Archives for Poetry

Forever

Forever   Even this shall pass away, Mournful thoughts on stormy days. You are gone, yet I am here Remembering love and Christmas Cheer.   I thought of you in deep remorse; Then begged for peace to fill my soul; Then prayed that you please come to me And suddenly, this flower grows And here you are within the hollow corridors Of haunted dreams and empty awakenings.   And at last I smile, because I know – Without knowing anything – That I still love And life goes on And tears are washed away By joys of caroling exaltation.  
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Categories: Poetry.

The river’s tale

The river’s tale   There is something important about a river. It moves. And in that it moves, it is alive and timeless and tells tales to live by.   We measured the days by the river, Joe and I. In spring there was little else to do but drink coffee, and learn to smoke, and watch the river rise which gave a hint of hope that the months of gloom might be at an end. So, we would say: Yesterday when we drank coffee and smoked cigarettes, the river was lower and slower than today.   And then the
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Categories: Poetry.

In the Tall Grass

In the Tall Grass     Stretched long in the tall grass Embraced by yellow dandelions And wild purple violets flown from Grandmother’s heavenly garden ˗ His Cat nose sores high To sense the lilac scented breeze While his green Cat eyes Survey his tame domain.   The creak of a near-by opening door Distracts his Cat ears ˗ Searching for the gay women And the two young girls Home schooled, Playing in mid-day alone On unsteady roller blades Along the lazy street.   Echoing through the cacophony Of whirls and shouts and giggles The man in the balcony spews
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Categories: Poetry.

Wandering

Wandering   The climb through meandering rocky paths In open sandals for forty days ˗ Who does that? And why? I ask siting in his rose patterned wing back chair, Now my chair. Here, I expect messages of consolation. The dark nights of the soul on sunny mornings Are incongruous. Can’t get beyond the desolate brown hills Without greenery – Even my green walls give a sense of serenity But the image on the projector screen in the bare church hall, Of the Wanderer, Does not give comfort – only questioning….   Oh, these days we are far more enlightened
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Categories: Poetry.

The Creation of Poetry

The creation of poetry There is no way of knowing, when the art of poetry first began. It is assumed that the origins are steeped in an oral tradition, frequently employed as a means of recording history, storytelling to an audience, perhaps sung, often paying tribute to deities. To aid memorization, there was already a form to these, including rhythm and repetition. When written composition began, it meant poets began to write for an absent audience, though likely scholars. The earliest written work may have been The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor which is a story of an Ancient Egyptian’s
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Categories: Poetry.

OWEN’S POEMS from “Reconnecting”

OWEN’S POEMS from “Reconnecting”   If you only knew   When we met by chance In crowded rooms of people ‒ If you only knew.   When we met by chance Alone in empty hallways ‒ If you only knew.   When we met by chance With her, in that small café ‒ If you only knew.   When we met by chance At the station heading home − If you only knew.   When we met by chance In the building where you live ‒ I will tell at last.   Mystery   Often you have passed this way.
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Categories: Poetry.