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Parting Our time together will soon end. I've loved it more than you'll know. From your presence in my life I have learned the laughter of silly smiles, the joys of happy hours in your company. I'm going to miss you, most of all your eyes. I always see a calm peace shining out from them. So much I should say to you, but silence stops my words. I wanted to tell you about the joy and happiness you gave me. Thank you for everything. Parting, Our roads go other ways now. May you find rest and love in your life. And when I think back to you I will remember happy times. 4-17-89
22 responses total.
]that's pleasant. A poem without angst, how unusual. Nice and clear.
you don't know how long it took me to dig up a poem w/o angst that I'd written.
awww, thanks for going to the trouble. Sweet of you. What do the other sort look like?
pretty dark. i'm not even sure that i'd call most of it poetry today. I'm kinda in the process of weeding it out. Its kind of like having all your things smashed and ruined by an earthquake or a tornado. You spend a long time trying to clean up, trying to sift through the wreckage and find something worth keeping. Painful process really, both for a homeowner and a writer.
Here's my first one.
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Hector Arzate
Still Life
I love more than anything in life
those serene centuries
in which you write
and I read without a book.
In which you whistle
and I grow without moving.
I love the smell of damp,
the dialogue of dreams in between naps,
the invitation to taste the crimson apple,
the careful tip-toeing in the darkness.
The slow wind peeling the time
like one who eats a pomegranate.
I love your temporary absences
wandering about who knows what,
the palpitating fields after the fire,
the reborn eucalyptus.
The compassed tailing of twilight
on the wall shade by shade,
to not distract...
nor wake us up.
HAL.94
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re:# 5, and this from a non-native speaker of English? What does it look like in Spanish? re:#4- sounds like a broken heart to me- happens to the best of us...
Here goes: "Diet Faygo Redpop" Oh, You're so red... So red... I pour you in my head. So Nutrasweetily sweet, So sweet, It's you I have to eat. Actually, I prefer, Much prefer, Diet Mandarin Orange Slice, That's nice, But since that costs 11 cents more, And that's alot, I'll stick with my Diet Faygo Redpop. Than'kew!
Thank you for the vote of confidence ;-) ... What does it look in Spanish?..
hmm!.. I'll have to translate it, when I write, regardless of the language
I do in in terms of images and feelings. It is not easay for me to describe
the process for I have never taken any schooling on the subject of "proper"
writing, sometimes words find their way onto a piece of paper with ease
inSpanish, sometimes in English, and many an occasion they just flutter around
my head the same fashion butterflies do on the open fields.
One thing I have found out, is that I communicate and express my somewhat
troubled thoughts in writing than orally.... in any language!
And yes, it sounds like a broken heart, for we all have that unseen thorn
stuck somewhere within our hearts, and instead of blood, each time we stroke it
words sip out to form a poem. And yes, it happens to the best of us, thank G.
;-) I'll sum it up with something I wrote a few years ago ( I cannot recall
the most of it but it went something like this).
...if to love is to live
and if living is annihilating,
I don't care if I bleed to death
in my sleep...
for it's so sweet to remember.
HAL
Is there such a thing as a born poet? I think so now.
Most poets were born. Some are borne.
imagination
by
HAL
where are you?... i ask this tired heart,
when? i question these unsensible walls,
i play with memories of you...
or perhaps it's the other way around.
i want to inhale your savoury skin,
touch your heart and drink the warmth
of your hands...
caress the contour of your soul.
i want to kiss the forehead of your spirit,
bit the ears of your consciousness,
hear the voices of your mind and embrace
the shape of your smile...
see the mirror of your eyes.
now, don't think that I have it all wrong,
it's just that for those moments
we are not together,
i let impatience provide an instant
of antique and sweet imagination.
HAL.94
?
a true bilingual...
A true romantic... and hopeless dreamer (exmaple to follow!) ;->
ZONE ZERO...
I dreamed I was dreaming
that I thought I
was thinking that
I remembered I was
remembering that I
imagined I was
imagining that I
said I was saying that
I dreamed I was dreaming ...
HAL94
that's cute. It's pretty good for your basic studentish philosophic poetry.
I don't have a prayer when there are people that write like this. This is worse than I thought.
stff and nonsense! imitate it if you want, then mess with it until you get something truly silly. Just don't try to one-up remmers...
remmers... never. I would pretend about that even in the slightest. anyhow i've got something i'll put in another item as soon as i get it just a little more the way i'd like it to sound. not anything important, but it does try to capture how i feel right now.
hurry up and wait, huh- been there.
Thank you kam once again for the remarks... but "basic studentish philosophic poetry?"... ??? You may have to enlighten me a little on that one. I love philosophy (amongst other subjects) but my mental retention capabilities have long been tarnished and irreversibly affected by the ozone, thus all I know is what I no longer know. Seriously, I'm pretty bad when it comes to remembeames, places and faces in school... that's why I cannot recall if there are any levels of philosophic poetry... why, I don't even want to take any courses of any poetry "styles" (never have, never will!) that's just simply the way I have been thinking and consequently writing as far as I can remember (if that's possible!). You should see the reaction on people's faces when I read them some of my stuff on the workings of the mind and time... you have to either be as crazy as I am, or perhaps use the aid of a few dozen beers!.. ;-> but I hope you meant it well, right?. Regards from LALALAND (aka L.A.) Hector.
"basic studentish philosophic poetry": the stuff many of us write when we have had our heads too rapidly expanded by study- long on visual impact or funky form, sometimes made up of rather abstract musings about the nature of existence, at best fun and thought provoking but at worst dull and pretentious. I can't remember the name of the type of philosophical question that refers to the nature of reality like that. I like to make my style up as I go along, or see what I have started and continue it. But I haven't found formal classes (the one or two I had occasion to take) particularly inhibiting. Maybe later I'll post something. I mostly meant it well. I get a bit catty at times. Keep at it, please.
gerund is keeping at it... currently though he is just letting everything sit sometimes waiting is all a poet can do
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