New challenge! For Ma! and all! Poetry section YA!?

B

bobby's girl

New member
Here goes:

Toadstool
Sand on Silk
Young Jim
Unrung Bell
Misread Books
I Can't Reach That Far
Ghost of My Content
Call Me By No Name
And Then it Was Done
I Couldn't Stop the Rain
I just realized something... if people could see my reactions as I read their poems, I wouldn't have to say a word. I tend to react very physically to the delightful, the funny, the sorrowful and the exotic words you write. Suffice it to say, I wouldn't be any good at poker...
Young Jim
Young Jim played basketball
Old Jim didn't like the sport
Young Jim sneaked out to play
On the school yard court

Young Jim wanted many things
He hoped to become a nurse
Old Jim thought his son was queer
And called him a faggot, a curse

Young Jim kept his grades up
There'd be no money from his dad
He'd count on scholarships for school
Saved the little money that he had

Young Jim came home from college
Graduation was just in sight
Old Jim had a heart attack
And Young Jim saved his life.

A few weeks later, Young Jim
Brought home his special Love
And Old Jim reached out
And gave the dude a hug.


(And up to that last stanza, it was going to be a girl - but what the hey?)
I give TUs to all responses, BTW.
PLEASE POST YOUR POEMS TO REACH A WIDER AUDIENCE!
Thx
 
I can't reach that far


If could reach
each weeping nightmare
I would breeze blow from your mind
Tattoo your name like poetry
'pon each coward yellow spine
Life has no time for sorrow
when tomorrow waits outside
Never look behind you,
mark the past
done, dead, denied
 
and then It was done

a rising sun, a woeful nun,
who ran until her feet were dry,
her habit caked in sinful rum,
and slowly, quickly, swept her eye.

'Marie! Marie! The abbot's awake!'
the friar cried her through the gate.
'He's heard them tell, and heard them yell,
and soon you know that there'll be hell.'

'Oh, damn your hell and damn your preach.
You do not know of what you teach!'
and as her red hair lost restraints,
wild blue eyes dreamed only of saints.

'Next time I'm gone, do promise me Patrick,
to steer him away, don't leave me to that trick!'
A roll of the eyes, a hand on his hips,
'Oh, you know full well I don't charm to your lips!'

'Maria, Maria! I've a heard a strange tale'
a voice from the side, old, holy and stale.
'That sundays you rest in an interesting fashion.
Do tell, dear Maria, is hell now your passion?'

'For surely as I am chosen by god,
I will not stare blindly, nor falsely nod.
Give me your habit, your heart and your mind,
for now you have nothing but sorrow to find.'

The friar took lengthy-full steps back, and prayed,
that maybe Marie'd find error in her ways.
Alas she was full minded, strong minded, dumb,
for some day, he thought, her body'd succumb.

and all that's left is a rising sun,
a woeful dead nun,
and something that, when it was there, was already done.

(btw... seriously, not religious in the slightest. I just watched Sister Act and was in that sort of mood.)

Young Jim

Young Jim,
though slim,
held his heart on his sleeve,
and, hearing no doubt,
left it to pout,
and swelter in the blistering heat,
for where his girlfriend had told them to meet,
was where a glad fire,
would not be put out.

Misread Books

Misread looks,
like misread books
can be deadly.

A girl, flaunting, taunting, nice,
she waves in a manner that melts rock hard ice.
He looks her way, a nod of the head,
which leads, somehow, to a rickety bed.
A moan, a groan, a dollar or two.
Maybe she'll ask, 'good for you too?'

He'll nod feebly, exhausted and tired,
while she'll move slowly, else she'll be fired,
a book, taken off of a large wooden shelf,
cover to cover, it's nothing of wealth,
but a sleak, shiny toy,
that she'll aim at the boy,
and shot through the heart,
she's sure he wont wake,
but gets a head start,
and darts through the gate.

Sorry if they're the slightest bit rubbish. I've been up for two days solid.

Bloody coursework.

Hope you liked. I'm not sure that I did, but shall post them anyway.
 
A little wave on the shaking subway
A friendly smile at the mall
I see your busy faces everywhere
It's like they're painted on my wall

I know all about you
every single thing that you've done
your triumphs and your battles
the contests you have and haven't won

My love and devotion stretches past the hardest mile
I live my life every day in the bask of your fair smile

the way I care about you
a result of what you became
I guess I'll call you famous
and you can call me by no name



while the children play in the schoolyard
waiting for the unrung bell
I got a little love note
in the palm of my hand
lined with little hearts
and signed with X's and O's
I read it through this mornings play
beneath the apple tree
The boys ran about
casting girls shy glances
And the girls giggled and played
not caring in the slightest

A few years later
Waiting for the unrung bell
I see them all holding hands
wearing too much make-up
clothes too tight
laughs too loud
smiles hiding their true feelings
this is just a brand new way or waiting
for the unrung bell
 
Sand on Silk

The sun is laying to rest the day...
loitering on the edge
watching the waves
in my silken dress
I look out on the distance
as the wind swirls the silk of my gown
I sink to the ground...sit down
in the sand...
as I run it lightly
through my hand...
the spray of the ocean
moistens me now
a salty coating of calm
licking it from my lips..
now searching for my lip balm...
he is seated next to me
I can feel him there
the warmth is there between us
he rises outstretches his hand..
to the silk that is covered in sand...



************

Toadstool

beneath the moss I play in the lichen
in the shade of the old toadstool
it smell earthy and clean
nothing I’ve seen
holds a candle to what I am doing.
as we push up the surface
come out from the dirt
the little people are
gathered with me...
with all their fiddle playing music
we’re going to dance
under the moon
this is your chance
so pick your tune..
close your eyes and travel with me
to the party beneath
The toadstool
 
Advice to the Young

Young Jim was a dashing pirate
The envy of all his friends.
He didn't sit at a school desk
Playing so much 'Let's pretend'

He really climbed the mizzen mast
He swashed his buckle as well
He held a cutlas in his teeth
And mastered the ocean swell.

He had no qualifications,
certificates or degrees
But, boy, did he enjoy his life
Out there on the open seas.

The moral of this story is
Don't let them force-feed you bull
Go out into this glorious world
And live your life to the full.

(I had no idea what this poem was going to be about....it led me here!)
ps - AY won't let me post Questions (something to do with security) Has anyone else had any problems lately?
 
Shelter during the storm
by Jellz

Heavens fell drenching
I Couldn't Stop the Rain, but
you my umbrella
were there to watch over me
while I cried a thousand tears
 
Misread Books

Misread books have stoked fires
Since first there books have been;
Books themselves in the pyres
For truth misread by men.

Flames fed by books unburnt
Rage hottest of them all
Lit bright by men unlearnt
Spreading the darkest pall.

Books misread have mislead
Many men to dire straits
By words best left unsaid
That sent them to their fates.
 
Call Me By No Name

Time folds like cake batter
blending in errant matter
I am one such as this
a rumple in history's bliss
the paper folds, a house of cards
days get old like oft told yarns.

Don't let me hog the stage
I'd rather you just turned the page.
 
There are some who answer in deafening spirit.
Some like I who only walk in silence.
Where his/her thoughts
Roam more then does their mouth.

I sometimes feel as though a ghost.
More like a philosopher then a sophist.
As though a poet then a pedantry.
Poetry seems so potent.

So I ask of you in this Poetry.
Who are you thus?
An Athenian thinker?
Or an American Philosopher?

(I just thought of this)-Tyrocles, nice question Bg!!!!
 
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