Okay guys, I have an idea.

To stay creative, I was thinking that I would write and post a poem every day on the board. I would have a specific theme or word or group of words to use in the poem, different every day.

I will attempt to do it for two weeks.

The poems will be all genres, I might have a different genre each day, until I run out of the main genres.

The poems will be varying in length, depending on how much time I have and how I feel.

I want people to join me! Please, join me, it will be fun and get your brain working. If you like the theme and genre on any of the days, please post in this thread. It would be great if you could post a poem every day, but if not, that's fine, whenever you can.

I will be starting this Thursday (Aus time).

Click on the day to go to that page and read the poems.

DAY 1: Troubles in the mind.

DAY 2: The Walk Home.

DAY 3: There's always someone cooler than you.

DAY 4: Love or lust.

DAY 5: Memories.

DAY 6: Self Deceit.

DAY 7: Ghosts.

DAY 8: Fast and Slow.

It's all yours Tommy.  You have the floor (or the thread as the case may be)

Thanks Michael.

I don't know much about the forms or genres of poetry, but here they are on wiki:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poetry#Forms

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poetry#Genres

If people want to give me a challenge by making up a theme one day that would be really good.

DAY ONE:

The theme for today poem is, a bit dark. "Troubles in the mind."

EDIT: So, just to be clear, I just picked a theme and I hope to write and post a poem here on that theme, by the end of the day. I encourage others to do so too.

My mind if often troubled
And as blank as my verses
Poems are not limericks
Or Corks for that matter
Must they rhyme?
I see no reason
Able to duck but not quack
In Tyler I trust
I hope I'm not
Or gay for that matter
Will not overcome my mind
By now you will think me troubled
But not as much as I do
Boo hoo
Doodedoo
Do

Too many voices, the
rabble in my head is
out to get me
undermining my foundation
by placing invisible
listening devices
everywhere.
Stop them please!

In case you read this
note, destroy it.

Too late for me,
however, you may
escape their clutches.

Make no mistake,
I am not crazy.
Nevermind what the
doctors say.

The troubles in my mind are ones I can't explain
Without certain pieces, I complain about the pain
But once handed that prescription, my composure I regain
The only trouble with this is I never feel the same
Personalities change, like people do with age
My mind is the cage, I'm the rat, starving and enraged
Deranged, people can't identify me anymore
If you need the white oval, I got plenty plenty more
Score, once I've scored, my wallet becomes piss poor
Spending all this cash on different medicines galore
I can't afford to waste away, dealing with this pain anymore
Coz even after I pop that oval, I still feel sore
The message is as clear as the crystals frozen in place
Except these crystals don't melt away, they never can erase
The way it tastes, the way it numbs my pale face
I wish I could escape, these troubles in the mind just aren't safe

I mask my insecurities with humour,
My confidence issues with wine.
I cover up my low self esteem with friends,
And entertainment to conceal my troubled mind.

I act stupid and foolish to get laughs,
All because I don’t know how to properly interact,
My mind with all its problems,
Doesn’t allow me to relax.

I spend all my nights awake,
Thinking about work the next day,
Nothing I try helps me,
The troubles in my mind just won’t go away.

I wish that for just once,
I would not have to suffer,
But then I see the silver lining,
That every troubles makes me tougher.

Tommy,

Thank you so much! It's nice to know I'm not alone!

I will be saving your poem and the others posted here. This is a wonderful thread!

Here's my contribution:

A Troubled Mind

There seems to be a randomness…
….  . … .. … . …. .. . . …

We think--

and it troubles the mind
It's what we call asymmetry
It starts in what is time

It's in the second level
It's where our thought begins
It there descends in purpose
A cumulative vim

A vim that knows no boundaries
It washes on the shore
Of conscious disposition
Of love and angered roar

We think--
… … …

For the ark is double sided
And with it Good and Evil
That are not interchangeable
But peace then from upheaval
… … …

Why? Lama?
… … …
We think--
… … …

A troubled mind has need
A need that's very great
And from this need
Comes purpose
We sail upon this lake

The lake bears in it
Levels-four
Here discover number lore:
-Purpose
-Value
-Concept
-Thing
Without so which
A song won't sing

We think--
… … …

Seven notes in music trails
Seven levels
Weighted scales
Right then left
We juxtapose
A troubled mind
That learns and grows

We think--
… … …

Asymmetry
So right and wrong
With troubled mind
We sing life's song
In perfect randomness

We think--

... ... ...

Sandra E.

Ok.

• It's the next day in oz.
  
• Tommy wants suggested themes.
  
• I have an idea for one.
  

So.

The next theme is "the walk home".


and if you haven't joined in yet, don't be afraid to hop in any time.

Great poems guys! I'm loving this.

Thanks Michael, interesting theme. I am feeling this might be more of a ballad, story kinda poem. Don't know the official term.

The walk home
Of a tired soldier
Paved with intention
Littered with regret

The walk home
Of a jobless father
Stymied by shame
Doomed by dignity

The walk home
Of a motherless child
Battered by brothers
Pissed by parents gone

The walk home
For those who suffer
Would be better
If you were there

A haiku (just 17 syallables, no set metric pattern):

At Work
A long, hard day.
Not too long now.
I'm looking forward to my walk home.

EDIT: some more haiku I just came up with - all thoughts during a walk home. Just trying to slip into the mind of different characters, different situations:

Family Home
This was our garden, once.
I used to climb that tree.
The gate was black, then.

End of the Date
I'm not even listening to whatever she's saying.
Too happy.

Coming Back from the Churchyard
It was a lovely service.
Everyone agrees
She would have liked it.

Stone in My Shoe
There's a stone in my shoe.
A fitting end to the worst day of my life.

How Did We Die?
We were holding hands.
Your skin, my skin...
I didn't even see the bus.

The Jubilee Line
Bloody Underground.
Never works.
I really should buy an umbrella.

Detour
Walking through the park takes longer.
But some things
Don't have to be shortcuts.

Relationship Issues
I wonder.
If I got hit by a car, right now,
Would she even care?

Still Small Voice
The trees whisper.
Perhaps we could learn their secrets
If we just listened.

Just a Blown Bulb
This street-light isn't working.
I pass into darkness...
Then out again.

Local Knowledge
Someone jumped off this bridge once.
They climbed up on the ledge...
And then they fell.

Self-Referential
Oh, how I love my walk home.
One day I'll write a haiku about it.

13 in one hour! I'll try a different form for tomorrow's theme. Thanks for starting this thread, Tommy.

I walk, run, rest, the pattern continues.
Three weeks, six weeks, it’s really hard to tell.
Is home a figment, of my imagination?
Or is home real, a secure place to dwell.

I know it’s mostly my doing,
But it’s way too late to moan,
It’s hard to tell direction,
The GPS is broken on my phone.

As I sit here and tell you this,
Asking for your support,
I can’t give much in return,
But I promise not to retort.

I ask for a dollar or two,
And a direction in which to head,
Because being homeless is hard,
No warmth, no food, no bed.

I understand if you can’t help me out,
I’ve heard all the excuses before,
It’s just that the walk home is never ending,
I just wish for one night, to not be so sore.

I did not see that man,
the one eating from the can,
when I walked all the way
home to my house today.

He does not have a house,
And no kids and no spouse,
And no job, he’s lazy.
Either that or crazy

Because he talks to air,
Really, nobody was there.
That one time he grabbed me
He smelled like poo and pee

I struggled to escape
And started screaming, “Rape!”,
That’s when he let me go
I ran like hell, you know.

He didn’t chase after,
But I did hear laughter,
I turned toward the sound
and saw him on the ground.

Was he having a fit?
He’s laughing like a git.
“What’s wrong?” I called to him,
My face all taut and grim.

And still he laughed at me
How rude could someone be
I turned, started walking
And then he started talking.

“I’m a woman” he said
Out of his laughing head.
I turned and looked his way
Or her’s what I should say.

On my walk home there was
No man or can because
There’s a homeless woman
And her name is Sue Anne.

the walk home tonight was different than the rest
and I feel like I need to get this bit of info off my chest
to be honest, there's a lot of things I need to address
like the homeless man who's trigger finger nearly pressed
he could have killed me, decided to let me go
now I realize I cannot wander to and fro
in the world today, it might not be safe in alleyways
so maybe, just maybe, i should ride the subway trains
and stay away from those body bags, and blood outside my veins
that are much like wine, and leave permanent stains
but this stain left behind won't be on a carpet
because the stain would center around my heart, that's the target
i got a blunt, so let's spark it
maybe it'll give me a bit of light in this darkness
a darkness that used to surround me on that long walk home
now when i walk home, i memorize this little poem

Wow you guys are giving me inspiration.

It's interesting: I always liked the simplicity of the haiku. Johnny boy's poems were excellent and one in particular stood out for me. This one:

Detour
Walking through the park takes longer.
But some things
Don't have to be shortcuts.

**

Immediately, I thought of a route I often take to drive to Innisfail. Or I request it if my husband or kids are driving.

"Shall we take the scenic route?" I ask. The highway is small, with ranch lands and past The Bowden Penitentiary. Workers from there are often seen walking alongside the small highway for exercise on their lunch breaks.

So Johnny, thanks for this. I'm going to show it to my husband and kids later today.

And now I'll get onto a "Walk Home" poem... Many ideas have crossed my mind on this.

And yes, it's all screenwriting. I have a short script that came from "the gay" thread, but I want to run it through several passes before I submit it.

Who knows what might come out of this Poems thread?!

Sandra

Gone for a walk
I came back alone
No one around to talk
Like a king with no throne

You're gone forever
But this is not over
Life is a precious gift
Even through the mist

Quoted from michel Gone for a walk I came back alone No one around to talk Like a king with no throne You're gone forever But this is not over Life is a precious gift Even through the mist

Thank you Michel.
This we must always remember.
Trying to bring it forward into each living moment.

Sandra

THE WAY BACK HOME


Do not go wandering
Wandering, wandering
Do not go wandering
Among those leaves green.

Why shant I go there?
Go there, go there
Why shant I go there
What do you mean?

There are great trials
for those curious lot
You should stay tight
Don't go. You should not.

The boy after hearing this
Couldn't stop feeling
Feeling, Feeling
Feeling, feeling

Alive he was feeling
What a wonderful thing.

Off then he scooted

--to find
Another of curious kind
His sister, no dread
Not a single wary bone
in her Little Brave head
Said:

Oh! To go! To go!
The adventures we'll know.

And in that instant
They both fell distant
For their heart had left
Their home

Not one foot had walked yet
Not even a pinch
But with that single thought
They had moved a whole inch

And in that moment of thought so great
Their whole world moved
And the shook did shake

It's shaking. It's shaking.
I think our world's breaking.
The Little Brave said
She said with great dread
Where are we now?
No home. No bread.

The boy started looking,
looking, looking
They grew eyes for looking
And so they both did

Searching, searching
Off they went searching
Forgetting that ever
They had a place home

Now, now. This is
Place Now.
Alone and so scary.
Though leaves are so green.
And here sneaks the sneaker
So evil and mean

And then. And then.
A flutter now and then.
The flutter they find is
strange and sublime.
It leads them to candy.

Oh candy! Oh Candy!
A house made of candy!
For tasting, tasting
Of testing and tasting
and
Tasting times ten

Now is the tasting
And hearing and being
And feeling such life.
Times ten, ten times
ten and
again and again

To heck with the bread.
We'll eat this instead.
They said.
Again, with-
out
The smallest bit of dread.

And then. And then…
As always the way
Their easy light spirits
Had fallen away.

Fallen, fallen
Far away
They had fallen

And with this walk
And simple talk,
They'd fallen far away

Why did you go a wandering?
Wandering, wandering?
Why did you go a wandering?
Among the leaves so green?

The voice was not from home
It wasn't like before
This was a voice quite wicked
A witchy game to score

Scoring, scoring
As such a game of scoring
That it won't be so boring
The fit and fight and warring.

Oh!

They said looking,
Looking, looking
Looking at the ugliest witch
with greenish glowing skin

We will turn 'round
And make our way back
Back, back
We will walk home

You think you might know
How this story shall go
With the witch caging
children
An oven on low
to make fat
and to cook
and to eat and
To eat,
to eat, to eat…

The infinitive eat

Part-i-cip-al-y
eating
is what brought this meeting
Of witch and of child
And of tales in the wild

But what ends it is pleasure
And what does witchy do?
Neatly she conjures
A new witchy brew

She travels out back to the
end of her lot,
Leading the children
In words and in thought

Not a single step
Do any of them take
But walking, walking
On they go walking

To the edge of the lot
To look on
onward
onward,
onward towards
and it might be behind
Because thought
It is always a curious kind

And the witch she turns over
A single leaf of green
And turns into the most
beautiful lady you've seen

Shechina, shechina
Her name it is Shechina
And she tells them
a story, a story
A story
A story beginning
So soulful and slow

Out there past the Wellbrook
And through the wide trellis
No-- don't go there, near the
Bitter falls

She points, pointing
Her graceful finger pointing
Pointing, pointing
Pointing at it all
Especially to West
With sound and jest
of Piper's call
Ignore the call
The calling, the calling
It's like this crazy calling

She says and said
Without the smallest hint of dread

Over there are the crashers
The hobgoblins and rue muckers
There is the best and the worst
And it's high and it's wide
A very rough ride

Stay here, my dear

For here is your home
For I am with you and
You're not alone

Do not go wandering,
wandering wandering
Do not go wandering
Among those leaves green.

Sandra E.

Some awesome poems guys!

It's that time again...

The theme for today is "There's always someone cooler than you".

I know there is a song written with that title, but I think it's a good theme for a poem.

Quoted from Tommyp Some awesome poems guys! It's that time again... The theme for today is "There's always someone cooler than you". I know there is a song written with that title, but I think it's a good theme for a poem.

This is going to be fun to think on! Thanks Tommy!

Cool mode thinking on!  

Sandra

Some one cooler than me?
I think you jest, Tommyp
I'm the coolest dude around this site
Jeff's smoking jacket
Might've cost a packet
But does it help him sleep at night?

No one's cooler than me
Ask anyone, see?
Every one will nod and grin
I'm Simply so cool
I'm nobody's fool
Sigh, my poetry has sucked again...

Cool shit, Tommy P!  Love the idea.  Here's one from yesterday's topic...sorry, I'm usually a day behind...

When the Winds Grow Cold

Blue fades to grey, as green turns to white
Warmth is merely a memory
As I walk along in quiet serenity

Fluffy flakes of crystal glitter
As they make their journey downward
Shadows loom large as darkness closes in

This is when the winds grow cold

Anticipation increased, I
do shiver while I wait, in lie,
at the merest thought that someone…
No way that I will be undone
while there remains a chance to try.

I’m sure by now you’re asking why
I care about this other guy
Does it matter who will have won?
Anticipation increased.

Temperature decreased and I
do shiver while I wait and sigh.
Why do this if it isn’t fun?
How I long for a ray of sun,
but coolest will I be or die.
Anticipation increased.

I'm cooler than a winter day
When the bear in this den
Sleeps along the way

I'm cooler than the white iceberg
Where today I plunged my pen
Watching a film by Spielberg

I'm cooler than a winter day
For today I fell in love again...

SimplyCool

Every one's after the coolest cool
And I believe Stevie who's nobody's fool
While his avatar sings a
Hard Days Night
They're the fabest
And totally
Out of sight

With a Rubber Soul
They Rock and Roll
Put Humpty together
And make him whole

As a matter of fact
I think that they can make
Even Voldemart dance
And do the Hippy Shake

They wrote a Religion of
Let it Be
And Love is the answer and
Please Please Me

They Twist and Shout
And Nowhere Man
He's living in Shiva
If you can handle the land

Of Primitives and Serpents
And Blasters even
The plot is lost
But then so is Hell freezin'

Never-the-less
The subject is changed
The thing about things
As they're sorted-arranged
Is that life is like a box of chocolates
And sometimes deranged...

So like I was sayin'
'Bout Blasters and such
They'z not as cool
As The Soul Shadows touch

They'z not be as cool
As Tanis be
In the Alcove with treasures
With secrets to see

Now they'z be cool
She'll tell you 'twixt and 'twain
You might do well to listen
With your troubled little brain...

For the demons that haunt you
And dog you day and night
The blasted compulsion
Of writing it right

But what am I saying
Or trying to say
Well there goes poor Sandra
Her words led astray
But as I type frantic
I think I'm losing steam

The Beatles are one of the coolest bands
That I have ever seen.



Sandra

Not too happy about my poem at all. I don't really want to post it, but I will. The rhythms are all messed up and it's sterotypical. But oh well.

Life isn’t actually a game,
Yet some treat it as such.
When it gets too tough, they are to blame,
They falter when life gets a little bit too much.

There is no such thing,
As being number one,
Partying hard leaves a sting,
Someone insert here, a pun.

You can’t rule the world,
So don’t even try ,just be strong and true,
We are all just waiting to be held,
Because there’s always someone cooler than you.

Quoted from Sandra Elstree. SimplyCool Every one's after the coolest cool And I believe Stevie who's nobody's fool While his avatar sings a Hard Days Night They're the fabest And totally Out of sight With a Rubber Soul They Rock and Roll Put Humpty together And make him whole As a matter of fact I think that they can make Even Voldemart dance And do the Hippy Shake They wrote a Religion of Let it Be And Love is the answer and Please Please Me They Twist and Shout And Nowhere Man He's living in Shiva If you can handle the land Of Primitives and Serpents And Blasters even The plot is lost But then so is Hell freezin' Never-the-less The subject is changed The thing about things As they're sorted-arranged Is that life is like a box of chocolates And sometimes deranged... So like I was sayin' 'Bout Blasters and such They'z not as cool As The Soul Shadows touch They'z not be as cool As Tanis be In the Alcove with treasures With secrets to see Now they'z be cool She'll tell you 'twixt and 'twain You might do well to listen With your troubled little brain... For the demons that haunt you And dog you day and night The blasted compulsion Of writing it right But what am I saying Or trying to say Well there goes poor Sandra Her words led astray But as I type frantic I think I'm losing steam The Beatles are one of the coolest bands That I have ever seen. Sandra

wow, that is awesome stuff, Sandra!  love it.   hey tommy, this is fun, man!

So is someone else going to jump in with a theme today?  Can be one of the readers rather than one of the writers, anyone?

Okay, gave you guys a chance here's a theme for today....

"Is it love or lust?"

Have fun.

Thanks Michael. I was hoping some one would jump in with something, but oh well.

Great theme.

Thank you Michael. I was out this afternoon; so I couldn't put a theme out there.


Is it Love or Is it Lust?

Love is fine wine and stuffed mushrooms.
Love is dark chocolate shared.
Love is chicken soup served to you when you're sick.

Lust is a cheap rum and whatever will fill your gut.
Lust is dark chocolate given as a lure.
Lust is chicken soup without the soul.

Sandra E.

Poetry is not my forte, but here's goes nothing...

Love or Lust?

The mind, the flesh
Both need you now
You know just how

To ease the mind
To please the flesh
Two bodies will collide and mesh

I give, you take
Yet afterwards
What have we left but hollow words?

You say it's more
Than carnal need
I agree to that to do the deed

Love or lust?
Who's to say?
I'm getting laid either way



~Pete

Quoted from Pete B. Lane Love or lust? Who's to say? I'm getting laid either way

Hey Pete, those last few lines really made me chuckle.

And Sandra, your Love or Lust - right on the money.

Tommy, I've got a theme for the next one if anyone wants to take it up.

"Memories" - how they impact on our lives, shape us, stay with us, false memory etc. You get the gist.

Or, if no-one is into that one - this line from the movie "Married Life" just stuck with me: -

"Whoever in this room really knows what goes on in the mind of the person who sleeps next to you?"

Libby

Quoted from LC Hey Pete, those last few lines really made me chuckle

Thanks. I wrote those lines first, but thought it was better as a finish.

~Pete

Love or Lust

If it's love or lust, it's got my heart on the fritz
They both sit well with me, no matter how hot it gets
Love is like an elevator, it makes me uplift
Lust is like cocaine, it makes my heart skip
When I see a woman, 99% of the time it's lust
You can find this feeling at your job or on the city bus
It usually ends up in well-timed pelvic thrusts
And when it comes to lust, it ain't never about us
Then there's always that 1% that stands out in the crowd
It's not just the body, it's the eyes that astound
I mean, you could stare for hours, it's soul by the pound
Makes me want to sit down, and write verbs and nouns
Describing the ways she makes my mind do the mamba
When I picture me and her it don't involve my anaconda
Aye cu rumba, love and lust got my mind running like OJ
So excuse me if I stutter or jumble up my words, okay?

Not a natural poet - but hey we're letting it all hang out,  (so to speak) and if I'm to make suggestions as I did above - may as well throw my hat in the ring.

Lust is the greatest pretender.
Masquerading as love.
Hot, selfish and certain
Fast, fervent, wonderful.
A slick, sweet, liquid insanity.
Its conceit unrivaled.

Cloaked in the colour red
Repented, too often, in black.

Love is … love is languid, slow and sure.
Here to stay, not go.
Love’s best founded in lust, but
when lust is gone to ground,
Love is still around.

THE SMALL FURRY ANIMAL SONG

I reach out for the chips
And your hand touches mine
At first I pull back from
that invisible line.

I look past your elbow
Your chest, neck and your chin
Past your pouting full lips
That turn up in a grin

Then into your green eyes
But, ah, at such a cost
My brain, it just freezes
And I feel a bit lost

Like a small furry animal
Caught in the headlights
Of your eyes
So bright.

Are you staying forever or
Will you just leave me
As roadside
Debris?

How can I love you
we haven’t said a word?
But, oh, it’s you I want
I know that sounds absurd.

And how I am feeling
I couldn’t possibly care
If it’s only one night
Or every day each year

If only I could speak
I’d tell you this right now
Though all I would say is
Meow Meow Meow

Like a small furry animal
Caught in the headlights
Of your eyes
So bright.

Are you staying forever or
Will you just leave me
As roadside
Debris?

It’s then that I can feel
A twitch upon on my lips
My eyes are moving too
My hand stirs round the chips!

I pull it out and then
give you a shy smile.
That’s when you turn away
laughing all the while.

And now I’m feeling like
I just might have to cry.
Your tracks along my back
Not even a good-bye

To the small furry animal
Caught in the headlights
Of your eyes
So bright.

Who you haven’t noticed and
Then you just left me
As roadside
Debris.

LC, "memories" sounds like a good theme.

Michael, I think that's your best poem so far. Lust it... ah, I mean LOVE it. Like the links on the first post?

My poem:

Love or lust,
Trust or bust.

Both involve touch,
Loving, sexual and such.

Maybe it’s the same,
As both involve blame.

Love cannot be defined,
Yet lust is clear and blind.

Are they really that similar?
Superficial and beneficial.

Genuine is a mindset, a fleeting thought.
The main difference is that love can’t be bought.

So, if I have things correct "Memories" is the theme today?

Yep, sounds good.

Demons
are everywhere
Here to haunt you
anywhere
from the cradle
to the final hole
Memories are the greatest of all

"Memories"

A haiku

A thousand and one
Lost and gone forever now
Wish I had some back
I guess I'll just make some more
A few are stuck here
That do me no good at all
Do I really need
To recall Mike's friend Boner,
Punky Brewster's theme?
Or Balki's Cousin Larry?
I can't find my keys

~Pete

Quoted from Pete B. Lane To recall Mike's friend Boner

Are you referring to Growing Pains?

Quoted from michel Are you referring to Growing Pains?

Yes, I am. Why I am, I don't know.

~Pete

I just LOVED that show!

They showed Growing Pains in France? What's the French word for Boner?

~Pete

It was still Boner... They didn't dare to translate it in French

Quoted from LC Hey Pete, those last few lines really made me chuckle. And Sandra, your Love or Lust - right on the money. Tommy, I've got a theme for the next one if anyone wants to take it up. "Memories" - how they impact on our lives, shape us, stay with us, false memory etc. You get the gist. Or, if no-one is into that one - this line from the movie "Married Life" just stuck with me: - "Whoever in this room really knows what goes on in the mind of the person who sleeps next to you?" Libby

Thank you Libby. Writing a poem a day might seem rather easy, but it's not. This is the kind of thread, that does force one to write and to think in different ways.

Getting different themes thrown on the table is really interesting and seeing how different people handle the themes is a testament to the spice that is unique to Simplyscripts' writers.

Here is my contribution this time around. It's something that always sits with me internally and I decided to go without rhyme this time. ( Had to throw just one in  )

Hope you enjoy the morsels of history as I make connections in the word, 'Memories'.

What The Word 'Memories' Means To Me

When I think of the word:
Memories

I think of the letter:
Mem

A Hebrew letter with two forms

One closed;
One open

Like the womb

Ready--

To give birth

Mem is:

A mother letter

A water letter

Certainly it is:

Life
And
Conscious

Deep
And
Mysterious

Water is a mirror
And as such--

Reflects
Back

Like Memories

Reflect
Back

Mem is like
A mirror

Making reversals

Like:

Light off the water

And

Light off the retina

The word:

Mem-or-ies

Begins with

Mem and

Holds in its middle
The sound of

Ohr

And Ohr means Light…

Light of life

The sublime spark
of Divinity in
All of the many


Mem plus Ohr


Water and Light

Wonder
Of this
Of all
Of This

Flowing Energy

Mem is the letter of water
Where memories form

On which
Those fiery sparks of Ohr
Twinkling in clarity
Exist--
Off the water
When the mind
Is clear

If we go back...

Our English letter 'M'
Extends itself
As a memory
From ancient Phoenician
And before then
As a memory in Egypt

Today it begins in the
Messiah
That moves
In our world

Mentally
We...
Make music
And yes...

Magic

On the
Morrow
Again…

We will make

Mem

and

Ohr

Memories
We will make--

In Wave

and

In Light


Sandra E.

Do you remember the day before yesterday?  

The moon was out in the daytime
so, we went,  
out for a spin  
and turned the car around just for a lark,
and navigated the sky,
and got caught in the slipstream of an eagle on the fly;
and watched as the cloud-drifts raced towards the moon.

Then, the sun went down
- quite out of the blue!
And we got caught in the dark,
as heaven sent- time spent;
the darkness descended.

The darkness, you said, is a velvet quilt,  
with a myriad of silken folds, spun in silver and in gold,
to hold all the memories of today,
and, also of yesterday;
and of all the days before;
of where you’ve been,
and what you’ve seen,
and what you dream,
when the sun comes up.

And so, I see:

The sun and morning keeps its promise,
that I might have the courage to lift my feet from the ocean floor
and dance upon your toes,
to feel the joy of the simplest song
and laugh out loud at a silly joke;

that I might feel the wings on my back,
and -
with all the gifts given,

Kiss my first love
Kiss my first love.

I am all the days.
I am yesterday, and the day before; I am today and I am tomorrow;
and even when I am gone, I am, tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.
…………….

Great imagery, Libby!  I realy liked this one and it hit close to home for some reason.

Keep 'em coming guys and gals!!!

Quoted from LC Do you remember the day before yesterday?   The moon was out in the daytime so, we went,   out for a spin   and turned the car around just for a lark, and navigated the sky, and got caught in the slipstream of an eagle on the fly; and watched as the cloud-drifts raced towards the moon. Then, the sun went down - quite out of the blue! And we got caught in the dark, as heaven sent- time spent; the darkness descended. The darkness, you said, is a velvet quilt,   with a myriad of silken folds, spun in silver and in gold, to hold all the memories of today, and, also of yesterday; and of all the days before; of where you’ve been, and what you’ve seen, and what you dream, when the sun comes up. And so, I see: The sun and morning keeps its promise, that I might have the courage to lift my feet from the ocean floor and dance upon your toes, to feel the joy of the simplest song and laugh out loud at a silly joke; that I might feel the wings on my back, and - with all the gifts given, Kiss my first love Kiss my first love. I am all the days. I am yesterday, and the day before; I am today and I am tomorrow; and even when I am gone, I am, tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. …………….

Libby,

In this, I can feel your soul and in this,

For your words,

I have the most highest regards.

Sandra

Thank you Sandra.

Bit sentimental, I know but if you can't be sentimental in this little poet's corner ...

Ditto, to you too. I envy your ability to just keep 'em coming at the level you do.

Well done Tommy for thinking of this. Oh, and btw Tommy, your first poem touched me with its pure honesty.

This will be it from me for a while, but I'll keep on reading.

P.S. Thanks to you too Jeff - like I said though I don't think I can keep up the pace.

Thanks LC, love your work.

Pia, I don't know anything about poetry either!

Memories

They form our dreams, they shape out past,
They’re part of our future, they’re in our heart,

They are positive, negative and everything in between,
They are our personality, some murky, some seen,

They justify our actions, and get us into trouble,
They keep us alive and active, or shut our mind in a bubble.

They make us what we are, the powers from above,
Happiness, sadness, anger, joy, fear and love.

I have to say that I thought  "that's gonna die on it's arse" when you started this thread Tommy. Particularly after my own contribution.

However I'm both suprised and pleased to see it bloom.

I see L C's fanclub is growing. Rightly so, a fine way with a line that lady has.

I'll refrain from posting another "epic" myself until I come with something good. Don't hold your breath.

Well done to all, and keep it up.  

R

She takes it from the closet with
The secrecy of thieves
And looks both ways for privacy
Before she even leaves.

Clutched very closely to her chest
She holds her treasure thus
And makes her way o’er to her bed
Without much noise or fuss.

Once on her bed she shows her prize
An ornate wooden box
But what’s inside her pirate’s chest?
She opens up the locks.

She lifts the lid and looks within
Her face lights up with joy
She sticks her hand into the stash
And pulls out a small toy.

It’s a little plastic compass
That she turns from side to side
And smiles at the tiny needle
Which no longer will guide.

Now it’s on the bed beside her
As all good things must pass
For a ring made of faux silver
Its gemstone made of glass.

On her finger how it glistens
She shows it to the air
Now she’s acting very girly
She tousles up her hair.

Then it catches her attention
The last item in her store
Her jaw drops down and opens
She’d forgotten there was more.

Her hand trembles as she grabs it
And pulls it from its place
An old edge-torn faded photo
Of a familiar face

She traces all of the contours
Her tiny finger shaking
As her teary eyes gaze fondly
Her tiny heart is breaking

She opens up her mouth to speak
But nothing does come out
A silent “Daddy” on her lips
Before they start to pout.

And then a knock is at her door
It causes her to start
She gathers up her secret stash
And hides it, she is smart.

Her mother enters, prim and prop
And tells her to come down
Her step-father has been waiting
To take them into town

A big smile for her mother
And then a nod, polite
Then she leans back a bit further
to keep the box out of sight

Her mother smiles in return
Then spins and leaves the room
And the little girl slumps sadly
Her face awash with gloom.

She hides the box back in its spot
And shuts the closet door
But not without that one last look
To remember him once more.

A thousand raindrops fall
Melting my red lobster skin
Turning me into a crustacean that crawls

Always drifting sideways
Diggin' in sand with my enlarged snappin' hand
Looking this way and that way
Trying to read my future with this crooked palm

The sandmen are out there in my land
Chasing and killing whatever they can
Laughing hearty laughs that echo throughout the night
Creeping us out for fear of fright

And that's what my dreams will be like tonight.

Morning!

Today's theme is "self deceit".

Quoted from Tommyp Morning!

If you say so.   Just remember: It's five o'clock somewhere!  

OK, let's see what we can come up with...

Sandra

Recently, we had a thread posted on Simplyscripts regarding its value for screenwriting study. Some comments were made about maybe sometimes threads happening that seem to be wayward from the mission of screenwriting craft.

For some reason, I think that thread might have been instrumental in the way my thought train went for this next poem.

It's my sincere belief that we must take ownership for the greater world around us and instead of complaining or waving banners of whatever sort, we should actively do things. Whatever "that doing" is, to help people and the greater world.

In the case of Simplyscripts, there are people here that devote a lot of time to their board. They have indeed, taken ownership. I hope that we can all do the same in the greater world.

Ownership and Self Deceit

Taking ownership
is a powerful thing,
And when it happens,
you know.
Because it doesn't go.
That sense of ownership.

If you care enough to own it,
Not just to possess it,
It means you care--
For its condition
For its mission
Because you know
It must grow.
That sense of ownership.

Self deceit
Is thinking
That the world
Is someone else's--
Their responsibility
They have more ability
They're the ones that know
And you nod off slow
'cause it's for some other Jane or Joe
That sense of ownership.

Maybe a politician somewhere
Someone who's bigger or smarter
Someone with more means
Someone with bigger dreams
It's their world
We might say and
This is self deceit

The world is yours and mine
Together--
We are responsible
For each other
We are responsible
And we shouldn't sleep at night
Until we get over
Self deception.

Sandra E.  

Defects lie, all of iced fleets
to select Ed if the edicts flee,    
those feces tiled in sliced feet,
disorganized from self-deceit.

Self deceit,
Slippery meat,
Whacking off,
Dirty sock.

Rely on the hand,
Dire as contraband,
Real girls won’t get you off,
So you have a quick toss.

Truth is it’s bad,
Better be a passing fad
Bringing yourself to orgasm
Is like falling into a deep chasm

Be a real man,
Bulk up, get yourself a tan,
Because masturbation is self deceit,
Woo a girl, let her give you a real treat.

Surely 'woo', no?

I dunno Tommy. Shagging's alright, but you can't beat the real thing.  

Haha fair enough RV.

"woo"? I'm confused.

EDIT: OH! "woe" should be "woo". OOPS!

Thanks, brother.

I very curious if anyone really "got" my last poem.  How about if today's theme is something more gothic, like  ghosts?

Quoted from mcornetto I very curious if anyone really "got" my last poem.  How about if today's theme is something more gothic, like  ghosts?

I didn't realise there was a theme a day, I just wrote a crazy poem yesterday.  I'll keep that in mind.

HAUNTED
by Cindy L. Keller

Shadows sway betwixt silvery veils
stretching vapors of opaque light.
Still oak trees hold no tales.
Secrets are hushed by night.

Marshy green of nethermost glade...
Spirits maundering cries...
Echoes reach out to darkness... Fade.
Footprints settle from sight.

Fathom you must - secluded endeavor.
Serpents guard. Curiosity laid.
Be prepared to stay forever
when entering nethermost glade.

Hear the howl of the banshee's wail.
Trembling leaves of green subside,
giving way to spirit's sail...
The summoning forces ride.

I'll go with Cindy's lead. Here's the start of something I'm working on.

The ghosts of my mind blow wild
Always there, ever since I was a boy
Sometimes silent, but never absent
In the darker times they move free
Enslaving me

Great poem Cindy!

I'm in two minds
Time's lost in the night
Whispers, creeps and crawls
The furniture shakes off the walls

A message from the other side
A story in a bottle caught in the tide
White noise reverberates
Ears ache
Minds quake

A ghost with a soul
A life of its own
A message to be told
A dream to mould
A secret not to be sold

It's me against you
Pull up a pew
Lay your soul bare
If you so care

A secret to share
A meeting for two
A spirit I dare you say boo
Two become one
And now I'm done

Thanks jayrex. I liked your poem, too. Very, very nice

Here's another that I think it could work here.
It's ghostly because the beauty of his words, and his tortured soul have found a way to haunt me, and I think they always will.  


HOMAGE
by Cindy L. Keller

My feet dangle off the edge of the dock.
My mind snaps awake in a dream.
With a slight spin, I skim a rock.
The raven beside me folds his wings.

Though limerick and voices abound,
deep in his words - no greater height is found.
Known well in large cities,
as in small towns...
A masterful man of rhyme.

His bells hearken early melodies of lore.
On death's wings Godspeed him to his Lenore,
hence the raven be hushed of "Nevermore".
True peace he'll come to find.

The ripple expands in the water
and I see my bird is not a raven, but a crow.
Above my reflection, I see perfection...
The smiling raven with Edgar Allan Poe.

Quoted from Tommyp Self deceit, Slippery meat, Whacking off, Dirty sock. Rely on the hand, Dire as contraband, Real girls won’t get you off, So you have a quick toss. Truth is it’s bad, Better be a passing fad Bringing yourself to orgasm Is like falling into a deep chasm Be a real man, Bulk up, get yourself a tan, Because masturbation is self deceit, Woo a girl, let her give you a real treat.

HAUNTED

I'm haunted by these images of Tossy tommying off
I'm haunted by the thought of this line not able to rhy...?
I'm haunted by the fact some people might diss my work
I'm haunted by all those who think 'stevie's a beatle jerk'
I'm haunted by the chance my team won't win the flag
I'm haunted by the thought of one day having a colostomy bag

But all these fears go out the door every single morn
My kids wake up and hug me and I worry not no more