|
Post by Kimby on Feb 25, 2010 17:44:02 GMT
Disperse your collections, you amassers of precious things, You hoarders and estate builders, while there's still time. The old man next door died the other day, Still clutching, intact, his set of antique grudge. As an inveterate hoarder, this one jumped out at me. And exonerated me with the last line, as I do not bear grudges (that I know of).
|
|
|
Post by Jazz on Feb 26, 2010 18:31:27 GMT
Disperse your collections, you amassers of precious things, You hoarders and estate builders, while there's still time. The old man next door died the other day, Still clutching, intact, his set of antique grudge. Unforgettable and beautiful, Lola. I have hand written it into my journal.
|
|
|
Post by lola on Feb 26, 2010 19:50:44 GMT
I'm very flattered. Thanks, dear all!
|
|
|
Post by Kimby on Feb 26, 2010 19:52:27 GMT
I love it too, but wonder if there was once an "s" after "set of ....grudge"...
|
|
|
Post by Jazz on Feb 26, 2010 20:19:04 GMT
I wondered about the 's' as well.
But, your poem really is the bright, shining key to the locked door of 'the unforgiven room'. Some of us need that more than others.
|
|
|
Post by lola on Feb 26, 2010 20:25:49 GMT
Very kind, Jazz! I know I need it. "You" being "me" in this case. I liked it better without the "s".
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Feb 26, 2010 20:45:21 GMT
I am absolutely horrified that the ad at the top of the page proposed an "OCD Recovery Retreat."
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Mar 12, 2010 10:46:42 GMT
I,too,was very very taken with your poem Lola,and also wrote it down in my little book I keep. Very,very beautiful.Thank you,and do continue to write and share more with us!!
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Mar 23, 2010 22:30:26 GMT
A stick draws a circle on the beach. Waves wash it away every time. Wood floats across the ocean. Strange hands may use it to draw a square.
|
|
|
Post by bixaorellana on Mar 23, 2010 23:19:16 GMT
That's really lovely, Kerouac. So appropriate for a travel forum, too. It makes me yearn to go somewhere far away.
|
|
|
Post by lola on Mar 24, 2010 0:44:39 GMT
Mysterious, K. Makes me want to draw a square with a stick.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Mar 24, 2010 10:22:31 GMT
My mother patrols the corridor all day drenched in sweat as she clutches the railing. In her youth, she was a graceful athlete. Some day she will cross the finish line.
|
|
|
Post by lola on Mar 24, 2010 15:01:26 GMT
Wonderful, kerouac.
|
|
|
Post by bixaorellana on Mar 24, 2010 15:45:50 GMT
That is so powerful it made me cry.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Mar 25, 2010 9:18:27 GMT
Flames swept over the dust Smoke in the oval mirror opposite the bed Aquamarine waters of the Caribbean Attempt to squelch the smoldering embers
|
|
|
Post by spindrift on Mar 25, 2010 10:37:09 GMT
Casi - you express the situation so well Kerouac - that's exactly how we'll all end up. Dread thought.
|
|
|
Post by lola on Mar 25, 2010 14:32:51 GMT
I love that, Casimira!
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Mar 25, 2010 14:40:02 GMT
Grazie!
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on May 6, 2010 10:40:09 GMT
Dawns early birdsong Breaks the quiet of a long dark night The dark oily lines of our shoreline Birds wash in, silenced by our greed.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 3, 2010 20:20:10 GMT
So close and so far away Steely tendrils cling to me around the globe Scissors are sometimes so blunt My hand aches from trying to clip
|
|
|
Post by spindrift on Jun 3, 2010 20:41:01 GMT
^ excellent.
|
|
|
Post by Kimby on Jun 7, 2010 21:29:05 GMT
Flames swept over the dust Smoke in the oval mirror opposite the bed Aquamarine waters of the Caribbean Attempt to squelch the smoldering embers foreshadowing the gulf oil leak, casi?
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 8, 2010 3:27:43 GMT
Flames swept over the dust Smoke in the oval mirror opposite the bed Aquamarine waters of the Caribbean Attempt to squelch the smoldering embers foreshadowing the gulf oil leak, casi? Yes,Kimby,at 4:18 a.m.on March 25, I saw it all coming down...no one would listen... (it's a poem about a friend's apt. in NYC that went up in flames while he was on vacation in the Yucatan,a personal tragedy)
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 8, 2010 13:13:54 GMT
Fluttering in the warm autumn sun leaves are slowly drained of green. Grim clouds lie in ambush, icy tears ready to undress the branches.
|
|
|
Post by mich64 on Oct 8, 2010 19:32:41 GMT
My eyes can see what you see. My ears can hear what you say. I yearn for yesteryear When what I seen and heard, I understood.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Feb 11, 2011 22:06:21 GMT
He sees pink lines in the sky, delicate and mysterious as evening falls. The cracks in the footpath have no colour, so unlike the sunset contrails of happy escape.
|
|
|
Post by bixaorellana on Feb 11, 2011 23:13:23 GMT
Happy man, finding fun in everything, yet serious in learning, wise in what mattered. We cry as we remember you, even as we remember how you lived your life with laughter.
(with love, to Michael Higgins. 1946-2011)
|
|
|
Post by bixaorellana on Feb 11, 2011 23:23:04 GMT
I dare these few words in memory, Although only an Emily Dickenson could do you justice. It was a long, often hard day, my friend. Take some rest now.
(for Dusty, who just went home from Florida)
|
|
|
Post by lola on Feb 14, 2011 23:26:59 GMT
Lovely, K, Bixa, and Mich. Thanks.
|
|
|
Post by mich64 on Feb 15, 2011 3:33:45 GMT
Thanks Lola, this would be the first poem I have ever written and since I have put in on my Facebook page and many friends liked it. I explained that it was a Chinese poem and what I learnt which inspired others to join in. Cheers, Mich
|
|