June 21 by The Running Son
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Here’s the best of my unpublished poetry over last week. Part 7. Love you. Enjoy. 😉
collection pt. 7
Who am I (riddle)
You may travel three winds
and three directions see.
The fourth will force your Will within
to turn and stare at me.
Lilith, the tortuous serpent:
eve looks, a gratuitous dreaming.
All forward movement ends then.
All stone, and halted breathing.
answer at extreme bottom of post
Tuning, I found you,
Pulses of Earth.
full moon comfort
A girl wrote,
in small poems,
but also lines
and of hearts
with the full
of the new June
moon, and her arts.
I got my own colds and pain.
I feel the oldness in my brain.
I feel the light nudging of insanity.
I got the old days to comfort me.
I pray all is well with you.
I pray a spell on you:
that a flying blue shell
would sweep in and fetch you,
and sail you warm and well
to a place I have made,
a table space, the courses
I have planned, this I demand
spirits at my command.
Place her safely. Land
her gently, hand
her to me and stand by
waiting. You mean to thank me.
I say no softly. You
see me leaving, returning
with coffee. You furnish
the smile, I’ll host your meal.
I’ll find time to feel you out,
and kindly oblige when the question
arises: why the half shell?
I say plainly, we creatures
thrive outside, as well.
Stars, bright, but so far.
Yet nebulae–so many–
sky full, so blinding.
Comment poem 4 Eva…
Poetry makes one word of 3.
A communication of the distilling
of dreams states and “meaning to say”
and “what I really mean”. Saying
I need you, or I love you, praying
or supplicating or stating the mundane,
poetry takes the pain of communication
as easy as waiting for, then missing a train.
prompt comment poem: http://shainbird.wordpress.com/2013/06/18/poetry-peddler/#comment-381
the alchemy of levity
Laugh out loud!
comedy is high
a noose for the banal,
a lasso for the proud
and a big damn grin
for the newly found.
(adapted from “o smile high”)
Jim’s boring poem
Boring is a story
of no mornings with no glory.
No foraging for shells, or
crashing in dive hotels,
rock-star dashing, but snoring.
Surely the chief cardinal sin
is being boring.
Plenty of moss
to hide my loss and locate
the heat among the rocks.
Find lost bones,
make them whole, shake
the cold where warm souls mold
old minds, find jewels
among tundra, and fresh grooves
god, and the whiskey question
All weeping Jesus say Amen.
All laughing Jesus say that Gin
is less honest. But all mostly honest men
will laugh, haha, when the rapture’s upon us.
comment poem: on “We drink Because We are Poets” FB feed.
I cant believe you showed up
I was about to leave this place:
make the great dash without grace,
trailing, like a kite’s tail, someone’s
lace, and tripping over the sum
of your friends plus faces come
to see me land in arms, not crazy
alarmed fleeing down aisles, run-
away groom got miles in to
imagined futures before he noticed
you finally coming, my princess, the one.
For the Daily Prompt: http://thepoetryquestion.com/2013/06/21/the-daily-prompt-june-21st/
could pierce through several
in one fell crescent.
Goddesses would stand watch.
corner of 5th and moonlight
Been there, tasted the terror
of moon-walks through no man’s land.
Neighborhood in error.
some punk new around the area, few
stop here, between
and fifth street and your dance
And my hustle,
and your chance
to rise, muscle music mogul
from back of the fence, heavy pants–
silver slides click pow no second
(posted on the “Poetry” fb group)
♫ hope u enjoyed! Jim –
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