The stream (all workshops)
1. Like Solitary Creatures Weeping
I am drenched with melancholy by the summer rain
when the sky opens up and moves the
furniture of my mind around with an easy grace.
The scent of heaven
conjures up a frayed and torn duffel bag of words,
I resist the temptation to write another poem, but I am
not forlorn.
By the river that empties into the sea,
I leave three words
for you in the sand.
The tide will wash them away, but not
before we break into waves
and crash against the dark grey sky.
2. For Him
Gem cutter
wheel flesh
the drip lash vortex taste
a thunder cry
the waste
harrow flash
the thick laced
pass
net soul catch reach
of burnt rimmed skys
far damp with
tourniquet and lust
staunch stop
deliver
your arrows
bearing found
Becoming heart
a quiver
I went to the store today
and ran into an older fellow
he said hi and I said hey
his voice was low and very mellow
As I held the door open
our eyes met for the shortest time
then slid off, as do most men
( as if connecting were a crime)
He shuffled off, I went on by
in a rush as seems my way
to buy some chicken I could fry
( you know, his eyes were almost gray)
ALL THE KING’S HORSES
whirling dervish in a spin
far from the world I live in.
a sudden fall.
sparkling mirrors
of Murano
all
in refraction
a thousand broken
pieces I see
of me.
Theatre Macabre
lower the house lights
in the broken-down theater
of a thousand tortured nights
hush the sequined crowd
of ragged clowns
and aged ringleaders
bring a soft spot
to center stage
awaken the sots
while the curtains descend
composing a backdrop
of claret crushed velvet
hear a pin drop
as I strike my pose
extending toes on one foot I hop
beginning the dance
We left because of the violence.
I thought he would kill you or me.
But a child's memory’s a selective thing.
You forgot the beatings because he’s your dad
and you love him.
You lie there sobbing so softly
my heart shatters for you.
You miss him so much, you just want a father
to fish with, play ball with, show off to your friends
you forget yours didn't bother.
Mary Joe was this couples’ first baby
After eighteen years of trying
Mary Joe was a blessing
Mary Joe was a lesson
Little Mary was beauty; with our eyes we beheld it.
That Sunday morning
Before the altar
It was Mary we were dedicating
I remember the preacher saying,
“This baby is a sign that Gods covenant with us is not broken”
Before the altar
We came out dancing
With hearts full of thanksgiving
In the offering basket we dropped our token
For we know, with Marys’ testimony, we can now keep on believing
A rhyming place for all to see
Especially made for you and me
To see if we can write in rhyme
I hope my entry is in time
This is a workshop you all know
Run by Stan the so and so
But give your best so we can see
What's rhyme to do with poetry
Just a thought, Yours Ian.T
A vein of burgundy
ebb
the dark pale blue
edge
An ache tingles
spines
and needles
fast beyond the dream
of a memory hedge
borrowed from the
rain drip ledge
divulged ecstatic
emissaries
as voilet
as Autumn
tufts of
forbidden
scars
where love
has lain
I have opened my heart wide,
like a blanket being opened above a bed.
The constant kick in synch
with the music of your words,
So soft spilling like honey in the air.
A whisper...
A floating feather,
A single cotton petal sifting sorrow
with powder and bread.
Inner beauty...
Inner beauty...
Forgive me and forget it.
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