Author |
Message |
Meridian
Member
09-23-2000
| Monday, September 27, 2004 - 11:09 am
I am one of the lucky starfish thrown back to try again against my will maybe this time I will be let alone to dry out a little on the sand where it's warm until the surf isn't so rough and the waves aren't so cold
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Meridian
Member
09-23-2000
| Monday, September 27, 2004 - 11:09 am
I am one of the lucky starfish thrown back to try again against my will maybe this time I will be let alone to dry out a little on the sand where it's warm until the surf isn't so rough and the waves aren't so cold
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Meridian
Member
09-23-2000
| Monday, September 27, 2004 - 11:11 am
Ack! Sorry for the double post. I am amazed at all the incredible talent at TVCH. Thank you all for posting your wonderfully inspiring poetry!
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Nickovtyme
Member
07-29-2004
| Monday, September 27, 2004 - 7:03 pm
Alrighty...but you gotta remember that these were written by a young man. I call this one: Unispired In the dark I search alone. What do I seek? A mere thought that will lead to the well of what I am. Nothing more not much less the very core but whats to see? I'm afraid I won't like what I find. I'll never know until I see what is there... did that make sense... I guess in a way I'll stumble on till I grasp my innermost and wrestle it A stubborn thought So until then I remain without a clue and uninspired.
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Nickovtyme
Member
07-29-2004
| Monday, September 27, 2004 - 7:07 pm
The Storm A day like today with the clouds and the rain remind me, indeed, of a soul full of pain. With the clouds representing the hurt and the fears, and the gentle, rain drops symbolizing the tears. Lighting, it flashes and stabs in the heart; then, thunder it rumbles, the heart's ripped apart. You know that the storm, as they say came to pass... you must endure it my friend to smile at the last.
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Gidget
Member
07-28-2002
| Monday, September 27, 2004 - 7:10 pm
oh i like the starfish image... that is so cute.. and what are you saying nick... are you an old man now?... lol you cant be that old... your little ones are well... little
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Nickovtyme
Member
07-29-2004
| Monday, September 27, 2004 - 7:13 pm
How about young...emotionally? Most of my poems were written when I was going through some stuff and trying to find my way. I have some really dark stuff. Dark enough to make Nikomas appreciat it. I'm trying to post the more light-hearted stuff.
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Gidget
Member
07-28-2002
| Monday, September 27, 2004 - 7:19 pm
i pretty much only write from my dark side but i am trying to lighten up ... i just dont feel poetic unless i am suffering
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Karen
Member
09-07-2004
| Tuesday, September 28, 2004 - 2:41 pm
With you there, Gidget, Nick... it's true, though... Misery makes a great muse.
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Karen
Member
09-07-2004
| Tuesday, September 28, 2004 - 2:44 pm
This Place To hate this place in words is impossible – it would do nothing but a great injustice to the emotions I hold for it deep in the pit of my stomach. To be in this place – to walk the streets that taught me distrust and to look at the buildings that taught me prejudice and to stand face to face with the ghosts who broke my heart time and time again – it’s unbearable. And it breaks my heart to think that this place, this weak and pathetic place – infected with its’ untrue lies and it’s unjust politics, and it’s ugly people who just don’t give a damn – this place is the only thing strong enough to break me. (going home to the town you grew up in after leaving it behind...)
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Karen
Member
09-07-2004
| Tuesday, September 28, 2004 - 2:52 pm
Another one about the hometown I hate...: She’s sitting in this one horse town Her ghosts of childhood days around But she still keeps the smile upon her face She’s got her hopes, she’s got her dreams, She’s got a side that no one sees And she swore she’d never come back to this place. This town holds memories, good and bad It drowns her mother, drains her dad She sees right through its mask and it’s disguise. She prides herself on getting out She sees now what the worlds’ about And you can see determination in her eyes. It’s her first summer away from home Back in the place she’s always known But the nest has broke, and the bird has flown And she don’t live here anymore. She packed her bags, she said goodbye ‘I’ll call you, Mama, please don’t cry I promise you, I’ll always keep in touch.’ A year goes by, she touches down, Her feet back on familiar ground, Same old story, things don’t change that much. The people at the same old bars Friends still driving high school cars And it pleases her to see how far she’s come But on these streets, where she grew up Where she scraped her knees, where she fell in love It helps explain just where she’s coming from. It's her first summer away from home back in the place she did her growin' And she fills her days with Leondard Cohen Cause she don't live here... and she's not from here anymore.
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Ladylove
Member
08-12-2004
| Thursday, September 30, 2004 - 6:51 am
When love is an affliction, There's not much one can do. Despite the way you've treated me, I'm still in love with you. I am the wave and you the rock Against which I must break: Again, again the crushing jolt, The pain I can't forsake; Again, again the long retreat To safety, far from shore, And then again, I don't know why, The long trip back for more. Perhaps it is nostalgia for A long uncertain glow, Or just some hope so beautiful I cannot let it go. Perhaps it is the need to try For those who must depend On who we are and what we do, For whom this should not end. What evil makes you hurt me so, What defect of the heart? What sense there is no greater whole Of which you are a part? What lonely choice that only you Be served by what you choose? What hard, hard fear of losing what It is a gift to lose? I dream sometimes my waiting love Has made you turn again. But you care only for yourself, And I must love in vain.
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Jan
Member
08-01-2000
| Thursday, September 30, 2004 - 9:40 am
I haven't been in this thread for months but your first line drew me right in on my "search for new messages " page, Ladylove. And I must say the whole poem certainly lives up to the promise of the first line. Very very powerful stuff! I must remember to come back here more often. We have some real talent on this board.
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Ladylove
Member
08-12-2004
| Thursday, September 30, 2004 - 12:29 pm
A Sonnet To My Husband by Mary E. Roberts My heart calls out to you, as I sit here in a puddle of my tears. Hoping and praying for the well being, of your return to me. You are my knight, my love, my angel, and the man of my dreams. You have captured my heart, and have released me from the darkness, to the light of living. You have saved my soul, for our love till eternity. You are my saint, my friend, my husband, and my guidance.
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Ladylove
Member
08-12-2004
| Thursday, September 30, 2004 - 12:30 pm
Thank you Jan!
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Nickovtyme
Member
07-29-2004
| Thursday, September 30, 2004 - 6:39 pm
There's alot of great stuff here. I hope I can only come close to the talent displayed. I call this one: lost I once thought love I found, my heart soared. Outshined the sun - shamed. As her glory shed - I smiled. But now, the light is out; no more to shine for me.... Her King... Gone is the joy upon seeing her. What once was, will not be again. Oh...the hurt of knowing I died.
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Nickovtyme
Member
07-29-2004
| Thursday, September 30, 2004 - 6:45 pm
Here we go...simple rhyming couplets. untitled Will I ever chance to learn, for what my heart does often yearn? This thing that people do call love, as true and pure as any dove. Never have I known this thing In which my soul inside does sing. Can somebody be without? I feel my void and have no doubt. The empty life is what I live. I know I have so much to give. I wish the chance that step to take, knowing I will not forsake... the chance to know, to love, to keep... I pray each night before I sleep... let tomorrow be the day... Those the words I often say...
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Nickovtyme
Member
07-29-2004
| Thursday, September 30, 2004 - 6:48 pm
When you make that big mistake of thinking you're in love... Know from the start, you'll lose your heart... when push does come to shove.
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Gidget
Member
07-28-2002
| Thursday, October 07, 2004 - 5:55 pm
i barely hear the strains of a lilting tune not in my ear but in my head like a memory of a time not known a view that can only be seen in the mist freedom is a mistaken illusion it always comes back to the blood and it speak to me not in words nor in pictures, it is just a knowledge escape from the body surrendor time stops unmeasured a second a lifetime thankful for the respite and the support i return where i know i belong
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Karen
Member
09-07-2004
| Friday, October 15, 2004 - 9:18 am
This has got to be my favourite poem of all time, I'm actually surprised it's not posted in here yet. It's the man's 30th bday today, so it seems fitting now, as I'm scared about us getting 'old' and what lies ahead: The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood And sorry I could not take both And be one traveller, long I stood and looked down one as far I could to where it bent in the undergrowth Then took the other, just as fair though having perhaps the better claim because it was grassy and wanted wear though, as for that, the passing there had worn them really about the same. Both roads that morning equally lay in leaves no steps had trodden back Oh, I kept the first for another day though knowing how way leads on to way I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this tale with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence Two roads diverged in a wood and I, I took the one less travelled by and that has made all the difference.
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Cindori
Member
07-25-2003
| Friday, October 15, 2004 - 9:21 am
Karen, that's also my favorite poem. Thank you for posting it.
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Nino
Member
09-20-2004
| Saturday, October 16, 2004 - 3:35 pm
This is the first time I've ever posted one of my poems! I wrote this one in 2002. It's nothing like my usual rhyming poems. I used to write so much more than I do now. There are such talented poets in this thread! A Life in Numbers One Thursday a magical thing happened, Two unlikely people met and fell in love, Three years of wedded bliss came after, Four hours of labor was an answered prayer! Five-year-old twins, cherished by a loving mother, Six figure income is right at his fingertips, Seven days a week of anxiety and stress, Eight hours in surgery, repairing a damaged heart. Nine-year-old children excelling, reaching for the stars, Ten days abroad, working on a fractured marriage, Eleven candles on each birthday cake this year, Twelve ounce steaks, even though they're forbidden! Thirteen holes played, then his body betrays him, Fourteen-year-old children shed tears at the chapel, Fifteen months later there's a new head of household, Sixteen are the twins now, being presented to society. Seventeen hours of labor for her young, exhausted daughter, Eighteen-month-old grandchild with laughter in her eyes, If you're looking for an ending, there is none, Life is but an infinite number, going on and on and on!
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Nino
Member
09-20-2004
| Saturday, October 16, 2004 - 5:01 pm
Here's one more. Contrary to how it looks, I do write some happy poems! LOL! I'm like some of you, I seem to feel inspired when I'm emotionally done in! The Grandfather Clock I stand in the corner, All covered with grime, A forgotten old clock, Who still keeps the time. I've seen not a few things, But many a sight, The tears and the laughter, The love and the spite. The first day was splendor, All polished and gleaming, The gifts overflowing, The people were teeming. The bride in her satin, The groom looking proud, The merriment abounded, And toasts cheered aloud. Then came farewells, And loved ones departed, I chimed the hour, And got their life started. All things were well, No quarrels or fights, The honeymoon continued, Through days and through nights. She polished me and kept me, All shiny and new, I worked for her dutifully, And struck right on cue. And then came the baby, All snuggly and sweet, My polish grew duller, As she grew less neat. As time ticked on, More children appeared, I faithfully kept working, As her middle years neared. The children were enchanted, With me at the start, But as they grew older, I slid from their heart. I'm admired by many, Ignored by the rest, She still shines me a-plenty, But not near at her best. Then fly the children, To places afar, And she worries and wonders, Where her sweet babies are. I sit and I tick, Never missing a ring, And the years creep along, With no joy to bring. The woman grows haggard, And cares not at all, Her companion a bottle, Her life in a stall. The man grows impatient, And strays far from grace, If the woman is distressed, It shows not a trace. Now I sit ticking, Her twilight years away, The man has long since gone, And left her to stay. The dust starts to thicken, I feel so alone, And she rocks and she drinks, And I hear a weak moan. The woman she's left me, Gone to Glory they say, My ticker grows weaker, With each passing day. Now that she's gone, The children come to light, Haggling and bickering, And then taking flight. All her best China, Her crystal and jade, Her piano and silver, Even ceramics she made. And then I was parceled, To one or the other, I knew in my clockworks, I should never recover. And here I sit lonely, In the shadows growing weak, In a home unfamiliar, In surroundings so bleak. And as midday approaches, They wait for my call, Then I think of the woman, And chime not at all.
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Nickovtyme
Member
07-29-2004
| Sunday, October 17, 2004 - 10:17 am
Hey Nino! I liked your Numbers poem. I liked both of them. Post more! In fact, everybody...post more!
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Weinermr
Member
08-18-2001
| Sunday, October 17, 2004 - 11:14 am
They act like they care. They don't. They offer smiles and act as if you matter. You don't. They pull you in, then forget you are there. Or worse, know you are there, and don't really care. Don't really care. Their smiles beatific, their words they sound terrific, But when it counts, when it really counts, they're gone. More important things are on. Their agenda is what matters, Leaving you torn all in tatters. Is it life? Is it fair? Doesn't matter, just beware. Just beware.
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