Poetry

by RAYZORBLADE 7 Replies latest social entertainment

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  RAYZORBLADE

  Every once in awhile, I will read something, or be given an item to read that I find particularly wonderful.

  Yesterday, as I was straightening out my desk, I found a poem.

  It was a poem that was read during my late friend Robert's memorial this past March.

  The poem is called: Planting Onions (by Jane Flanders)

  It is right
  that I fall to my knees
  on this damp, stony cake,
  that I bend my back
  and bow my head.

  Sun warms my shoulders,
  the nape of my neck,
  and the air is tangy with rot.
  Bulbs rustle like spirits
  in their sack.

  I bury each one
  a trowel's width under.
  May the take hold,
  rising green in time
  to help us weep and live
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  RAYZORBLADE

  My friend Robert M. O'Brien (January 3, 1965 - December 30, 2002)

  GLORY

  In rawness of from
  Unhidden, unmasked
  Unpretentious
  We come together

  Each the master of our destiny
  Holding the bonds that set us free
  We keep our wishes alive
  Stored in a factory of fantasies
  Built over time
  To this, our spirits entwine

  Into a sea of dreams
  Shall we swim
  Forever to bathe
  In the ecstacy of our evolution
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  berylblue

  (((razorblade)))

  Beautiful poems. Thanks
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  acsot

  Very touching poems, thanks for posting them. I'm attending a ten-week poetry workshop, hopefully something "publishable" will come out of the effort .
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  JH

  If you like poetry, come to the Poetry Festival in Trois Rivieres, Quebec

  http://www.fiptr.com/
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  greven

  Nice ones!

  I had my hand at poetry too, usually in the middle of the night...

  I recently found one of those nightly blubbers in my notes:

  On Time

  Time it seems, doesn't flow

  For some it's fast for another slow,

  In, what seems to one nation no time at all,

  Another nation can rise and fall.

  Greven
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  frenchbabyface
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  RAYZORBLADE

  Funeral Blues: W. H. Auden

  Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
  Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
  Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
  Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

  Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
  Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
  Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
  Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

  He was my North, my South, my East and West,
  My working week and my Sunday rest,
  My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
  I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

  The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
  Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
  Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
  For nothing now can ever come to any good.

  ** I have heard this poem put to music by Canadian singer/songwriter, Craig Cardiff. To hear it sung by him and his friend, sent shivers up my spine, and yet the haunting was beautiful.