Thursday, November 22, 2007
And I just couldn't take it
The bright, warm sun forced slits in my eyes
but I failed to notice
The only conscious thoughts in my head
were those leading up to
The hour it was endless
In dreams I was befriended
All my troubles seemed so far away
as tomorrow had rushed in from
I'm sure to stumble, just as sure
As today is just tomorrow's
The poem looks fascinating
and I haven't even seen it yet
Now just became Then
and Soon will be when,
None of this is a problem
If I remember to be here
1. Ron S. began poetica on 11/12/'07
2. Adopting an E-phrase, Ron and Angelo carried on. Hurray!
3. Christo's final verse clearly ended the piece on 11/14/'07, at which point Ron S. titled it.
Writers: Ron S., Angelo, Christo, Ethel, Terry
Monday, November 12, 2007
when darkness seems to linger,
Crisp air breathes through hearts
beneath a canopy of azure skies
Gone, the heat of summer's sun
of sultry evening laughter
and in its place, a bracing wind
brings night a crystal clarity
so cold now, a Franklin fire heats
shadows conversing with memories
events collapsing in time, piling fast
against frosted holiday windows
a peaceful quiet beckons
the crunch soon underfoot
as paths of life are traced through
a crystallized maze of whiteness
stillness deeply woven falls
winter nymphs flutter Fate’s
fresh blankets stir youthful hearts
joyous meanderings create memories
many melted away through time passages
as frigid elders fear this jekyll and hyde
the gloom of winter,
silence is deafening,
we await the Spring,
the wheels will turn,
wheels within wheels
their teeth interlocking
the majestic turning
of quantum mechanics
snow dripping rivers
and sleeping things stir
dirty window screen smell
tender sunlit leaves flutter
pillow on the sill, ecstasy
1. Don Aters began the poem with the first two lines on 10/31/07.
2. No guidlines were given, but four line stanzas were sdopted.
3. After unprecidented consideration the poem was titled after Don's own words, and completed on 11/11/'07.
Writers: Don A., Angelo, Terry, Ethel, Tim O.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
And I dreamed there was snow in the mail
while the letters of an indecipherable alphabet
drifted silently from the sky.
Nom de plume? Sky Writer
ghost writer in the sky
phrases snowing by
falling into phonemes
Wind & wings to carry me home,
the grassy knolls await,
Wind & wings to carry me home
And I just can't carry it all.
1. This poem began on 11/3/'07, a first line by Ron S.
2. There were no guidelines
3. The poem's end was suggested by Ron S. on 11/4/'074
4. Photo: Terry Gilmer
Writers: Ron S., Terry, Ethel, Don A.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
yet unlike time, many say it's burning
from the ashes of the past, we carry on,
ghosts of the past, remembered through song
So Planet Earth burns to our songs and our sighs,
as the face of time utters wild passionate cries
Our bright blue ball with its forests and lakes,
yet listening closely we hear how it aches
Balance is the heart of healing and changing
perfection of nature stirs our very souls
Each new season seasons rearranging
Love and peace and rock and roll
Years pass by, tenuous and tethered,
yet we roll along, somewhat tattered and weathered,
Our hearts become one as we cherish the time,
we now strive together, abstain the term "mine",
The wheel still turns, a solace for pain,
a clandestine home, our comfort and gain,
So Planet Earth burned while poets pled
And the face of time spread open to heaven
Our hopes and dreams rising, creation aware
fervently earnest like mantra or prayer,
Our failures and weaknesses, darkness, dispair
all rising up, wafting, like a smoke in the air,
An eye to the future, a mote in our eye,
we stumble and stagger, we soar through the sky,
Above us, a canopy, silver and black
we look out to heaven, the heavens look back
From infinite stillness the orb glistens in
shimmering brilliance, a swirl of iridescence
In persistent variation ephemeral
Nature wakes us from our unbearable trembling
And we in the eye of the storm seduced
linger by the color of some haunting perfume
So I offer my acoustic token and my electric prayer
In a ceremony of rosewood in the cellar downstairs
Eyes of the world shall view the countenance of soon futures passed
While minds wonder how long the music will last
Our thoughts as touch effortlessly flow
enthralled the shallow vessels aspire to the sound
The time we share, sporadic and treasured,
our footsteps, together in history, are how we are measured
As among ancients the immense ocean of life flees
our spirits soar reflecting the creative
Like a clock, a lifetime's visage mirrors the movements within
Be truly alive, lest the stillness of time be your death
Less obvious now, those carefree spirits roaming the earth,
when random acts of kindness were given to song,
we continue to rejoice, to love, to care,
yet we ponder over thoughts of "Where have all the flowers gone?"
Ongoing rhythms born again express grace sincere
sound as sight sooths our seeking senses
We know that we have nothing to fear
Except from the walls of our own defenses
Attacking ourselves like a cancerous cell
We push and we pull between heaven and hell
Instead of a balance we cling to our shields
Organic dysfunction that begs to be healed
confusion divides us, fear brings us down
greed is a toxin that poisons the ground
with health out of balance, hate like a cancer
in search of a center, it's love that's the answer
True love, alike time itself, is endless, but telling
always its ways, like zones, differ
Devotion’s sublime purity cascading
ourselves spontaneously in undiminished laughter
Thousands of yellow Lombardy poplar leaves swirl down,
suddenly released by the wind, cascading to the ground
in piles against blue fall sky. We all gaze up,
blessedly lost in leaf flurries, for now.
While we gaze up in awe we are serenaded
with the sounds of babbling water music
and the ahhs of friends gathered in a circle
that can never be broken, a perfect moment.
overlapping dimensions explode with fractured color textures
evoking the radiant celestial flash of friendships harmony
The mortal tongue fails us all.
The essence of time, the spark Divine
can only be revealed in silence or glossolalia.
1) Terry proposed this poem on the basis of fond memories of getting aquainted with Mac (David MacWessal)in the JSSF 11 Chatroom. Mac had proposed that they become aquainted by trading verse. The poem began with Terry's first stanza on 9/28/07.
2) Short, casual contributions were suggested, no rules.
3) FACES OF TIME concluded after 37 stanzas, when all recognized that Enfield had written the final verse on 10/05/07.
Writers: Terry G., Angelo Don A., Ethel, Ray, Christo, Tim O., Ron S., Enfield
Sunday, October 21, 2007
I was born on my father's birthday
It was the very first clue I had to get away...
Born in October's red/yellow/orange swirl
starsigns in the void, just a young girl
Mother loved to dance my hushed heartbeat embraced
the music of her life runs through my veins
jeweled vibration immersed I have been graced
Memories of joy like arrows find their mark in my heart
The second sign was the music there was no end it didn't start
Sweet reminders that I am who she once was,
now unbroken and bright, innocence renewed imparted
As the man said..."Je t'aime...moi non plus"
Dark was. Resilience, brilliance, ever fresh
the never ending blending turn of shadow, shape and hue
lustrous desire obscured we murmur adieu
1, This poem began with the title only on 10/05/07
2. Verses were added one line at a time
3. Stanza breaks were spontaneous
4. After much discussion, poem 2 closed on a line
from Tim O., on 10/09/07
5. Photo credit: Ethel Mann, "Persimmon", 2006
Writers: Angelo, Ethel, Ron S, Terry G., Tim O., Ray
dusty road wayfarers from the Valley of the One Eyed God,
they steal away and turn their backs.
as prescient charlatans
embrace a new path
Festive days, enamored with merely joy and celebration of life,
turkeys, pies, the trappings of a potential holiday,
a day of giving, a celebration of love.
Three pilgrims fall out
from rank and file foot path
another heart beat
another pulse heard
in murmurs so faintly, at first, like a dreaming
far from the flickering cold static roar.
All dared to flee the Cyclopes
their flight illuminated by unseen moonlight
from the bow and arrow of Artemis.
Clinging fear within nirvana’s journey begins
goddess radiance buoys our undiminished thinly fleshed spirit
as minstrel children wave
Three wounded warriors limping towards hope.
Being humbled by strife, they know full well
any fool can kill, yet few nuture life.
These Vagabonds Three,
they huddle and cling to each other.
Pray that their Hero's Journey be rewarded
The journey is long,
Pilgrims, warriors, vagabonds three,
different and yet dependant on eachother.
Their names are Life, Magic, and Love.
Shunning despair as destiny.
Embracing hope for an unknown future,
their innermost moves them on
Passion outstripping fear.
Dreams and visions informing the uncharted.
The will to human embrace outshining disappointment and disillusion,
not knowing where
1) Enfield presented the first stanza of this poem with proposed guidlelines on 10/09/07
2) PROSE-rhyming not prohibited, but not necessary
3) Contributions in 3 line stanzas
4) Eth and Enfield agreed to close the poem on Angelo's succinct final verse, without further discussion, on 10/12/07
Writers: Enfield, Tim O., Don A., Ethel, Ray, Christo, Terry G., Angelo
Blue fireflies dance
above my heart's darkening meadow
Be not saddened by a sudden change in balmy weather
the rising sun illuminates life's colors
into innumerable fractal fragrances
while the wind skitters, shifts, and races
its many moods and faces revealing
My ears in the quiet solitude listen for the melody only the heart can hear
The rhythm of life
Every leaf that falls from the tree
is a spirit in the wind now free from pain and sorrow
We are as one, seeking not fortune nor fame,
a simple gathering, the joy of little victories,
and our innocent ecstasy with each impasse conquered
The hushed, poetic soliliquoy of being is measured by silent heartbeats,
life's metronome, it's cadence.
Hearing them is more than listening.
So we dance quite untouched
while the establishment burns
supple, fluid, and flowing like the wind, itself, we dance
to the west, the sun slowly drops away.
to the east, her sister, moon, rises.
as the blue light takes over the yellow, the stars appear.
one by one.
their glow beckons us to the sky,
to the north,
to the shimmering green lights of the aurora.
we dance quite untouched
while the stars burn
and the shimmering green curtain of the north moves
and flowing like the wind itself.
we dance with the lights of the north
and its cousin, the wind.
the flickering stars keep time, matching heartbeats and glittering like celestial cymbals.
the shimmering curtain of green light in the north is now the metronome.
setting the time signatures of our dance
the dance of life
the dance of love
the dance of the universe.
the dance of creation itself.
and we ask in wonder
"what comes next?"
1) Kevin R Schmidt began the Village Poem #4 by suggesting "y'all should add one or two lines, let someone else add another few lines and so on ..." He then gave the first line, on 10/13/07.
2) After enjoying 8 stanzas of delicate and thoughtful expression the poem seemed to stop, but none agreed it was finished. Tom Vincent suddenly took hold of the poem, altered the two-line premise, and finished the piece in a sudden flash of true inspiration on 10/18/'07.
Writers: Kevin, Ethel, Don A., Tim O., Ray, Terry G., Ron S., Tom V.