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the blue crane

Submitted by CCfire on Sat, 2011-03-26 16:40

there are times i wish
you weren't so literal.
when you didn't
become the coroner,
the forensic doctor
and slice into your flesh
and dig around for it

for the words, the poems,
the entrails of phrases
and make them seem
such a hopeless lot.
the type you would
sign off deaths,
with a definitive
'yeah this one
was never saveable'

DON'T TOUCH THE MONKEY

Submitted by Bonitaj on Sat, 2011-03-26 16:35

in for reparation

For Magic Mona "Daddy"

Submitted by Nordic cloud on Sat, 2011-03-26 11:09

With love to Magic Mona.
26th March 2011.

DADDY

Daddy are you there
I crave your smile,
for you have followed me
for many a mile,
and I fear for you.

Will you make that step
into the forever darkness
we expect,
I don't feel you'll end up in the dark,
instead,

your head held high you'll reach into the blue
blue sky,
and there become a star for me,
the one that leads me to your side
one day.

rouge tide

Submitted by Esker on Sat, 2011-03-26 10:48

awash
crescent held stall
another faucet bead
before the fall

the damp sink basin
the echo mouth
waiting

this gleam like oil
on old tile
on old flooring

the television whispers
its chorus
and the pen shines
its barrel smooth
no words

and the telephone
says nothing

A Type of Poem of Self-Importance

Submitted by docmaverick on Sat, 2011-03-26 06:49

I've noticed that there are quite a few
of these types of things....everywhere,
and from what I've seen, this much is true
they're not serious enough, that I should, care;

Of course, I'd never just, "up, and say"
that every day's a walk in the park,
but....assumptions, and expectations, on each day
can litterally turn a reality....."stark"!

Love and Lust On The Face Of a Man

Submitted by Barbara Writes on Fri, 2011-03-25 23:08

Love and Lust On The Face Of a Man

Love is the look on a Fathers face
When he is seeing his first child
Wrapped in a swaddling blanket
In the loving arms of an caring nurse

Love is the look on a Mothers face
When she hears her child’s first cries
Still attached to her umbilical cord pink and wrinkly
In the gentle hands of a kind doctor

Lust is the look on the face of a man
That sees his neighbor’s wife sun bathing
In the front yard of their country home
On a hot spring day at noontime

FIRST DAY OF SPRING (in 3 forms)

Submitted by scribbler on Fri, 2011-03-25 20:30

...............Haiku series

Early this morning
all the trees were gray and bare
now pale green explodes

Dogwoods bursting white
wisteria lavender
yellow bells fading

Birds serenading
from goose honks to mocking birds
preparing their nests

Lawn looking ragged
winter fields hoisting green heads
soon all to be cut

All flat surfaces
now taking on a green tint
as pollen thickens

Signs of early spring
suddenly are all around
as the weather warms

.............Western Classic

Cry With You

Submitted by Apostolos "Paul... on Fri, 2011-03-25 17:32

Sir, is this seat taken
If not may I sit next to you
Before you pass judgment
Save a man left hopeless

No, pity is not what I seek
Not even a couple dollars for bus fare
If you can listen to me for a while
That would put my weary heart at ease

Here I am pouring sorrows to strangers
Sir, I hope you can see past that for a while
Deserted in a ghost town for days
Walking for hours looking for a person to talk to
All I found was silence and she does all the talking

affliction

Submitted by Esker on Fri, 2011-03-25 15:25

sauve translation
the neon tube fire
burning like an oracle

this affection
I watch transfixed
your slender cold hands
upon my chest
your breath through
my dress shirt

how many lives
have I lived
you once asked

how many tommorows
have you seen
and you smiled

"I have seen them all"

"PAST LOVES"

Submitted by Nordic cloud on Fri, 2011-03-25 15:02

"PAST LOVES"
Margaret Ann Waddicor 25th March 2011.

I loved him, 
I still love him,
he's dead now.

I loved him too, 
I still love him too,
he's dead now too.

I loved her,
I still love her, 
she's dead now.

Their presence comes 
and goes by, 
the warmth of feelings rise 
and give caresses in the day.

In the night, 
one senses they are there,
alive,
their souls 
or air
that holds sweet memories,

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