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The readerīs poetry page.
Poetry from year 2000 and maybe 2001
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Wallflower
The boy next door And a rapid lack of communication Comes down with a slow declining self-confidence. A slam of a door, a crack in the wall all become a mommentary glace of self-deception. I can't show what I want, so I'll show nothing. Recharging for my time to prevail, it plays in my head: To forget such a person exists. A fear entrances as I grow farther, That I will never grow closer. A life on the side, and one more to go. Face to Face we'll never be, Heart to Heart we'll never know. By Carly Jacobs |
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High
A boy sits atop a rocky cliff Overlooking the sea Where the ocean and the sky meet And blend into one. The boy watches the waves below Crashing against the rocks. White foam decorates the air. The coastal winds whip around him. His clothes ruffled, hair tossed The boy looks on As the tall grasses around him Lash out and twist in the wind. A lone seagull, white and gray, Hangs effortlessly in the rich blue sky. Gliding with the wind Rising, falling, rising again In complete harmony and total freedom. The boy says aloud, with no one to hear him "I wanna fly Mama, I wanna fly." Over and over again, "I wanna fly." So this boy stands atop his rocky cliff. The wind kisses his lips And the sun sparkles in his eyes. With arms spread, he soars high in the sky Above the clouds, above the seagulls. Above the broken body of a boy On the rocks below. He soars high in the sky. By w.a.r. |
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Dream
Touched by her softness let the dream unfold Disturbest me not from sleep's tight coils Have you this night enjoyest it well Inner thoughts delight while entangled in sin When morning returns to steal you from my grasp Alone I am till nightfall find its way again By Walter Walters |
Unicorns
Unicorns dont exsist the white pure things of life Golden stars are shot shooting stars are not They ride by me with careless ease The stone faces the stone bodys of a perfect thought like snow they are a fake form that only happens once a year they are a snow storm that blows by like a tear that rolls down a stone face that rides by without a trace watch them melt watch them spin watch them play they are the dreams of yesterday you cant reach them but you can hunt them down watch them fall like broken birds and drown they are the golden stars they are the floating leaves they are the spinning carousels of careless ease the sadness of life it fills me with laughter it throws me down from my illusions im thrown from these horses of dreams we are incomplete with no end to imperfection no complete direction is set so ride them while you can going in broken circles By seastarze |
Small Stories
I dreamt you fell from the earth today I dreamt you no longer were (where) I almost laid claim to life today Almost moved beyond the word. The word, and rhyme, and text, and synchronicity And how everything is before - even now. (Where) he wondered As were, before washed over him. Where and rhyme and how the world felt safe. World - word upon an edge a falling away to space A void and no more. I dreamt you fell from the earth today And woke, and thought of falling towards mass. I dreamt of fa(i)lling to stop. Almost fell, and fell And falls until we were (where) we were - before. -Fell so far there was no way to tell was-from-is and spoke in circles and riddle and conjunctive stammer and lost the form and lost the reader and lost so much. To dream is to rest (rest)- By ennui Perth Australia |
Why squish a laugh through pursing lips unless my quips (which missed by half, your landing strips) played on a graph of sinking blips that tracked my trip's regressive gaffe? Your radar knew this airman flew love's wayward course around your force of gravity, and not to rent that firmament which vouchsafed me such smooth ascent. By Frank De Canio from Union City New Jersey USA |
My spur of the moment
I want to know the actual truth The one which no one knows, Because each one is either too afraid, Or simply senseless The masks which are worn Grey...black...blue.. To name a few Grants a list From which we forfeit Our right to be ourselves... A rose is born Upon the dew And lights up the virgin sky, In all its life Those few short days When admirers refuse to go away It shines like art and beauty alike Until the bend of its branch Peeping over into the deep,rugged earth Sighing with complete satisfaction That is now knows its actual place In this world By Vitra Gosine from Ontario Canada |
When I close my eyes
I am wooden - carved. Quietly still. Like a sculpture (you say) statuesque. I am wooden; split from the bark of a silver birch, torn from natural roots, chiselled into mere perfection. He is a woodcutter. He cuts at my eyes, slicing them right through, so the stump creates a pattern. It's beautiful (he says). I look for you in the day. On the street, in the clouds, up above, in an aeroplane, I see you,jetting away, far away from me. I always look to see your eyes, blue darts shooting poison, a blue waterfall spilling out what I never heard, what I thought I saw, what wasn't there. I lost you blue, until I close my eyes. I hardly had time to contort before being propelled into something new. Something pure without substance. There is hardly time to speak as I stand naked now, padlocked in by un-cut keys, clothed from your hateful touch, encase in my silent world. By Katherine Isabel Phillips from Hemel Hempstead England |
Time
what became of the time that`s lost in the past like beggar with bowl or ashes and coal in all it`s confinement the moment is lost and future...behind. By david ischariot |
Flight
I will do my own walking
And struggle Wildely with
my feet
my soul
and tear
my hair.
But for Wood and Blue and
the warmth of yellow skin
I commit myself to the
storm and wind
with petrified feathers and
Boneless wings
I can do anything
When I see the seam of land
beyond the Break
I will not stop
to take a Breath
I will have visions
of piercing Atmosfear
I will yearn for home
if it is not here
I will miss the land
if it stands still
I will crash the Waves
on your window sill
By Tiffany Nave Greenville SC USA |
| To Emily D.
The mark that disappointment makes, By M. Flagg Brookfield WI USA |
| basic eternity
free lance photographers
jet lag on overhangs
fire flies
with smoking wings
chiped wood carvings
whipped cream darlings
and job chasers on busy
street corners dressed in
iron clad.
porta-poddies
bed buddies
and bug evenings
with soap sud satined
paintings.
marmalousa
paraflousa
and gonna-choose-ya.
disatant stars
trips to Mars
with Pluto's fiery charge.
distressed mess
correct jet
and plenty of good intent.
hello's/goodbye's
familiar eyes
those wrinkles could be
water eroded lines.
last chance to be.
please excuse me.
couldn't help but see;
no more yesterday.
tomorrow is the same.
at this moment,
basic enternity is to blaim.
hello/hello;
don't have to,
but you do.
until we meet again,
was it really you?
By Matthew L. Erwin Scottsdale Arizona U.S.A |
| My Paean
For I would rather have death knocking at my door, By Farrah Meisel Los Angeles California U.S.A |
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more Poetry from the readers: 1998-99
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