Poetry Threat (well ok thread!) mark 2

[Sgt Pepper]

@cymorill wrote:

Cold,
although covered by midnights blanket,
i lie on my narrow bed.
Sinking into its mossy depths,
I contemplate the events which have led me here.

Pale in moonlight, i am the ghost that would walk
shadowy halls, although as far as i am aware
i am not dead.. Not in body, although
perhaps in spirit.

I envy people with faith, the ability to believe,
in an unknown force, by which they live out their lives.
Maybe lack of faith was my downfall, my nemesis, my inability to
give anything a tangible meaning.

Cold,
too many nights spent in the open.
I withdraw deeper, wrapping my blanket closer.
Hoping to emerge from my self made cocoon,
a brighter spirit, with wings of steel.

Good poem 8)

[Cymorill]

The wind howls across the harbour.
Salt flecked hair whips against an already salt stained face.
Surf is up, and the gangplank comes down hard.
It is funny how ropes once cast off became ties that bind.

Oars thrusting, lungs hell bent on catching heavens weather.
Rhythmic rowing, waves wrecking us both. Oil slick water beneath
unsteady sea legs.

Then a moment of absolute stillness, the calm before the storm..

The horizon bends and darkens the colour of my eyes, and i know
this story has to end. No more yours. Or mine.
Pass the rum, man the oars, head into the four winds
and scream in symphony with the gulls.

[Vero]

Parting Drapes

Parting Drapes
How did you survive the frost
knowing the book would close,
music would stop, a pulse would quit,
and you would be left in a room
surrounded by empty chairs?
Six long months with death for drapes
your hands were always drawing them.
Back and forth, the steel screeched
as if it were an oil rig
plumbing a desert for hope.
You messed with even valances,
tugging at puffs as if this skirt
could ever hang over the going bone.
Inviting in the hiding sun,
blue batiks of fading skies
becomes commitment’s old career.
You sign forever in the sand;
someone kicks it in your eyes.

All palms are idle in the end,
tortilla husks that speak
of curdled, passing meals.
Little scraps of ivory moons
bequeathed to soil, then covered up.
Rage drops anchors in the mud
and dying sails the fitful sea,
testing every rope we own.
You kept his college photograph
in every room you wandered through
touched the glass as if to print it with a wish.
Fed him ice chips, spoons of yogurt,
watched the drips deliver fluid to the sand,
packed his watch and wedding ring
took it home and stored it there
where every clock had lost its dial.
Adoring him was not a chore
even when his face was ash.

Janet Buck

[Cymorill]

Six Hours

Can you take what isn’t there..
can you make what you can’t see or touch..
can you want what you can’t have..
can you have what you can’t want

And in the quiet spaces, between your words and my thoughts,
a thousand years pass in the flash of the spark
that lights the words that neither of us can say, will say

I see you in the place where no-one sees me,
and feel you in the hours when there is nothing to be felt.
If I hear you at all, I hear the ache of days lost and time forgotten,
in your slow song that haunts the solitary places of my mind.

I made you smile, and through your eyes I saw the tears in waiting

You said I made you younger, you made me feel much older
I made you smile, you made me cry, I reach out hands to hold you.
You kissed my lips, I touched your heart, you held me in your arms – I breathed for you, you lived for me, I fell for all your charms.

I could love you, now, this minute..for a minute or for ever,
or I could love you forever in a minute – but you will forget me sooner, and I will remember you for eternity.

Someone from forum 3 asked me to post this for them :)

[Author]

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