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Regretfully Yours

Submitted by godshouldnthave on Mon, 2012-11-05 00:24

to live
without regret
is but a motto for the
modern man sick with intellect.

a modern prick
who loves this place
and a monetary
momentary
trophy case.
who cares for popular
circular knowledge
before
the wisdom of man’s
past eureka hours,
jewels, and flowers.

oh!
to live without regard
for regret

to live
as if death were possible
at any sharp fork
within the time span
of said
regret.

now this is intellect
in my head

Orange and Yellow Mornings

Submitted by captjack on Sun, 2012-11-04 21:52

Orange and yellow back lit
by the rising sun.
Like you could just reach out
and grab a handful of color.
Taste the maple on your lips.
Hang on while it lasts.
To quick to ground,
replaced by the scarecrows of winter.
Don’t just hurry by. Pause a
bit and enjoy.
Who knows for whom there will be
no more orange and yellow mornings.

October zephyrs

Submitted by judyanne on Sun, 2012-11-04 19:33

October zephyrs briskly blow
to sweep away September's fling
and yesterday's a brief echo -
a tantalising taste of spring

Today the trees cavort, dance, while
October zephyrs briskly blow
and, slyly, ebon clouds beguile
preparing moisture to bestow

in sharp cascades, on all below
prolonging winter's long furlong
October zephyrs briskly blow
and I have heard not one bird's song

Workshop: 
fixed verse – it's not a curse

BULL'S EYE

Submitted by Geremia on Sun, 2012-11-04 19:22

BULL’S EYE

you hit your mark
you knew it well.
you knew my heart.
the poison lingers still.
your words like jackals
on the hunt
found their kill.
they ripped and tore
until nothing more
of me
was for the taking,

The Eve of Melancholy

Submitted by Shamoneness on Sun, 2012-11-04 19:15

The Light, It sprung up from the Earth
Jetting into space, It's remarkable girth
The children hide in their bunks
Looking through the crack
Beams of light slowly rose,
Gently rose from the line
Its beams-its own spectacle, dancing gracefully
Dancing wistfully
On the Eve of Melancholy

WHIFFS OF MEMORY

Submitted by scribbler on Sun, 2012-11-04 18:06

I caught the scent of muscadines
while strolling through a lonely wood,
a mix of tall hardwoods and pines
near where a crumbling chimney stood.

I stopped and breathed that perfume in
brought to me on a warm faint breeze
and I was not surprised when
the rich scent triggered memories.

I closed my eyes let mind wander
through over fifty years of fall
and thus set myself to ponder
about the shortness of it all.

Sleeping Beauties

Submitted by Kailashana2 on Sun, 2012-11-04 17:18

by Kailashana on Sun, 2012-11-04 17:18

A Quatern.. The Dauntless Heart

Submitted by Rula on Sun, 2012-11-04 16:06

It's great to have a dauntless heart,
a one that's filled with lots of hopes,
it always gives your life a start,
when overcomes the crucial slopes.

As life sustains a running peril
It's great to have a dauntless heart
to bravely lash its dangers-feral
that is a pretty real art.

This life is quite the biggest mart,
to trade in good and bad forever.
It's great to have a dauntless heart,
and get the best purchases ever.

Workshop: 
fixed verse – it's not a curse

Family Tradition

Submitted by bossladyone on Sun, 2012-11-04 08:03

After a year of ups and downs

Everyone with each other

It's something they look forward to

Together no matter the weather

 

Children's laughter filling the air

While babies cry over it all

Generations of family

Share traditions that are not small

 

Mother and Father love it so

Wouldn’t  have any other way

As they look at their children

Together on Christmas day

 

Father in his rocking chair

With all his sons, their sons too

Is proud of the men he raised

Remember Me

Submitted by The Rain Sprite on Sun, 2012-11-04 07:02

Remember me like the sun
That rises from the horizon
Like a paint of gold that spills
All over the dark sheet of the night
Like the fleeting clouds
Above a world that is still and unchanging
Remember me like waking from a slumber
Unable to recall a lovely dream
Like once a beautiful house
In time abandoned and forgotten
Remember me like the mist
That bathes the grasses with dew
Like the gust of wind
That blows but never comes back
Like a moving scenery

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