|
|
Post by laughter on Jan 26, 2022 6:09:32 GMT -5
a child's voice a jingling collar a young black hound, with preternaturally light blue eyes, bounds out of the woods the snow up to his chest runs over in greeting a startled mom, as they turn the corner "he's in his element here, must be a cold climate breed  " 30 yards later standing in awe, alone a dense multitude of crystals, drifting lazily, chaotically, out of a windless sky free falling to contrast, on the slumbering brown bark of the woods the intense silence, suddenly punctuated, and amplified by the whistle of a distant train |
|
|
|
Post by laughter on Feb 21, 2022 3:09:07 GMT -5
another collaboration with glimmer summer rain
on the roof
it’s perfect this, tapping
as life
patters to Earth |
|
|
|
Post by glimmer on Feb 23, 2022 20:20:49 GMT -5
scrying the black cat knows |
|
|
|
poetry
Feb 24, 2022 10:35:39 GMT -5
zin likes this
Post by laughter on Feb 24, 2022 10:35:39 GMT -5
in collaboration with glimmer ... perched on edge
a sentinel beholds,
the sky on fire
resting from the zest in this |
|
|
|
Post by Reefs on Feb 24, 2022 13:00:36 GMT -5
"Poetry is the great art of constructing transcendental health. Poetry uses pain and excitement, pleasure and displeasure, error and truth, health and illness as it pleases. It mixes everything together for the sake of its great purpose of all purposes — the elevation of man above himself. The poet, therefore, is the transcendental physician."
- Novalis
|
|
|
|
poetry
Mar 4, 2022 8:10:07 GMT -5
Post by laughter on Mar 4, 2022 8:10:07 GMT -5
|
|
|
|
poetry
Apr 5, 2022 23:58:38 GMT -5
Post by glimmer on Apr 5, 2022 23:58:38 GMT -5
the first stepping stone
is the first step
…..
.
|
|
|
|
Post by glimmer on Apr 25, 2022 2:09:44 GMT -5
foam
everything beautiful
brings us home again
to the soundless roar
tumbling over oceans
and here we are breaking
upon the shore
and it's all beautiful
once more
(written back in 2012)
|
|
|
|
poetry
Aug 10, 2022 10:34:15 GMT -5
zin likes this
Post by laughter on Aug 10, 2022 10:34:15 GMT -5
nut case picking out the cashews from my great big jar of nuts they're in there among the Brazil nuts the filberts and the almonds there aren't any peanuts 'cause these are, as the label proudly states, 'Extra Fancy' mixed nuts they're also premium quality and you know that always helps not that I have anything against peanuts as they are as fine a nut as any saw some walnuts and some hazelnuts and some pine nuts but no macadamias or pignolis 'cause they ain't that damn 'extra fancy' now about those cashews... charlie gee 6/23/12  .. not forgotten chazz. |
|
|
|
Post by laughter on Aug 10, 2022 10:35:13 GMT -5
The sasquatch sees a bird in flight
when it disappears
something inside him says
you too will disappear
how
when
why
he knows not
+++++++++ Bird in Flight / Éan ar Eite (from The Last Sasquatch) by Gabriel Rosenstock (1949 - ) Timeline www.poetry-chaikhana.com/R/RosenstockGa/BirdinFlight.htm A premonition!  |
|
|
|
Post by laughter on Sept 17, 2022 5:25:24 GMT -5
stranger in a strange man
uneasy as he walks the land
tied to earth, ever at sea
neither you, them nor me
gaze upon the open sky
allow that ever question why
to dissipate, just like a cloud
rend and tear emotions shroud
weightless, rootless, floating free
silence now, just fly and be
the wind, it will ever race
revealing your original face
returning now, you've left him there
you know that place, where people stare
they squint, they look, what do they see?
not you, him, they, nor me
wonders they will never cease
smile at the noisy beast
release the mind to wander off
to ponder what was never lost
home is ever all around
stand still now and hear the sound
a melody of lilting voice
the ever rolling choiceless choice
how could the stranger ever be
that not you nor that not me?
let him go along his way
the infinite, is here to stay
|
|
|
|
Post by laughter on Sept 17, 2022 5:27:06 GMT -5
oh happy day ... the older I get the less and less I identify with this character, Charlie Gee that I'm supposed to be oh, I'll keep him around for identification purposes that comes in handy but I fully anticipate his total disappearance one day and when it happens I'll sing, 'oh happy day' ... might even get the Edwin Hawkins singers to back me up yeah, sounds about right ... just about right ... CG 8/22/10 |
|
|
|
Post by glimmer on Sept 24, 2022 2:44:46 GMT -5
many bonfires
everywhere
it’s all the same
|
|
|
|
poetry
Dec 12, 2022 2:32:02 GMT -5
zin likes this
Post by laughter on Dec 12, 2022 2:32:02 GMT -5
Don't look up
Don't look West
Forget about good, bad, better and best
Don't look down
Don't look East
That print is a paw, but there is no beast!
Don't look right
Don't look North
Everything, all at once, in due course
Don't look left
Don't look South
Put your head in the Tiger's mouth
|
|
|
|
Post by justlikeyou on Jan 1, 2024 22:12:26 GMT -5
Fell in love with this poem in my twenties. What it points to simply resonated with me somehow. Decades later, and for two years now, I find myself an Uber driver, with over 5000 riders having been in my car, thus far. Not quite a house by the side of the road, but rather an automobile taking humanity for a ride.
The House By The Side Of The Road
There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the place of their self-content;
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths
Where highways never ran-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner's seat
Nor hurl the cynic's ban-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I see from my house by the side of the road
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife,
But I turn not away from their smiles and tears,
Both parts of an infinite plan-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead,
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.
Let me live in my house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish - so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat,
Or hurl the cynic's ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
|
|
"
.. not forgotten chazz. 
