Poetry, Sometimes Wisdom...

[Haldur]

Not a bad poem there scotish_girl13! I'd like to see if you had any more to this poem. I'm hearing at least a couple more stanzas to be honest; again, this is just constructive criticism. Other than that its a wonderful poem, very honest, and close to you.

Keep that poetry up though, scotish_girl13! It will get you many places.

[ghost]

I can see that there is no lack of talent in these threads...and so I feel compelled to share a few verses with all of you!


As I wandered by the brookside
I wandered by the mill
I could now hear the brook flow
For the noisy mill was still;
No sound of grasshopper could I hear
Nor the sound of any bird
For the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.

He came not, no, he came not
The moon shone out alone
The twinkling stars now one by one
Shone round her golden foam;
I waited for one footstep
I waited for one word
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.

Oh as I sat there musing
A touch came from behind
A hand was on my shoulder laid
I knew the touch was kind;
It drew me more nearer
I could not speak one word
For the beating of our own two hearts
Was all the sound I heard.

Good night!

[Aaediwen]

Nice setup I had a pretty clear image to start it off with. My mind wandered a bit toward the end, so that wasn't quite as clear for me. But I got a rather sad feeling with the setting near the old mill, without even crickets or birds...

[Celtic cat]

Hi Eventide, I really like your poem. I had an english teacher with the same flair in her poetry. That one is really great. Haldur I admire yours as well. I have to be honest I just started reading these and seeing how good they are I should continue.

[ghost]

Comments appreciated! Celtic cat...I'd love to see some of yours sometime


~To Say Good bye~

I didn't get a chance to say
To you, to tell you that I loved you,
To say, what now must be one long,
Unbroken cry of pain.
Now that you've gone away,
I cannot tell you what a joy it was
To be the one to tend you in your need.
The burden was a gift, for giving does
Not burden one who loves, though loving bleed.
I wish I could have been there, when you,
Perhaps aware, perhaps not, turned towards death.
Alone, with no one there to wonder to,
To share your fear, your hand, your one last breath.
I wish, I wish, I wish . . . but it is done,
And now I must surrender what is gone.

~Mom~

[Alilvna15]

Hi, I haven't posted anything on here for awhile, so I decied to post one of my many poems. I would really like comments on it please!

Alilvna15
One Maiden’s Dream
The day has been long,
And it wasn’t hard to tell something was wrong.
The Maiden’s been in tears,
But nothing from her heart appears.
The tears are now but stains,
Only evidence of old pains.
The Maiden sighs with relief,
Her burden has been lifted, so has her grief.
The Joy is slowly spreading,
Amidst the frozen heart it’s healing.
The icicles are almost gone,
But it is taking long.
She lies her head down,
To let her mind unwound.
Her eyes close slowly, without a doubt,
Only to find herself in a world all turned about.
The Maiden knows it is a dream,
But she can’t seem to wake to scream.
Suddenly there comes a voice,
Telling her to rejoice.
The Voice is soothing,
And soon she is moving,
Through a field of flowers,
And beautiful bowers.
The voice is still there,
But is only heard in her ear,
It whispers this little warning,
“Do not always take things as they are appearing.”
The Dream continues,
But this time down different avenues.
The Maiden is in the field of flowers again,
And she notices new things are starting to begin.
The dream gets faster, and faster,
Until she realizes a life is flying past her.
The Life is hers, and is no other,
The gain that she thought to be a bother,
Was shown to the Maiden anew.
And then on the wind, these words blew…
“The rewards in life are like a fresh spot of Roses,
The breath of Joy sets them in poses.
Songs are sung,
Of new joys begun.
The old sorrow is spent
No more a shoulder need be lent.”
The Maiden is singing,
Of the glories around her now ringing!
“Hallelujah the Light is dawning,
The old sorrow has begun pining!
The Lord’s presence is near,
I now can feel no fear,
There is a fresh song on my heart
For the pain and hurt depart.”
The Love of the Lord,
Is stored in a precious little hoard,
To wait till the day,
When this Maiden will say,
“I give you my heart, and soul,
For now you have made me whole.”
What rejoicing there will be!
When on that day, we will see,
A pure Maiden has been found,
And she is now fully unbound.
You will see the beauty of her soul.
And all the scars that left their toll.
But these scars will never hinder the love,
That has been shed upon her from above.
In the arms of God she has been kept,
Until all her tears have been wept.
These arms of God hold on to her tight,
Never to let go, even throughout a hard fight.
The Maiden looks around,
Noticing she is no long on firm ground.
There, floating through the air,
Is a beautiful being strumming a lyre.
She sees now a place of shining beauty,
Of arms stretching out to her slowly…
The Maiden abruptly awakes to find she is in her bed,
Lying on her back with her pillow under her head.
She thinks about the dream, and begins to wonder how much was true,
It dawns on her that it was the Lord’s way of showing her what is due.
The Maiden got on her knees to pray,
But she could think of nothing to say,
Other then to thank the Lord,
For His wondrous Word.
The Maiden prayed about what she was shown,
Wondering if more to her would be known.
The Lord is in heart,
And will never depart.
Even though, this Maiden wants to fight for time,
She knows that no matter what, she will always be fine.

For the rest of the night, she tossed and turned,
The words she heard, within her heart, burned.
The Maiden felt some relief,
But she was still shaking like a leaf.
Slowly, the struggles left her,
And no more did she stir.
The next morn came with gladness.
For inside she was filled with boldness,
To do the will of the one who spoke.
His words continued to be with her, even as she awoke.
The Maiden kept all to herself,
Keeping the dream on a high shelf,
To be pulled out at the right moment.
Until then, she would keep silent.
Written by ~ Callandra Wilcox

[iaaqov]

Hi, I'm from Colombia and originaly this poem was writed by me in Spanish, I traduce it today and here it is:

[Please forgive my ortograph]

In the nights of cold like these, I use to think about your eyes… That look, that warm and shining inspires my mind and sings to my soul, Your look, that one that I miss in the mornings, and the smooth color of your pupils that I remember with tenderness in the evening. Penetrating look that show the world in one blink, fulminating look that makes me love, like that is your look, beautiful and inspiated, ingenuous and deep, that floods my senses and constructs a world for my silence, affectionate, lively, look that instills respect and fear, is not terrible, is beautiful, tender and delicate, respect I must offer for similar beauty that takes control of your face when you put your eyes on me, fear I have when think that with a kiss I can shut up the inspirring reason of that look.

Thanks for read it!
Please send me your comments [email protected]

Felipe Ladino

[Roisin-Teagan]

Hello, I feel a little strange replying...I haven't been around in a good while---but it's good to be back.

Any how...I wanted to lend a word of encouragement the last two poets who posted---Keep writing and using words to express your inner thoughts. Some feed back though (if I may with all humility), I would try and go back and work on a little more structure, I think it would break it up and help the flow a bit. I'm no expert mine you...just a suggestion.

Just my three pence worth,
Roisin

[Chele]

Seems like forever since I've posted one of my poems on here. I was sitting here listening to a song from my "Echos of the Glen" cd, which is soft relaxing music and nature sounds. This one had a rolling/crashing shoreline effect, which started the juices flowing for this poem. Not to mention the love of my life is leaving tomorrow for vacation....a week of fishing....and cannot be with him. I miss him already. Hope you like it.


SELKIE

Standing on the lonely shoreline
Watching the waves roll in
The cool mist caressing my face
While a golden sun fades in the horizon

A soft, melancholy tune plays in the gloaming
A lovers call reaching far and wide
A beacon of my hearts desire
Summoning my love to come home

Something splashes in the distance
Ripples across the water, sparkle and shine
Playful laughter floats on the breeze
As I keep a vigilant eye on the waters edge

Quietly I wait upon the soft sand
My body hums with anticipation of his arrival
Soon he will emerge and don his skin
As my Selkie lover walks as man

[Chele]

Going thru some files on my computer, I ran across this poem/story I wrote. Thought I'd post it out here. It was during a time when I was trying to figure myself out.


A living, breathing, work of art,
What would that be?
What does one envision,
Viewing the painting of me?

As with all great paintings, there are many layers, many depths. Edges and lines sharp in contrast…blending into soft flowing curves. Colors in a various array from vibrant and glowing, to subdued and subtle. There is lightness in many hues, some over-powering, while others mere illuminations. And, inevitably, there is darkness.

As all paintings do, when seen through various eyes, display a different image to the beholder. Some see what they want to see, looking at only the good and ignoring the ugly. Others try to see too much, and misjudge it's content. But there is that one person, that one individual, astute enough to see the painting for what it truly is. They will be strong of mind, strong of will, and strong with love. This person will see the smiles, the colors, the joys, and will feast upon them. Enhancing the painting, and themself, making both more alive. They will learn all the intricacies of the story the painting reflects, and will thrive for more knowledge. They will understand the sadness and the hurts in this living image...and will appreciate it all the more.

But, to get to this one person, this one being, who can appreciate something extraordinarily unique. The painting, the living image, must...as most works in progress will...go through many trials and errs, upstrokes and down. Occasionally wiping the slate clean and beginning anew. For the painting, this living image, is always changing. Waiting for the right owner to hold it and make it truly a masterpiece.

[Leelee]

Autumn


O season of ripe beauty, you I greet!
Whose heart is love's calm wisdom at its throbbing core;
Your deep hues and myriad colors make the soul's wings beat
And lift a lover like me to your ambrosial shore.

Through you Nature weeps its precious golden tears,
In you a mortal eye could glimpse its native Immortality,
O endless fount of inspiration to the poet-seers
To be bound by your embrace is to be truly free!

A glad earth bathes in your benign and lustrous smile
And man's heart thrills with an unknown rapture and delight
By your whispers and footfalls and flute-call beguiled,
An ancient kinship links him to your celestial height.

A brimming of golden sweetness in your dreaming eyes
Fills the world with the beauty of a realm divine,
The sun's last rays serenely trickle from your purple skies:
I send my love and song and call your blessings mine.


Abhinabha

[Rhymer]

Remember Her.............................

Our lands are sacred , home to willow and the mighty oak
Mistletoe dripping down , groves of solititude revered
Traditions upheld grown in fields of green
Following spirits guidance unseen
From out of the sea madness came
Despoiling our land for commerce and gain
Our land of sacred hope and love
Out of mist and bogs she was born
Like a fire she spread across our sight
Flames of hate fired by fear and guilt
To drive the madness into the sea
A brief flaring for a time burned them hard
To the point of defeat and despair
Too strong was their hand
Reaching too far into the lives and hopes
Of a people born out of the land
An eagle swooping on helpless prey
Without remorse our emotional concern
To civilise , subjugate and enslave
Assimilate to the majority wave
Love for land and its ways not part of society
And for gaining of power was the aim.
Remember her name the flame haired queen
Boudicca forever , fire of our sacred land.

Andrew Provan McIntyre 28/10/10

In remembrance of Boudicca the first great Celtic Hero.

[lgreaseman]

It the last day before we leave home from vacation and as I wonder around the forum these words begin to stir in my heart....


The End of Vacation
Tis time that slips like sand through your toes during a walk on a beach,
And the steps are washed away by the waves that break upon your feet.
Till all that's left of the days are memories tucked safe within your reach,
Like souvenirs that were bought for a time that now seems obsolete.

[munchkin5450]

Bravo, lgreaseman!! This definitely evokes feelings of vacations past.

[lgreaseman]

Thank you Munchkin5450... I was sitting out back the other day after doing so gardening and a robin landed by feet...this is the product of that meeting...

The Robin’s Visit

It was a beautiful day and my gardening was all done,
so I decided to sit out back and enjoy some of the blue skies.
As I pondered my labors and basked in the sun,
a red breasted Robin happened to stop by.

She had landed near some berries on the ground by my feet.
As she hopped and hopped until closer she came.
Then she picked at the fallen berries as quietly she did eat.
I thought I should speak to her, perhaps inquirer her name?

So I asked her in a quiet voice and then waited to hear.
But she jerked her head up and looked at me in my seat.
So I lowered my voice more, so not to cause any fear,
But she put her head back down and again started to eat.

Very frustrated now, I knew not what to do,
until it hit me and suddenly became very clear.
So I whispered hello to her in every language I knew,
When she shout; “Speak louder Sonny in a voice I can hear!”