leahy
    ThereseWalsh.com
    Writer Unboxed
    101 Best Websites, Writer's Digest '07, '08, '09 & '10

  5. #55
    Self-Banned
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    Good 'un, Therese.

  6. #56
    citanaf draoB hermit authoress's Avatar
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    Growth

    Although I still turn out poetry, it's very seldom that I'm moved to do so, saved for the most moving moments. Anymore, I save them for my own greeting cards. I felt it appropriate to post my first and last, repesenting my movement from strictly poetry and my discovered love of fiction. (IMAGINATION has a secret...can anyone guess?)

    IF I COULD LOVE LIKE POETRY
    1983 - 13yrs

    If I could love like poetry,
    My words would never fall.
    They’d bring to mind the beauty
    And pain that’s worth it all.

    If I could love like poetry,
    In mists the sounds would echo
    Far above the light year star,
    To undersides of seas below.

    If I could love like poetry,
    No greater love, but God’s, there’d be.
    My words would cover everything
    From here to eternity.

    When I can love like poetry,
    I will have taken my last breath
    For in this world it’s impossible
    To explain those feelings in depth.

    IMAGINATION
    2006 - 36yrs

    Without form or solid sound
    In wind, flying around

    Birds laughing, chairs spin
    Box to brush - polka again

    Shock, calm, or nothing at all
    Holds only as long as its call

    Do what you would, could, or might
    Formula is out of sight

    Sink in paint, blow rainbow sky
    Unlock autumn to a spring dry

    Crack hurt, all subsiding
    Jump within joy inviting

    Touching, holding, kissing - not stopping
    Upon rain's pouring, dropping

    Don a cloud or six atoms
    As a crown, shining fathoms

    Rid of ambition, catching flight
    Vision onward throughout night

    Drawing to a finish
    Imagination hasn't limit
    Last edited by hermit authoress; 03-03-2007 at 11:33 PM. Reason: font went nuts on me...lol *rolls eyes*

  7. #57
    figuring it all out carlylyncoe's Avatar
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    I write. I love to write and do a good bit of poetry.
    Here is one I wrote recently.......




    A Wrong Turn
    by carlylyn


    I took the long way home today
    not by design, but accident
    although there wasn’t one, an accident, I mean.
    I turned left instead of going straight,
    something I have never done till this day,
    but I am happy I deviated.

    Though the road began well,
    it soon became dirt packed; hardpan
    smooth with large potholes
    scattered about
    like errant bolts of lightening had
    struck in bygone days.

    Driving slowly, with much attention
    to the holes, (which looked big enough, at least some of them, to swallow my small vehicle)
    I drove towards something, or away from something else.

    The road narrowed and became less
    like a road and more like
    a cow path.
    Which it was.

    Encircled, surrounded;
    bathed in a sea of black and white...
    mesmerized by the lowing and groaning
    crawling from large, smooth throats
    the Order of the Udder,
    heading to the barn for sweet relief.


    The sea parted to my dismay;
    I loved the helpless feeling…
    swept away from the real world, I was
    a sailor on an ocean of dipping and swaying
    waves of potential cream and butter.

    Quiet returned and I backed into a turnaround
    heading out to my mistaken road and
    turned left, once again
    towards home.

    Dogs barking and running,
    children laughing in summer sun;
    my family
    my frolicking sea
    my ocean of love
    waves of potential poets and artists,
    with perhaps a teacher thrown in for good measure.

  8. #58
    First time here. I write haiku sometimes.

    you must forgive us
    our endless scribbled crammed words
    we abhor white space

  9. #59
    Tuning in on Life CurtisPutnam's Avatar
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    Of course my favorite poem is always the one that I have just written. Here is one from an exercise in the Poetry Games section "Fibonacci Turns". It says a lot about what I like and the games I like to play with poetry.

    Humidity


    hot
    hand
    cools neck
    combust fuse
    pulse to finger tip
    palpitating soul in union
    flailed drum is me
    flame heart she
    flush we
    flee
    free
    C.P.

    The law of love will work, just as the law of gravitation will work, whether we accept it or not. -M.K. Gandhi



  10. #60
    Mourning Henry Teena's Avatar
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    Disappointed dreams
    broken like a looking glass
    slivered
    into seven years bad luck
    and more
    heartache heartbreak
    pounding rhythmically
    like the song

    You came when he had gone
    second glances
    second chances
    then puff
    like the gasp of wind
    that took my hat
    silly, dusky straw hat
    with a red paper sunflower
    you left me standing
    bareheaded
    barefooted
    bare-hearted in the grass


  11. #61
    Just Hanging Around Ali B's Avatar
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    A Military Family

    Being in a military family means waiting for the phone to ring
    It means changing friends with the seasons
    And homes with the school year

    Being in a military family means babies born without their daddy there
    It means running to the mailbox
    And finding a tattered letter postmarked three months ago.

    Being in a military family also means pride
    It means Independence Days that mean a little bit more
    And Veteran’s Days that sadden and honor

    A military family is strong.
    A military family is durable.
    A military family is resilient.

  12. #62
    practical experience, FTW
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    October 17, 2007


    Mostly enjoy doing poems for children, but I've done some literary poems.
    Here's some poems for October and Halloween spirit.

    Still learning the ropes.

    Dracula's Tea

    Count Dracula's fancy teapot

    Is covered with bat wings and rot.

    It bubbles and boils,

    and gurgles like oil.

    He serves his tea blood-red and hot!



    GRAVEYARD RAP

    Let's go to the skeleton dance,
    where skeletons prattle and prance.

    They dance the hip bone bump
    where boney hip bones thump.

    Their fingers, toes and ankles snap,
    yakety-yak, their jaw bones flap.

    Jingling and jangling bones
    rattle so loud, they shake the stones.

    When Rib-Cage Jones sings "Graveyard Rap",
    tall black trees go tappity-tap-tap.

    Giant brown bats whirl in the air.
    Cats strut together by the pair.

    Sliding, slithering, scaley snakes,
    sway with the lyrics, beats, and breaks.

    High pitched yowls ripple over the band,
    from scraggy grey wolves who stalk with land.

    Come one! Come all! Join in the bash.
    Become part of the graveyard smash!



    October Haiku


    Yellow harvest moon

    bountiful, plentiful shone

    cornstalk amazement,


    open meadows hum

    lyrical melodies sing,

    country lanes depart,


    cool, eerie shivers

    spin delicate moonlight webs,

    mysticsm lives!

  13. #63
    The grad students did it NeuroFizz's Avatar
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    Paralytic Paralipsis

    I will not talk
    of love caught up
    when I can’t abide
    expectation’s net

    And never mind
    my soul’s return
    I think not of
    its dividend set

    I shan’t discuss
    my fevered chills
    but wrap my flanks
    and expose them still

    My mind won’t flip
    around the noose
    that tightens twice
    around my will

    I’ll plug my ears,
    my nose, my mouth
    but leave my heart
    to detect your sigh

    I’ll equivocate
    but not confess
    to a breast that feeds
    my daily lie
    Phoenix (Historical - 2006)First Place, 2007 Arizona Authors Assoc. Book Awards Whiskey Creek Press
    Something Bad (Horror - 2007) Medallion Press. Silver Medal, 2008 IPPY awards, Horror category
    Rollicking Anthropomorphisms (Poetry Collection - 2008) 2009 EPPIE Award Finalist Whiskey Creek Press
    Agnes Hahn (Psychological Suspense 2008) Medallion Press Silver Medal, 2009 IPPY awards, Horror category
    Imola (Sequel to Agnes Hahn 2009) - Medallion Press
    3.99 (Psychological Suspense/Mystery 2012) - Musa 2014 EPIC e-book awards Finalist, Paranormal category

  14. #64
    Self-Banned
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    These were published in Rosebud Magazine in July. I can't call it my style, but it does contain my voice.

    Haiku Literary Review:





    Moby Dick



    Whale sinks whaling ship

    Captain and most of crew drown

    A Greenpeace top pick.




    The Iliad



    An epic tale of

    setbacks in naval custom:

    Fleet follows the girl.





    Gulliver’s Travels



    Wee Lilliputians

    and horse-like Houynhnms, yes,

    but non-web Yahoos?





    Genesis



    Flora and fauna

    thrive for first couple. Tabooed

    apple munched, snake wins.





    Walden Pond



    Man lives in cabin

    Shuns quiet desperation.

    Masses seek flush bowls.





    For Whom the Bell Tolls



    Tom blows up bridge and

    makes earth move while making love.

    Macho, macho man.





    Hamlet



    Being, not being

    All major characters die

    Fat chance of sequel.





    Gone with the Wind



    An uncivil belle

    in a civil war is torn

    between two rebels.





    The Gift of the Magi



    Lovely pair exchange

    gifts. Go into hock before

    birth of credit cards.





    The Godfather



    Flick-ready novel

    Whacking-fest, but big roles saved

    for mucho sequels.





    A Christmas Carol



    Miser cheats his help

    Sees light and atones—unlike

    Enron VIP’s.





    The Purloined Letter



    Sleuth finds swiped letter

    without the assistance of

    a Google dot com





    Ulysses



    Needs punctuation

    Needs more familiar wording

    Needs emoticons







    The Great Gatsby



    The Roaring Twenties.

    Wealth, big bashes, mistresses

    Few soccer moms here.




    Catch 22



    This is a great book

    You’re crazy not to read it

    “Why” you say? Don’t ask.
    Last edited by Rich; 10-18-2007 at 04:56 PM.

  15. #65
    of all the gin joints nerds's Avatar
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    Rich, I love all of these. Reading them was a nice start to my day.


  16. #66
    dafooey
    Guest
    our smiles come easier
    laughs last longer
    kisses more passionate
    our hearts beat quicker
    bodies come closer
    our hearts beat faster
    love grows stronger
    our hearts beat together.

  17. #67
    Here we go again Eliel Takavian's Avatar
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    Apple of my Eye

    I saw him then a boy
    A blond leafed willow tree he grew
    The apple of my eye

    I saw him stand in strength
    A wise man resolute
    In justice rightly tempered
    With grace and honor
    Stamped upon his breast

    The guardian I
    And self appointed keeper of his soul
    Would stay the hand of death
    And give my life a sacrificial gift
    But when the hour came to prove my worth
    I shook with fear a thousand miles away

    Then Heaven opened wide her yawning gates
    And washed the beauty from the beautiful
    The mighty arm of omnipotent God
    Did rake and tear a furrow in my breast
    Where once the fragrant willow blossoms bloomed
    A weeping wound and ever-spreading stain

    Curious then the freedom that I felt
    When from the burning pit of grief I crawled
    I found that death had straightly been deposed
    The fear of death a childish afterthought
    The memory of some near forgotten dream

    And so with iron soul I hurry through
    I throw life’s cautions to the rising wind
    I laugh and cheer when day dawns into night
    And Mother Black consoles me in her arms

    I seek him now anew
    Beyond the circles of this dying life
    He waits in peace for me
    The apple of my eye








  18. #68
    King of Sloth Town ddgryphon's Avatar
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    We Are

    such
    sounds
    will bond us:
    as this harmony
    and melody flow together--
    one sound from many--
    one song: us.
    we are
    such
    sounds
    Music Page
    My AW Collection
    I'm a Deviant

    ~ If Love is a shelter
    I want to walk in the rain. ~

  19. #69
    Knight Errant brad_b's Avatar
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    Somewhere in my mind... it echoes in here ...
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    10,122

    Passing Life

    Passing Life

    Valiant hopes and noble dreams
    Into youth the sunlight streams
    Fervent passions, strength of earth
    So distant is the day of death.

    Hopes held high, the road ahead,
    Consumes passions that were fed,
    By wide-eyed, uncorrupted dreams
    Confused, confounded by worldly schemes.

    Fortune's frown, dreams slowly fade
    Forgotten promises once made
    Winds of time rage through strife
    Winnowing the littered chaff from life.

    Stand naked now, beyond the storm
    See the past, the day you're born.
    So long the journey that lay before
    Now one last footstep - one last door.

    Enter there and grateful find
    Relief to the weary, stumbling mind
    Forgive transgressions that were cast
    And silence demons from the past.

    Light-hearted youth that once had been,
    Creeps silent behind the walls within,
    Time the teacher - Life's struggle charity
    Irreversible the slide - one goal - eternity.


    In penance bow 'neath the weight of youthful indiscretions

    And lament the passing innocence of dreams.

    But new dreams will arise,

    New visions of tomorrow


    bnb © 2002
    Last edited by brad_b; 12-26-2008 at 06:29 AM.

  20. #70
    New Fish; Learning About Thick Skin Fiat Lex's Avatar
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    I hope one day to have some sort of desk I can put this up on the wall behind, so people sitting on the other side of it can have something to read when not making eye contact with me.


    Currency

    Diamond
    evaporates;
    bright metal melts away.
    Attention is the hardest thing
    to pay.

  21. #71
    Unabashed Mercenary Requiescat In Pace dclary's Avatar
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    The Good Ship Deek

    No one looks at a ship
    long at sea
    and marvels at the gleam of its brass
    or the snow-white purity
    of its sails.
    They see the strain
    of a nor'eastern storm,
    they see the brittle teeth marks
    of cannon fire.
    A man new to the sea may
    tremble at such a sight.
    The sailor of worth says
    "She's been through it, and come back out.
    Good sailing, mate,
    Sail on."
    [CENTER]------------------------------------------------------------------------

    [URL="http://TrumpStump2016.com"]TrumpStump2016.com[/URL] -- Your All-Trump-All-The-Time-News-You-Can-Use Extravaganza!
    (Yes. that's an actual place. Yes. I actually run it. Yes. It's exactly like being in hell.)[/CENTER]

  22. #72
    I just noticed that I forgot to post on this thread. I hope it's okay if I do it now. I just wrote this moments ago.

    A Robin

    A robin
    has just landed
    on my deck.

    I like it
    when I see
    fat creatures.

    Lets me know
    not everything
    starves to death.
    Check out my band, The Cruel Shoes, on the webz!

    TCS on Facebook!
    TCS on teh webz!

    This quote will be here until the end of time!
    Quote Originally Posted by scarletpeaches
    Two people in this thread
    have me in their signatures. Shiny.


  23. #73
    New Fish; Learning About Thick Skin Emz's Avatar
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    To be a Whore

    The truth is never so dismal nor unset’ling
    As when I’m granted all I desire from you
    By the hand of he whose touch mean’s nothing.

    I feel the heat overload
    As the incessant motion of his revolting body
    Becomes more than mine can bare.

    Pain is all I feel,
    As again and again his body thrusts so mercilessly against my own.

    Pain is all you feel,
    In the knowledge that so priceless a beauty should be another’s commodity.

    Pain is what keeps us a part,
    Making a mockery of all that we feel.

    Oh, that you were the source of this pain insufferable;
    That this infliction were cast by the hands that heal
    No longer would each chapter of reality force the fantasy.

    I keep your image securely locked in my mind’s eye
    That my body may yield to all it must endure,
    As his becomes yours and we are at last as one.

  24. #74
    practical experience, FTW wannawrite's Avatar
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    I'm depressed, today. Don't know why. Feel like posting my bad poetry.


    there is a calm
    between anguish and fear
    when all hope is lost
    and time stands still
    and in that void
    there is no shame
    there is no panic
    nor even pain
    for nothing can
    steal inside
    the tranquil refuge
    where I hide
    in quiet defeat
    each time
    he raises
    his fist
    to
    me

  25. #75
    ... Steppe's Avatar
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    Graveyard


    after
    the long journey
    home

    the silence
    of graves

    a voice there
    out-sang
    my sorrow

    when I questioned
    the wind
    it gave no answers

    the deer
    grazing
    the grass


    note- When I was a young boy, I was hurt several times in the head. And there was the depression of home life we sometimes had to deal with. I think it all hurt my memory recall so now it comes in bits and pieces rather than a whole story.

    I just learned to write poems with the bits and pieces. It suites my memory.
    "Don't worry about readers. Their on their own and will find meanings for your poems in their histories and yearnings. Let language go where it wants. If readers respond to your language, the poem can't help but mean." Poet Richard Hugo

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