The stream (all workshops)
treponema
pallidum
the hard bargain of love's road
beneath the savage velvet of the moon
the candle gutter gloom
we picked our pockets of silver
and toxin
licked our lips with sated
maxims
the careless boost
our hearts loosed
we spun like sparks
beneath the stars
we lived like boars
made love like Czars
the fires quenched
the days roamed past
the palsy trembles do
hold me fast
Now (Rhyming Patterns workshop revision 1 Ron BlueDemon77)
A Rhyme pattern workshop it is indeed
to help us to germinate a small seed
to guage precision when limits are set
it can help this poem, many more yet!
A classroom, a guideline for each of us
meant as a forum where we can discuss
form poems that teach us disciplined craft
free style is still there the classicist laughed
I felt its presence but it held its sway
I was alone without my feelings today
A lifeless mass not thinking straight
A squatting beggar with an empty plate
How did this thing devour me so
When friends had told me to let it go
They can rot in hell, thought came through
Now who to blame not me, it must be you
Turn back the clock and stare at me then
A complete person, writing I would pen
Love stories and sonnets so clear
Look at me now my mind so bare.
Littleton’s son, Littleton’s son
His father loved to beat him
The poor kid was a bastard-child
Born of just a whim
Pokers of fire, glowing red
Were instruments of torture
Burning flesh and salty tears
On one so immature
Red Beard, Red Beard is so feared
No one knows he’s haunted
His daylight hours are dreadful
His nightmares keep him taunted
Stained cloak of dun, clutched closer still
Backyard grave is guarded well
Littleton’s son is buried there
In his father’s private Hell
Looking back at the day we met
From where I’m sitting sulking now
I regret what made me ask you out
I made jokes with cordiality
You spoke eagerly and giggled
Your voice sounded like an angel
Your smile stole my tactless presence
Reaching home, I told my people
They stared with concealed cautious look
Thinking I was pulling their legs
We moved in as one ever since
You say you love me, state again
The things you do, query your claim
Hot tears run down my face freely
what ever you may say
I shall entice you one day
the charm of a woman
none can resist
no matter how much
one does persist.
I will entice you one day,
if it is not today,
at least
some other day
with all the experience
behind my years
I know by now
what only a girl can do
without any fear,
no matter what her intentions be
her lover that can never see…
how I’ll entice
you’ll never know,
for every guy has a price….
Littleton by RW
Littleton's fun was to torture his son
The hearth fire roared but of heat there was none
space where old angers restore, cold, unwon
paths worn ancient scorn, past hurts redone
old man clutched his cloak of stained and worn dun
sweat poured small rivers, he could not outrun
grave in back yard guarded by Littleton
if death is pain's surcease he's just begun
one exploded expansively
into silent splinters
sending prismatic whole fragments
of holographic completeness
through the perfection of
the Pillars of Knowledge
spiralling
tumbling
falling
into the manifest of
the Mirror of Forgetfulness
for-as-much we desired
to look ourself in the face
so deed answered thought
and since it is impossible
to view the whole at the one moment
every heart holds a separate world
.
powder burns
the star pole turns
and winds urge loose the staples
we have buried all the alms
and urns beneath the rouge
red haze of maples
Starry aged your hiss of cause
spreads in its river red
I'd fallen through the "I" of eyes
to wander worlds within your head
prose patent scenes upon a bed
dead worlds where the dust star
fled
Kisses tarry balm of leave
the rain is jumping from the eaves
the print of haste upon your sleeve
In the summer of an evening
where the days seem longer bright,
and the evening cannot cool the heat of day;
the silky shadows dance among us
in the playground of the night,
through the twilight haze they seem to jump, and sway.
In the autumn of an evening
when the dusk is but a dot,
yet still the day is eaten by it's appetite;
half the shadows are running from
what the other one's just sought,
as night causes the shadows to vanish from our sight.
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