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TEMPO

Submitted by Esker on Sat, 2011-01-22 00:53

glide
like wings slipping through the rash
of air
the Love burned that nobody cares

saturate
the darkness spreading
like a dull cry
all glade awake
beneath torrid straights

this love
torn
the card in tatters

I am
debris trails
I am the fragment
tales

I Love you
as the walls come
down
and the wind
is slaking
its need
upon the raw
and harried
soul of my advance

Style / type: 
Free verse
Editing stage: 
Editing - rough draft

Comments

Esker

Sat, 2011-01-22 01:01

Esker's picture

slipping through the mirror

I have held you
and told you
that I love

you

author comment

Nordic cloud

Sat, 2011-01-22 05:31

Nordic cloud's picture

Immediately Steven
you grab my senses,
the rash of air,
wings slipping, gliding,

I am in flight
as yet I know not where
but in flight
so blushed and pink,
so delicate
is beautiful.

Then plunged into the embers
of love's fire
abandoned.

Pitch black night
descends heavy
and, as in the war, the black-outs
cut all the world from view.

Alone on the mountain side
the cry of a bird
in the mist of spray
from a rushing waterfall
sorrow,

emphasising the calmness
of the woodland glade.

Torn, tatters of love
riven clothes,
memories cards afloat.

All love stories of old
their epic robes
of trailing brocades

fragmented
into threads of gold and silver
tossed.

Oh gawd, that love,
that tumbles walls
where the wind howls through gaps,
greedily slaking its thirst,

stirring the carrion crows left overs
as you approach the holy grail
of your senses,
vision.

My love, Ann.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

Esker

Sat, 2011-01-22 16:32

Esker's picture

when this magic happens
we are uplifted
Its been awhile since I sat
with an actual Poetry book
but that I feel will start again
soon

Books are magic
here its electronic
instantaneous
no holding aloft
or peering at a distance
no Cover art dust jacket
bio phrase

modern world
and I ask about and no
one seems to even use
the old manual typewriters
anymore I did for years
the oil the dust the smell
of the inked silk ribbons
and getting that ink on the
fingers threading in the
new ribbons when the old
one is writing only ghost
phrases like visions in the
snowstorm

I like that we spark the fires
to compell works forward
its startling and satisfying
and for this I am grateful
for this Neopoet

Thank You Ann

author comment

Esker

Sat, 2011-01-22 16:35

Esker's picture

Not one is transversed experienced
felt without the great impact
maybe I am not the person that should
even be in relationships
but all of them are marvels of
work the pysche the soul the emotion
the social the tracks of history

thank You

author comment

Esker

Sat, 2011-01-22 08:07

Esker's picture

Been remarked that my writing has changed
I guess it has

deep into the "heart of hearts" of the matter
pain aches and agonies
great rapture moments that catch
delicate like a snowflake in the streetlight
or the sunlight in the morning rising
full and strong

the closer I get to how I feel inside
the joy and pain of that world I tried
to keep distant
the torrent voice of the cataract
rush rises

author comment

Esker

Sat, 2011-01-22 16:38

Esker's picture

always love these at the store
the second hand boutique
all the collateral
dividends and richs
values and worths

how does it feel
to be lost sometimes
how does it feel to be found

Thank You

author comment

Kailashana2

Sat, 2011-01-22 08:54

Steven, your poetry seems to be more *embodied*. It is a good thing to be in touch with your feelings... however, it's as if all good/great poetry originates from that sense of mystery and alienation, as poets we try to come to terms with it through the written word.

I understand you sketch draw or paint. Perhaps you can include them with your poetry. You're long overdue for a book.

~A

Esker

Sat, 2011-01-22 16:46

Esker's picture

presently it was full time running for the girls
I dont know how to say no
got overun and am leaving
overwhelmned and outnumbered

I take or took photos too at one time
my sketchs are awesome pencil
I should post it on my profile pic here
and I do acrylic paintings some are pretty
cool and different

I am an artist I guit being that for years to become
a poet THey say that I am one
but I dont know
I dont know what I am
my Best Freind says Im vunerable now

I can say that It wont be me writing it
Im not doing this for that
im not good enough
and it would change everything

i just write poetry
im not a publisher but thank
you for the great compliment

Esker

author comment

pleiades

Sat, 2011-01-22 18:49

i simply don't know what to say ...

this write has resounded within me

how do you do that?

within this fallow pitch of night,
i rest with you
with your words
singing me to sleep
each note
my heartbeat
each echo
you

your
p

Esker

Sat, 2011-01-22 19:59

Esker's picture

these writes respond the creative flows
I love your poetry
in response
sometimes better then the poetry

Your poetry responds
are great

this is What Neopoet is all about
The Workshop
Impressed with everyones
response to this

Im working hard at responding back
Thank You Pleaides for your
poem here

Esker

author comment

pleiades

Sat, 2011-01-22 20:06

you move and inspire many here e ...

lou

Sun, 2011-01-23 04:29

lou's picture

I have nothing but praise for your poetry

lou

Stand tall, be proud to be who you are, give the world the finger!!!!

Esker

Sun, 2011-01-23 21:34

Esker's picture

bookshops are my favourite haunts
the clerks the smells the sheen of the covers
the art mags the frescos of words and fonts
banners and headlines

nothing like a fresh book
to open

when I was young once a long long time ago
I would read the book shop sales for poetry
always some literature from across the ocean
or the high brow elders
I could only take a few passages before having
to leave the impact then was so great

in high school they exposed us to some radical
thinkers and the teachers would suggest
some reading outside curriculumn guides
this was all early eightes of course

Your writing for me touchs a raw nerve of power that
I miss in expression like a painting once glanced
a style that stays dormant in collective recall until
its passed in front of my eyes again

Thank You Lou

author comment
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