Midnight Poetry Thread.

[SOteric]

Yes folks, it's the few and far between midnight poetry thread. Show 'em if you got 'em.


Heart of the Lion

At night,
waking alone,
I see you
as if in a clear light
a flower held
in the teeth of the dark.
The mirror
caught in its solitude
cannot believe you
as I believe.

[Droopy]

1. Here's the way I'm feeling tonight. I like your poem.

Beer

If wine is divine
then beer is heavenly.

You know when life gets going strong
that there is absolutely nothing wrong
with throwing back a cold six pack
to ease you of your panic attack.

And when it seems like life is hell
and everyone is ringing your bell
invite them out to have a drink
and drink the brew until you stink.

And if your mate leaves you one night
old beer never grows trite
it will be there ever faithfully
to share in your poor misery.

But you really don’t need an excuse
to put good beer into use
all you really need is a five spot
and a place to keep it from getting hot.

[WindRavenX]

2. "The Snowstorm"

The Snowstorm

These nights are cold and bare.
Your form, covered in blankets,
stirred when a shriek of wind
threw itself against the window.
Even the city lights outside are masked,
blurred and splintered
by the wind and ice
of the storm.
Your eyes opened, grey as the ashen sky,
and pierced me.
My dear, this world will destroy you.
I can see it
in the green flecks of your eyes,
a fear of that world
outside the window.

The wanderers in the lazy zephyrs
of wind and ice,
the void of the consuming grey and
the silence of…
the emptiness…
The cold.
It terrifies you.

I understand, my dear,
why.
Do not tremble at the wind.
Lie with me; embrace me.
Let me cover you.
Smell my warm, sweet
flesh.
Sleep.

[Droopy]

3. You write the most wonderful love poems

I remember your's from the last poetry thread that we had. How many poems have you written?

[WindRavenX]

4. about 100

My professor wants me to try to get them published.
I don't write ALL love poetry...but when someone effects me......

[Droopy]

8. Sounds like you have plenty for a book

I say you should go for it, too. And you know when a professor says something like that it means you've got some talent. Go for it.

[Name removed]

5. Deleted message

Message removed by moderator. Click here to review the message board rules.

[WindRavenX]

7. awesome

:thumbsup:

[BlueIris]

6. Aw, you've tempted me.

And that's a rare thing, these days.

Home, After the Gulf

You've skipped church with us
again; when I return I find you still in bed,
your eyes mapping the ceiling's plaster waves.
I bring you ginger ale; you turn it down,
though you've not refused it once since you were ten.
You've been this way two months.
I ask is it because you took life there, volunteering
receptacle for your confession. You do not say,
share only memories of heat that sounds like what ovens expell
after the lambs inside have roasted, of desert astronomical
as oceans drained and frozen. I tell you it is okay if you did,
thinking I could relate, could kill all those who hurt you in that place,
even the One who sent you off, preaching
behind a screen, of faith, reverence, accountability.
And I will, though next to Him so giant, multitudinous,
I am a dwarf, struggling to relieve wound unassailable
as black hole: cavernous, infinite, invisible
save for where it blocks out the stars.

[Droopy]

9. Very nice

I've seen a lot of good poems on here and I think a lot of DUers are talented enough to be published authors. You are one of them.

[BlueIris]

14. Thank you so much.

::whispers:: I actually am a pulished author. Shhh, don't tell.

[Droopy]

15. Cool

We need to work on some of these other DUers who write to get them to submit their work. I'm trying to start a poetry group. I have a thread up in ATA, but them sorry bastard admins have hopped a train to Mexico and ain't coming back until they need more money. Maybe we'll get it started sooner or later.

[JohnKleeb]

10. I havent written a poem in so long

Her
Its late at night and I see her in my dreams
She is my light, she makes me smile
Yet she does not know, forbidden love
The night ends and I wake alone
Ok thats all, I know it sucks ass, and yes I did it on a dime.

[SOteric]

11. Nothing you feel deeply can ever suck ass.

:hug: And I think it has a certain sweetness to it.

[JohnKleeb]

12. Thanks

Sigh, its true the forbidden is the hardest. I wrote a couple tribute poems once.

[MrScorpio]

13. I just wrote this little love poem

In the repose of the night there is you
Of gentle touch and quiet voice, beside me

Your love strengthens the completeness of me
Together, we are one

Your eyes speak of our bond
Your hands, the bridge between us

I hold you in my arms, posessing you, being you
Together, we are one

Our kiss imparting being and life
The heart beats faster, a racing pulse

A melding of body, mind and soul
Together, we are one

This is our night, our moment when time stands still
And no one else will know except for us

That all in all
Together, we are one

[LeftPeopleFinishFirst]

16. here's one from a few weeks ago

the get-up fitting loosely
she's so accustomed to change
and feels as though it's her place to say
serendipitously
that she's found life,
life without an array of costumes
can seem so boring

[JohnKleeb]

17. Hey, thats nice

Missed ya over the weekend.

[JohnKleeb]

18. Here's another

On the edge

So here am I, on the edge of life itself
What does it all mean? is it even supposed to mean anything?
Thats what I wanna know
Who will I meet? What will I do? Where will I go?
And then I just realize that life has just really begun.
Lost innocence, I do not know what everything means.

[Droopy]

19. That seems very appropriate

coming off your Boston meetup.

[JohnKleeb]

20. Spontaousely done yeah

I have no idea what the hell is gonna happen to me tommorow. I dont really feel particularly great or down, I just feel.

[jpgray]

21. An oldie

It's easy to write a mediocre poem. Writing an awful poem takes a lot of skill.

A Portrait of Goedel's

It doesn't seem like a yellow sweatshirt
or a head barked with a feathered thatch
of corn-yellow, scudded each twenty minutes
with a hood or green hat.
The raspy black jeans could unfold themselves and stalk around
without being pinned by anyone.

It can't be these
(if it can be understood).
It has been pared from massed particulars to a discrete
sibilance--
a whisper: it isn't these.

It isn't a sweater the color of old whiskey,
or a disheveled pixie's profile.
Such have existed before--bolder and better,
stacked in a knit vellum pile
one on the other, bordering some eyebrows that arched
superior,
or symmetrical nose columniations.

It can't be these
(all gutturals, loose change colliding).
These hermeneutics have rattled the printing beds and ruffled coat
sleeves--
they made a door's sound. But it isn't that either.

[Droopy]

23. I've decided that if I read a poem that I don't understand

then it must be really good. I don't understand your poem.

[LeftPeopleFinishFirst]

22. #2

bright lights in dark windows
i make up names for them all
they're going somewhere
while i'm lying on his bed waiting
and there's a head out on the floor starting to crawl

shifting shapes in the corner
he could keep her up if he wanted
but he's going somewhere
while she's lying on his bed waiting
and there's no reason in the world to fall asleep again