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Twenty West

I see her behind me cloaked in fog
she flaunts her stunning lines
enticing me to return to her
she thinks beauty will hide her sin
I know her and shall not sucumb to he devious smile


Inspired by the view in my mirror on my daily travel on I 20 westbound leaving Atlanta.
 
Psalm In The Wind

Gentle winds blowing
un-written songs trees will sing
falling on deaf ears

Trees sing not to man
but psalms offered up to God
for He will listen


Ken
 
CigarKen":mnxf3rva said:
Second Chance

Sting my flesh O winter air
and show my breath in subtle light
while a lonely train speaks afar
the pines above me weep

With a gentle breeze
comes the scent of rain,
dusty sweet
stirring thoughts of him
a young man whom I have slain

I've no remorse in what I've done
for he could never be the man I am
I live to tell that he is no more
though I once was he who is dead


Ken Graybill
Click to expand...
No need for me to wax poetic (ha!), but this one really stands out, to me. Well done! :cheers:

I'm really enjoying these, keep them coming, gentlemen!
 
I'm game. I used to write all the time. Very recently started to have a go at it again... Came up with this at 5 AM 1/1/13 after being up all night during my household's annual New Years party...



At last! The rain has come.

I have heard the Cold are on the move,
I have watched the Wolf accost the moon

And even in your deepest sleep,
Those filthy dreams (c'est magnifique!),
I can sense you speaking sweetly
To something just beyond your reach--

And every time you lose control,
Your voice is captured (by the Cold)
But I cannot run to save you--
I'm not the one you're calling out to

I have watched the Cold, run off in shame
I have heard the Wolf pack howl your name

At last! The rain has gone.
 
Little haiku in English:


I lit my pipe and
watched a fireworm glow until
it went out again
 
s.ireland":h7nk3laq said:
CigarKen":h7nk3laq said:
Second Chance

Sting my flesh O winter air
and show my breath in subtle light
while a lonely train speaks afar
the pines above me weep

With a gentle breeze
comes the scent of rain,
dusty sweet
stirring thoughts of him
a young man whom I have slain

I've no remorse in what I've done
for he could never be the man I am
I live to tell that he is no more
though I once was he who is dead


Ken Graybill
Click to expand...
No need for me to wax poetic (ha!), but this one really stands out, to me. Well done! :cheers:

I'm really enjoying these, keep them coming, gentlemen!
Click to expand...
Thank you Sir.
That is one of my favorites
 
Hi Shane,

I do like the poem; hope you don't mind the deconstruct:

At last! The rain has come.
$$ Echoed statement -> good structure

I have heard the Cold are on the move,
$$ We understand something is amiss
I have watched the Wolf accost the moon
$$ the wolf traditionally a menace; this aggression? turned toward our most familiar celestial body, but to what purpose? This remains undeveloped and serves more for atmosphere than otherwise.

And even in your deepest sleep,
Those filthy dreams (c'est magnifique!),
$$ Sleep as a haven yet stimulated by sex, which you laud; ambivalence to what end?
I can sense you speaking sweetly
To something just beyond your reach--
$$ "speaking sweetly" cliche as is "just beyond your reach"
$$ still saying that she (lover?) speaks becomingly to that which she can't grasp is a nice idea. Better if you metaphorized the unreachable.

And every time you lose control,
$$ lose control metaphorized. In general much better to show than tell. Rhetoric/figurative language are what makes the poem dance.
Your voice is captured (by the Cold)
$$ to say the a voice is captured by the cold is good; but to say that her voice is snowbound is better. It allows us to see voice marooned in a house surrounded by cold
But I cannot run to save you--
$$ cannot run to save you with legs stiffened by the cold
I'm not the one you're calling out to

I have watched the Cold, run off in shame
I have heard the Wolf pack howl your name

At last! The rain has gone.
$$ mixed metaphor, cold and rain. The line as is is fine except that with two references to the cold it would better serve to act structurally.

Overall I like the poem for its images and unanswered, suggestive questions.

In my mind we venerate Shakespeare not for his plots but for his language. It can be staggering to witness how long he sustains figurative speech. When you grow accustomed to it, you can literally speak in metaphor. You take a thing and work whatever aspect of it that is applicable to the sense of the line in question.
 
The Tallest Tree

A tall standing oak
Appearing in majesty
The appearance of life abundant
But there is a cancer
Deep beneath its mighty boughs
Rotting inside its marble bark

Where it stands
Once there was a field
Flowers drank freely from the ground
But the oak stole all the water
Now all under its shadow is desolate

In all its glory
Its roots where not deep
And when a storm starts rising
Its branches will moan with the wind

What pride can it stand in?
What truth lives amongst its green leaves?
Slave to its growth, but without foundations
Its greed never held nutrition

The tree will fall in the forest
And everyone will be around to hear it
The nations will weep when the east winds prevail
 
This one concerns the refusal of the US archaeological establishment to acknowledge artifacts found by "non-professionals," no matter how significant.

(To the tune of "The Wabash Cannonball")

Back East in Kentucky there's a bunch of stuff been found
By folks that walk around there with their eyes upon the ground
On river banks, construction sites and anywhere it's ploughed
But Archies can't acknowledge these because it's not allowed.

In the ivory tower in the city on the hill
You'd think they'd be receptive there, but boy -- if looks could kill !
Their noses flare, their eyes get big and every voice grows loud :
"We do not publish stuff like that because we're not allowed !"

"Those things were found by Vandals, who loot antiquities.
All you need to know is that they don't have PhDs.
Better that the record should ignore their grubby finds
Than looted stuff from trailer trash contaminate our minds.

"If we had our way we would consign them all to hell
At least that way there couldn't be a different tale to tell.
Scholarly consensus is the summum bonum here
And anything that rocks the boat can simply disappear.

"Like the blades the Folsom folks that lived at Shifting Sands
Left behind for Dick to find and hold in heathen hands
No deflated sites allowed -- there's no stratigraphy !
Nothing's more irrelevant than probability !

"Even though we're well esconced behind the JSTOR wall
Where common avocationals are not allowed at all
We cannot be too careful to preserve our purity
As the moral guardians of archaeology.

"So listen up, you heathen, it's a contest our side 'wins'
(Oh, by the way -- donating them absolves you of your sins !
But even then we will not deign to 'feature' them in print.
Because the act of doing so might give your kind some hint).

"So take your damned Levallois stuff back home with you and weep
Consigned to purgatory where the outer darkness deep
Enfolds them like a burial shroud in deep obscurity
Until the passing years efface their very memory."

:face:
 
Darkened Hour

In a darkened hour I think on times of old
in a drunken haze of them I've been told
I recall not the tales of my friends
in some I should've met my end
In my youth, an adventurous soul
bold and brave without any goal
I spilled a tear not of my own
now i weep for the evil seeds I've sown
In the heart of me I know it was the wine
for the times I've been told are not of mine
on bended knee I prayed my Lord
rested assured I'd not been ignored
to fulfill the prophesy He was born
and took my pain, His flesh was torn
"For you" He said "I do this now"
"your home in Heaven My Father will allow.


Ken Graybill
 
Oh Master of the Admiralty, let your good ships go, head only for the shore now, end this moving to and fro.
Declare your amicable intentions unto the solid ground, and try not to let your heart sink when it’s dry land you have found.
Your freedom taken from you? The end of liberty? How uncharitable the land is when compared to the endless sea.
No white waves here are foaming, with new shores on their minds, nor is the sacred truth believed in, that providence is blind.
A man's sacred dominion, finds root in just one place, what then could I offer you, for that thing you can't replace?
Freedom is illusory, whether water born or founded, and time’s passing ceaselessly, leaves every man dumbfounded. So cast off your medals now and join the common man, those souls who have been suffering, since time's cruel reign began. You showed us by example just what a man may be, but you fooled even yourself, in believing you were free.
 
Life is so strange
Nothing stays the same
Everything change
But who to blame

Life is like a game
Where you have to lose
Before you can gain
To win you have to face the fearful rain

In Life.. They always say
Don't use your heart
Only use your brain
 
And on a lighter note...

There is a pit in every man of avarice and greed
And many a man has fell therein because of shallow need

Good righteous gentle honest men have in this pitfall fell
and out of it each one has made his own tormented hell

It had a different name but I have renamed it to Washington
 
I really love all of these! You're such a talented lot!

I don't share much in the way of poetry, but here's a go:

Earl Grey
your tea grew cold
before final words were uttered
muttered
mumbled

so many chances to indulge
slipped unnoticed
silent in the spaces between vowels

but gazes fixated
on anything separate
disjointed
apart

i could not look at you
 
Lots of nice work here.  Here's one of mine...

Old Things

Old amber whisky from a bottle green.
Hand rubbed old briar reflects an old lamp’s sheen,
and soft old leather – a familiar chair.
Oft-read old books piled on the table there,
as old wood pops and cracks behind the screen.

Upon an old rug an old dog is seen
to lay his tired old head between
well-worn old slippers, waiting there for me
to put them on.

In this old room, old pictures in the gleam
of dancing flames can come to life: Old scenes
and old friends, who gather here to share
old hunts, old ghosts, old places traveled; where
old memories are waiting there for me
to put them on.
 
broke down again. holding strong to support weak walls.
bones are whittled. dull knife. cold blade.
found what I needed. forgot. remembered. what I wanted.
dreams are called such for those not willing. but to blur the line at this time would be tragic.
heart pumps. consistent with living. heart pumps, now dull to feelings.
your touch. decays the atoms. finger tips close. dangling around the axis
I don't know if I can hold on, keeping you close.
afraid of what will be revealed. I don't wish to push.
 
I'll play. Comments requested

Standing in the wind

Standing in the wind,
Listening to the voices
It brings.
Rain, cold, dripping
From my hat.

Standing in the wind,
Pipe drawing well
Your voice I hear
Bring you closer.

Standing in the wind,
Listening to the echoes,
Of the past.
Mind dancing with you.

Standing in the wind,
Smelling the sea breeze
That’s not there
Mind talking with you.

Standing in the wind,
Pipe smoke
Wind shredded
You voice I hear,
Warming my soul

Standing in the wind,
Rain, cold, down
My neck,
Wakes me from my reverie.

Standing in the wind,
Rain, cold, dripping
From my hat.
Another day ends.
 
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