here you shall find me
must find me
we must meet
having met, we must
meet again in the shadows of
truth
beauty shines through the window and
dances with the dust in the air
the cat sits by the window
watching the birds
I sit by the window with your memory
watching for you
in the birds
in the trees
we must meet across the river
in the shade of that tree
that tree we cling to
so the raging waters of the flood
may not drown us in our own
innocence
***
Month: July 2012
Seas of Mauve Sonnet by Richard Vallance
with thanks to Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI and his poem, La mer mauve
When in your eyes I’ve seen seas round of mauve
I find I’ve visualized sunsets there,
yes, sunsets where dusk’s risen in this cove,
where we’ve pampered feet in these seas so fair
we linger hours, the minutes minding not,
the while we sense such shadows as her surf
as soon on us advance, where being caught
by risen tides, grasses blown round on turf
should quake with us, scared half to death by winds!
Where scalars, tides, income with windy night’s,
there’s nothing but a soothing moon rescinds
the sea’s insousciance where she alights!
Where she alights, the moon leaves seas of mauve
in dawn’s eyes as we leave our secret cove.
© Richard Vallance 2004
October 18 2004
PINTEREST Boards: Mycenaean Linear B: Progressive Grammar & Vocabulary, http://pinterest.com/vallance22/mycenaean-linear-b-progressive-grammar-and-vocabul/ and, Knossos & Mycenae, sister civilizations, http://pinterest.com/vallance22/knossos-mycenae-sister-civilizations/
Also poetry publisher, The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes: Anthology of sonnets of the early third millennium<>Le Phénix renaissant de ses cendres : Anthologie de sonnets au début du troisième millénaire<>
Friesen Press, Victoria, B.C., Canada. © August 2013. 35 illustrations in B&W. Author & Title Indexes. 257 pp. 315 sonnets & ghazals in English, French, Spanish, German, Chinese & Persian. http://vallance22.hpage.com
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Better Times Poem by Jim Schultz
Thirty Years Ago
Dreamy words of better ways.
Inner feelings stirred.
Some thirty years ago or more
I listened and I heard.
Hopeful thoughts of future days.
Students undeterred.
A growing call to end a war.
Moralities were blurred.
Revolution at the gate.
Riots on TV.
Anticipation in my mind
Of better things to be.
Patiently I’d sit and wait
for coming history,
A dismal future redefined.
My foolish fantasy.
Now they wear the suit and tie.
Corporate life would call.
Ideal words would fade away
and Vietnam would fall.
Revolutionary cries,
sights that I recall.
I wonder if they fell astray
or if they cared at all.
Copyright © 1998 MadGerman@aol.com Jim Schultz
Divergence Poem by Joan Pond
Divergence
by Joan Pond
He reads the tracks of my tires
in the snow.
Deciphering the hieroglyphs;
a simple acrostic of lines.
It”s nice to know I”m defined
by the pattern of my tread.
Inside, he said the writing on his wall
holds a pattern,
as stars in the galaxy.
He will make sense of this Babel,
while I stand by the door
wanting to leave.
How can I deceive him into thinking
I have somewhere else to be?
He had been my universe,
but that was long ago
and our orbits
no longer converge.
***
Humanity i love you Humanity i hate you poem by ee cummings
Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than inquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarassing for both
parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard
Humanity i love you because
when you’re hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you’re flush your pride keeps
you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually commiting
nuisances but more
especially in your own house
Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down
on it
and because you are
always making poems in the lap
of death Humanity
i hate you
***
Sipping by David Michael Jackson
Here is an mp3 of Sipping Click here
Sipping
By David Michael Jackson
I only have apples for you
winesap apples
hanging red and green
from twisted trees
and lying on the ground
brown and rotten
soft and mushy,
not very good,
but they will do
for a break from the field,
for a break
from the work
and the
hot
hot
sun
My brown eyes
her green eyes
her red dress
my brown eyes
her red shoes
the spring trees
the blue sky
my brown eyes
her green eyes
her green
green
eyes
I am.
I have heen read by ones and twos.
I have been seen by tens
or even hundreds.
You can see me
on the street.
I am.
You can hear my voice
In
the silence,
or
in the
crowd
at
ballgame.
I am everyone
I am no one
I am the man on the street.
Tell everyone I was here.
Right here.
Now.
On this spot of soil
in this something,
this
recognition of something,
tell everyone.
I have eaten the last grape.
I hold the vine in my hands
and I throw it into the yard.
I wonder of the purpose
of the vine
(as you would,
as anyone
would)
to feed me
to reproduce
to seek the light.
When I have eaten my last grapes
I will, perhaps, understand.
Perhaps.
But the vine doesn”t care anymore
It just lies there
in the green green grass
The trees are whispering to me.
They tell me the rain will come,
that spring will bring new leaves,
that birds will nest
in my branches.
They tell me not to concern myself
with the fire
nor the blight.
They tell me to stand strongly
and to lift my arms
to the light.
My tongue touches
the roof of my mouth.
My lips are stuck together
and pop apart.
I can feel the air
rushing
through my chest.
I hold this page in my hand
and
I read
these words.
Now sunrise brings a cup of coffee
to welcome the day
Our lives are measured with these days
which are poured into cups
and mixed with sorrow and joy,
We say things like
“I”ll always remember.”
“I”ll always love you”
and we are blown like
dry leaves in a whirlwind,
rising for a moment,
then settling,
to make room
for other leaves
to be blown
to rise,
to settle.
The trees live and die.
Each blade of grass
leans to the summer light
and breaks in the winter wind.
The birds live and die.
The seasons turn
like a merry go round
and
we ride the pretty horses
and
we hear the pretty music
and
we play in the warm sun
as the merry go round
goes around
and around
and around
There is a chill in the day.
Already the birds gather.
Already the insects are frantic.
Already the leaves turn
to browns and yellows.
Savour the day.
Sip it
like a glass of
fine wine.
Breathe deeply
and glory in the song
of the cricket.
Cup the day in your palm like
spring water
and drink.
My little wife
thinks I”m odd and lazy
as she flutters,
constantly working.
She is a little worker bee,
she flutters gracefully,
picking this up,
straightening that.
She is gathering nectar
and I am in the hive,
sipping.
Copyright © 1998 by David Michael Jackson, All rights reserved
***