About CS Poems (263)

Once,
trying to find riches to stash it,
I entered a palace of mystique and magic,
With tassels on the ramparts,
flowering plants ridiculous,
Coniferous and deciduous,
foliaceous and oderiferous,
Surely inside was something
Expensive and proliferous,
I entered into the megalith,
Looking for that which
would make me rich...,
Deep ditches used to irrigate,
I swam my way in,
It was very late...,
Effective at being unobtrusive,
Their primitive security system
was useless,
I heard a music soft and low,
Telling me exactly where to go,
A harmonium I had to follow,
There you were,
Not diamond or pearl,
Golden coins or precious jewels,
but to me the most beautiful girl,
The greatest treasure in the entire world.

Whether Cypress, Istanbul, or Virginia
New Zealand, Pennsylvania, or Ontario
Connecticut, England, Texas, or Boston
trains, boats, planes, and roads do go.

Naively, thought I, when first here
poets would meet from near and far
in some gathering place, with cheer
get to know who the others are.

Though NE garden and bee
looked for time to meet, in vain,
poet guy with good verse and soul
began friendship that does remain.

In Turkey, another did I meet
walked down Kusadasi streets
together shared talk, olives, tea
and, thus, created fond memory.

Paths to cross yet again at
Temple of Apollo, to our surprise
too late realizing a day we could
have shared with tourist eyes.

A caregiver to canines, nine
also became a friend of mine
and, though separated by sea
has come to mean a lot, o'r time.

A union blossomed for all to see
photos of happiness sent to me.
With hearts both pure and true
love is blessedly shared with two.

Enigmatical are the lines that bind
another poetic soul’s words to me.
Regret remains, have not traveled there
or live close enough to neighbors be.

Promises to come to Fenway, does
Red-Sox-game-attendee wannabe
first one season, then the next.
Guess, just have to wait and see.

Another who lives across the sea
with daughter here within the States
has talked of coming to Boston. Sure
would like to meet this poetic mate.

When traveling down to Florida last year
plan to meet another poet fell through.
Going down again real soon, happy
thoughts, back and forth, wave blue.

When California wind crosses sky
from sea to shining sea, under star
hope to meet what Santa Ana winds
have kept away from here, thus far.

Though not as naïve as when first started
still attempt I to rhyme a meeting place
and poetry connections with pen to make
preparing, someday, to meet face-to-face.

Friends, when coming near Boston
or New England, traveling through
reach out a poetic hand and
share a cup of tea – or two.

I have battled many legions of armored men
With a machine gun my life and our land I'll defend
A stranger in foreign lands I've laid monuments to waste
And for my repentance I kneel and ask God for His grace...
Now with a spiral pad of paper I make my ammends
To the haunting image of their faces trapped in my head
And for me this battle rages on long after their deaths
But this time my lethal weapon is my mind and my pen
As It has the power to encourage and to bring joy
To share love, to express pain, or even destroy
It can find my inspiration in the slightest movement of wind
As I hear my heart cry out for salvation the bleeding begins
With just a single word or feeling buried deep inside
The speed of thought drives my pen faster than any speeing light
Analogies are just words that I can use to make my escape
Changing the topography of any Heaven or Hell that I may create
With a single rip I throw another piece of me away
Decomposing underneath the cities collection of waste
Because with this notebook of mine I easily turn the page
And with my little black pen I can rewrite a new day
Words truly have the power to illuminate and transcend
Filling the silencing voids of empty canvas with my mighty pen

*JJF*
4/22/ 2013

From,. . .
Jesse,Jimee,Jyonah,Cameal,DarkHorse,Shadow,Elo,Cafe and Macduff . . . .hey guys
we have done something which have not been done before. . . a continuous flow of poetry. . . I say take a bow EVERYONE. . . it flows like a double trilogy. . .
All was humorous, entertaining and a big blast!

maybe we might have started a trend. . .
I can honestly tell you that this is also a FIRST in poets corner
in fact a FIRST in any poetry site. . . .

Well done guys.

The most beautiful of winged horses,
whose name means champion, Pegasus
and rode upon by a half men half god
to claim his passage of rite to hero.

The ugliest and ten mightiest winged creatures,
of the forgotten lore of Greek mythology,
three bodied and four winged giant
and grandson of the beheaded Medusa!
his name is forever written as Geryon
the one defeated and slain by Hercules

I met a woman named Mary on the side of the road
She has all of her bags packed but no place to go
She pushes two shopping carts full of everything she owns
And whatever ground welcomes her for the night is her home
I asked her if she minded keeping me company for awhile
And in return I would buy her something to eat for a smile
We talked about her children then we talked about mine
She told me how they no longer cared and Mary began to cry
I could hear in her voice a need for someones compassion
Then surprisingly she made a joke and we both started laughing
I wondered when was the last time she felt anyones love
How long has it been since she felt another humans touch
Written off by society as a low piece of trash
But Mary has faith that this soon will pass
I took her by the hand and together we prayed
That's when I heard Mary say "God thank you for today"

The maiden of Magadan

The wind rustles in the leaves,
crisp air whispers through the trees carrying
your name to me in delicate spider web dreams.
She becomes the blue sky peeking between angry grey clouds,
a taste of hope in an otherwise cold and bitter day.
Just a moment of her, a glimpse just at the edge of my vision;
there and then gone, so fragile,
she is like the powder on butterfly wings.
I know she is there and yet I am blinded by reality,
a lovely silken shroud.
Yet she becomes just a face in the crowd.
And suddenly, I am back in the forest,
Frantically turning in slow circles searching for a phantom.
And all that remains is a wisp of her perfume and my insanity
Within a cold Siberian forest.

We’re different in the way we speak English.
Differences in accent and attitude...
Yet you know me from somewhere before as time releases its grip on us.…
Everywhere I look I find you, even in a flower petal, washing itself down the gutter on a
swanky address down Fifth Avenue.
Take me as I am; within your arms.
If I had but one ambition in life It would be watching you sleep.…
There doesn’t seem to be just that moment between us but a series of literary commentary
at a silent auction filled with open wallets
[And closed minds]
In a bid to be seen giving to charities
Yet you pass me at the party and I feel the winter’s retreat in your stare.
You struggle to (dis) remember me yet,
I know I am in your blood,
don’t listen to them, [I whisper]
Just be yourself No matter what they think…
Walk with me and tell me you Love me.
I adore you, the way you act speechless when I board that flight. Only to come back to you
meeting you at a Spanish café on a sidewalk covered with sudden snow;
we’re different in the way we speak English
In that gorgeous language all our own.

She is thin and under six feet
Part of the minority of contractor women
On a base full of males
I imagine her catching sight of her body
In a full-length mirror in her dusty, little room
Appraising her nakedness
Under a brutal Afghan sun
within a hard, surgical introspection
The long legs
The vein that pulsates at the very edge of her hipbone
She is reminded of the lean years in Sarajevo
By the shadow of her ribs
When hunger was a constant companion
And the incoming shells, insistent and unwelcome guests
she stares at the years as they show on her hands
The bones roll beneath taut skin as she flexes her fingers
As if they are claws
She imagnes scratching a man's face
Watching in fascination as the blood wells from the wounds
And then this thought
Slithers away like a frightened reptile
Her eyes stare back at her, doe-like, deep brown under long lashes
No make up needed
Her hair, so short, so EUROPEAN
Radiating from chestnut roots out to spiky, lemonade ends
A slightly protruding belly
A protective rubbing with her cat-like hands
Wishing a child resided there, a barren desert
And like a muddy pool of water
The thought evaporates, and conspires to bring her back to her room
She dresses slowly, mechanically, within a massive melancholy
She exits the room
Walking to work past the small group of women huddled together
Speaking in whispers and malicious gossip
And she pretends not to notice
Their barely disguised hostility

I await the great judgement day,
The glorious ascension of heaven,
A scary righteous Armageddon ,
Quakes shaking the ground,
Fire pouring down from the clouds,
Taking all the wicked ones out,
The Lord returning in anger and fury ,
Volcanoes spewing Brimstone and ruin,
An ordered chaos holocaust,
I believe humanity is lost,
More so now than it ever was,
What can anyone do to be saved?,
Get down on your knees and pray ,
The end may come at any day,
We've only got ourselves to blame...