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Dedication
Poem
A List: I'm the Poet -To Carrie
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Dedicated to Carrie Richards
I am
the wandering breeze in the wheat field
the pawn advancing to the eighth rank
the ocher leaves under the window
the One Hundred Years of Solitude
the One Thousand and One Nights
the disappointment of the elderly
the pile of dirty dishes in the sink
the water trickling into the sewer
the hand that calls and defends
the vast ocean that drowns me
the widower feeding the doves
the five drops of Chanel No. 5
the saddest verses of Neruda
the insect hidden in a cocoon
the impotence of forgiveness
the Tango and the Tarantella
the windmills of Don Quixote
the sadness of the hunger
the barking dog that bites
the prelude and the fugue
the glass of wine to share
the illusion of the outcast
the puddles on the street
the new kid in the school
the orphan in the asylum
the color of the shadows
the lies of the politicians
the rain on a sunny day
the message in a bottle
the petal and the thorn
the laughter of children
the blindness of Borges
the feather in the wind
the moss on the stone
the beard of Whitman
the Nuremberg Trials
the door always open
the underpaid worker
the mistletoe waiting
the hair in your food
the tangerine wedge
the gasp to nowhere
the last surrenderer
the beggar's refuge
the pointing finger
the foam of anger
the broken mirror
the clocks of Dali
the curving road
the trail of tears
the garlic breath
the bitter vomit
the Nazca lines
the lost island
the false note
the joy of sin
I am Death
underwear
buccaneer
sunflower
solstice
silence
sperm
guitar
lover
gore
war
you
we
I'm the poet.
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Dedication
Poem
Who Is the poet ? (Dedicated to great poets, friends and my P.S family)
The Poet is the language,the mystery of Monalisa's smile,
the brush of Caravaggio and the finest painting of Vangogh.
The Poet is the sonnet of Mozart and the symphony of Bach,
the tragedy of Shakespeare and the saddest verse of Pablo Neruda.
The Poet is the Blue Danube in waltz and The Swan lake in ballet.
The Poet is the renaissance of passion and the remnant of life,
the dilemma of morality,the shadow of deed,and the ombra of sin.
The Poet is the fantasy of each sunrise,and the illusion of every sunset,
the wave in tide of wishes,carried in a bottle,printed in honey beige sands.
The Poet is the believer,the dream lover in a hot passionate crazy affair,
the magician who creates fables and fairytales out of dead realities.
The Poet is the worker who works till late,to survive,to cope,in this expensive,
sophisticated,stigmatic world.The Poet is the thief of time,His eyes fluttering,
still holding the pen,thinking in verse,writing a bacchus of fragranted words.
The Poet is the Omnipotent humble servant, with a will to ask,a crave to learn.
The Poet is a philosopher,who's always an amateur in the pursuit of wisdom.
The Poet is an eternal slave of the muse,and the beverage of inspiration.
The Poet is the artist,the musician,the actor,the story teller of destined paths.
The poet is the man married to literature,the adulterer of lyric and prose.
The Poet knows no lapsus in all that is scandalous,royalty or sacred.
The Poet is the mold of cheap clay carved in the great sculpture of the next century,
The Poet is the Unfinished book,the chapter of yesterday,the Nobody of today,
and the rememberance of tomorrow.The Poet is the Red Rose Petal book mark.
THE POET IS YOU !!!
This poem is goes to the following talented poets,friends below,who
in this past year used their thought to dedicate a verse for me..
I want to show them my appreciation and care....
They go in alphabetical order,Hope I won't forget anyone.
This poem goes as well to those many,I can't write all the names down
there are a lot,who offered friendship and Inspiration,they Know who they are!thanks!
Dedicated to..Carolyn Devonshire ,Christopher Higgins,H.G Liege, Highlander James
Fraser,James Perenteau,Jared Pickett,Jimmy. Matthew Anderson,John Henry Loving,John
Rhinem,Sir.Joseph Spence,L'Nass Shango,Marty Mowens,Poetry Destroyer,Raul Moreno,
and Ruben Ortellao......
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Dedication
Poem
The Conundrums of a Peaceful Warrior
....figured if a woman cut my hair,
if anyone but me, cut my hair,
superstitious doubts could wedge
into my mind as splinters.
In a child-like stupor,
I was stunned, transfixed
by scissors flashing in the light,
as 27 years of my 3 + 7 = 1,
fell to the floor around me in a circle,
something akin to a wreath of protection.
And did this ceremony purge the warrior?
Naye,
the sacred bow and arrows are in my bones,
my wounded knee is merging with an eternal afterglow.
I cannot destroy the warrior -
thought my armour to be disintegrated by insecurities,
but the armour is etched into my skin.
No longer do I want to be a soldier. There's a difference.
My raised fist is not theirs to have.
I will no longer raise my fist for them.
I. Will. Not. Raise. My. Fist. For. Them -
for their intellectual righteousness,
for their right to fight,
their right to be wrong.
I will not partake in their mental Apocalypse,
the battle of evil over good,
good over evil....
....the source is beyond such frailties,
such impure illusions.
The over-thinking is sucking away simple feelings.
Simple, beautiful, pure, emotional mathematics:
1 + 1 = 1
1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1...........still equals 1.
1 sperm + 1 egg = 1 birth, even if twins are born.
1 twin + 1 twin + brothers and sisters + 1 mother + 1 father = 1 family.
1 tree + 1 tree + millions of more trees = 1 forest.
Don't over-think it -- feel it. Equality.
Once good and evil are melted back down,
joined into two sides of the same golden coin,
there is only One.
All in All. The Sacred Forest.
The beasts feed me, I feed them in return,
lay my weary head upon their fur,
fall asleep to the pounding of an earthy heartbeat,
awaken to the fluttering of wings and song.
And they want me to raise my fist against this!?
And they want me to raise my fist against this!?
I am transmuting into the conundrum of a peaceful warrior,
slaying defilers of the Sacred Forest
with the roots in my blood,
on a board that doesn't have boundaries -
a Kingfisher, a slayer of kings.
When all that's left is to love,
when all that's left is to love,
then Love, I will protect.
July 2nd, 2012
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Dedication
Poem
Money-God
Trust not in the words: "In God We Trust", printed on currency,
for God and Money should be kept separate,
unless one desires to tempt fate with the Money-God,
tempt fate by not over-turning the money-lenders' tables,
although many might argue how this isn't good for business.
Why not know the value of life,
instead of focusing too hard on the prices of Idols.
People are bleating at the prospect of "God" being removed
from money, arguing that if God is removed from money,
the grazing grounds will become Godless.
Godless?
With or without the words,
a Money-God is a God nonetheless.
There is at least one true God,
whether man-made or not;
an authority of control,
a God of profit margins.
Violence is a profit margin.
Hatred is a profit margin.
Bullets, Amendments, and Death, are all profit margins.
The war being waged upon children, is a profit margin.
If I had been given the chance,
I would have tried my best to take him out,
morphed the vapours of my remaining hatred into bullets,
or torn him apart with my hands.
To stop innocents from losing their innocence.
There are lines drawn in minds,
that if crossed over, stretch beyond the bristle-board of rehabilitation.
Even Clockwork Orange bleeds into crimson spatters.
When a child survives a massacre,
runs across his school field to find safety from a stranger,
proclaiming to the stranger, "I can't go back to my school, it isn't safe there.
My teacher was killed, I don't have a teacher anymore.
All of my friends are dead."....
....then innocence has been lost, and the Money-God is empowered even more.
Lost innocence spreads like a disease through the minds of global villagers.
Fear breeds fear, breeds control and disintegration of the Stream-Mind.
If I had been given the chance,
I would have fought fire with fire,
fed the beast within,
taken him apart with a breath of hatred.
Breathed it out, pushed it out, purged it out.
Satan is a scapegoat used by people who are unwilling
to take accountability for their actions and sacred responsibilities.
The Beast is humanity -
not marked by a fairy-tale Devil,
but instead marked by the Money-God created in the image of man;
recreating the image of man through fear.
Some people might be intrigued by how many definitions of God there are.
Even if money is a necessity,
within our core there should reside a different Kingdom -
without and within, within and without.
If I had been given the chance -- past tense....
....if I am given the chance,
I will try my best to take him out,
smudge him out
with the remaining hatred in my heart.
Breathe it out, push it out, purge it out,
until all that's left is to love,
until all that's left is to love.
December 14th, 2012 - S.H.E.S: 28 - 2 = 26
January 7th, 2013
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Dedication
Poem
Obsession (by Calvin Klein)
undeniable as dawn and dusk upon the still horizon
as tulips reincarnate in bright hues on blue grass gardens
so is the scent that lingered in the folds of your leather coat
as it catches wind on someone else’s skin….so wrong….
familiar…just like my breathing….obsession in the air
aching like a thorn in my heart it bleeds a refrain of pain
remembrance should be buried in the earth where you lay
yet it haunts me still and taunts my soul in turmoil (indelible)
like midnight slaw mangled in a bowl of noose and weeping
somewhere you slumber (buried asleep) as my throat chokes
I still miss your laughter when that cologne hit’s a June breeze
if I close my eyes I still see your crooked grin in mid day sun
as tangible as wisps of smoke my fingers reach your smile
I toss the solemn words “I miss you” on the lakeside silence
I will see you again….this I know….and the scent assails
always like footprints dried in concrete….forever with me
*R.I.P my friend…..
Inspired by Sir Brian’s contest “Indelible Impressions”
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Dedication
Poem
Mother and Child
And She said
Yesterday I lived for thoughts and dreams
But today I live in my daughter's happiness
All my goals I left behind to watch her reach her own
All my friends I do not see to stay with her at home
Money might get tight, but what is money
compared to the pure joy of a child
What is money compared to the warmth
I find in her large hazel eyes
Success lies dormant on shelves for years to come
But what is success compared to first giggles
compared to first steps,compared to first mouthfuls
and her little grabs, Compared to gurgles and babbles
compared to the first time she calls me mama
compared to moments she holds on to my hands
What is beauty 'n the world compared to a pearl
this beautiful child,this coloured coral petite pretty girl
And she said
Yesterday I lived for thoughts and dreams
But today I live in my daughter's happiness
I had my days of wine and chocolate eclaires
Roses on the doorstep,unsigned love letters
with spiced scent of cologne and romantic words
Today I live in my daughter's shadow
to watch her live her own thought and dream
I watch her bloom in Autumn gardens
from Princess of hearts becomes queen
Tomorrow i might not be here
and maybe she would never get to see
the white of my hair and wrinkle in my smile
but today she knows I would love her forever
long more after i die
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Dedication
Poem
EDGE WALKER
EDGE WALKER
Waking up to the depth beyond such things everyday
One day I choose to walk and become Queen of Mandalay
In the depth of my ocean mind
I Find my soul diving and trying to unwind
Peer pressure can not handle all the empty space
Avoiding the worlds relativistic mass by the human race
Over using the power giving to me
Sleeping at times disappointed by humanity
I walk in darkness to help you reach the light
I twist the darkness to give you a better sight
Walking at the edge of all things with the ability to precept
Using logic to compare and intercept the emotions we can not accept
With the emotional picture of a fast heart beat
Wiping out the brain waves with a mood in heat
Giving enough flow to the power of intuition
Exceeding the knowledge without the book of Revelation
Receiving the pointless pain in a persons chest
A wreck who ignores the emotions to digest
A mood string of self manipulation eating away at the mass of reality
Some viewers are so unperceptive, a low self esteem of stupidity
A curse a gift with ability to know everything, illusions of feeling it
with an emphasis so useless you can not admit
Trusting one day came with a price, alerting my ego on strong
Using my energy to direct the purpose of the wrong
Walking like a tool threw out the worlds philosophy
A weapon of thought not meant for the mindless or monstrosity
The hidden riddles of life are the ones before your eyes
Grasping the concept with the attention of ending lies in our lives
Proceeding the ethics of the center of ones endless layer
accepting the birth of all responsibility, over the edge of a mind player
I gave the thought with a natural twist of a moving spear
Expanding the horizon of the hemisphere
Edge walkers down and broken standing without
Walking straight forward with the same God and Devil in doubt
Simply looking through "rose colored glasses."
Chaos from the ugliness of avoiding the large body masses
Balancing out the change to allow the flow
follow logical emotions, that destroys a mind blow.
causing the opposite to any action
effect the law of any equal reaction
expect to accept the unexpected, a dull way of life
connect the keeper of the masters weapon knife
with religion comes weakness of not standing tall
with the strong perception of life even one can fall
Standing without the generations of a crawler
living as a shadow he or she who believes the edge walker
by;p.d. ~June/6/10
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Dedication
Poem
Forty Today
Visited you today
as the sun set in the horizon…
the orange tinged carnations
were a perfect complement
for the skies
and for you…
orange and blue
always remind me of you
the winds softly blew
and I just sat there
staring at the grass,
well more at your name really…
hardly believing
what I am looking at,
that it’s been seven years
of missing you,
of just putting that reality
at the back of my mind…
But there are days,
such as today
which make me
confront that reality—
I see your smile,
remember your laughter
celebrate your spirit
and your love
Tears, I tell you I have
the most stubborn tears
maybe because they
make it so real for me?
I look around me
and look for that sign
Nope, not there…
I say a prayer
and speak to you
thankful for the life shared
I kiss the date that you were born
and walk away
my reflection on the car window
misty
One last look around,
and then I see it…
a cat, as we drive away…
Skies now streaked purple and pink
**My brother would have been 40 today, May 6…
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Dedication
Poem
Would You Think Less of Me As A Poet
Would you think less of me if I told you their names…
I sat there for hours looking smashingly sophisticated
drinking expensive caffeinated drinks
My long chestnut eyelashes resting on my Foster Grants
Reading Nobel laureates and others poets blessed with Allen Ginsberg’s waxy seal of
approval
I read for hours ad nauseum
Nothing bled through
It was just god awful…
Their poetry was dead to me
I needed something alive!
There they were- poems of all shapes and sizes
and promises to enrich my gray intellectually
anthologies
&
morphologies
&
6 long centuries of prose
Embossed in gold and promised that they would live on forever
…oh, no!
I would rather ride home naked in the back of a police cruiser
or maybe wedge razor blades under my finger nails
I almost couldn’t take it any more
It was as though the red velvet sofa I was nestled upon was set afire
I wanted to click my heels three times and instantaneously be home reading the
beloved poems
of
my
friends
from
Poetry Soup
Many do not have their names on the spines of books at expensive book stores
or are available to download to a Nook
Rather they are the souls that have moved me
with their everyday poetry
and the friendship
from their quills
I took.
Written by Gwendolen Rix
1-13-12
Written for Carol Brown’s Contest~What I Love Most About Poetry Soup~
*friendship*
This poem is dedicated to Chris Aechtner
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Dedication
Poem
Goodbye, My Child
Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs
Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found
Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling
Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found
To where the ridges merry make
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers
Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found
Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong
Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found
For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found
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