Village Verse

SONG

2008-01-13T17:27:00.001-08:00

A song is lifted.

The windy drama has now passed on,

but sometimes it blows me back

against fences of ancient landscapes

where signposts shatter my footsteps.

The room was dark but now it's light.

Darkness lingers amidst

the harbingers of doom.

Brightness comes from those

who see the light at tunnel's end.

Proverbs praise her in the gates.

Her husband is known in the gates,

when he sits among the elders 31:23,31;

a reference,

ambivalence,

a fence,

automatic rifles,

and free in the drenched alcove

the spotter waits and bides his time.

A harpy streaks across the sky

borne by fierce gale winds.

Soon it will happen.

A door slams back and forth

rattling its hinges.

There's turmoil in the sky,

yet he waits silent as the moon

burning brightly high above,

while somewhere in the shadows

water drips and echos loudly.

Paving stones old as the mountains

hold their breath in deep suspense.

What will surely come

is only known as the unknown,

as it has always been,

but for those in the now

it seems urgently different.

Dreamers will dream a repeating theme

how the day got away

after the fall a resounding call

breaks out from the ground

upon a new born day.

With clatter of bones

the demons arose to challenge all those

who pass their way.

Energies focused

angels' song reverberates

shattering their storm.

_______________________________________________

Ron S. began this poem, picking up a line from Eth's daily posting,

and adding a response. Eth later added a new first line. The poem

then meandered an unpredictable course, to a succinctly fitting end,

provided by Tim O. "SONG" was titled by Ethel, and finalized on

January 14, 2008.

Writers: Ron S., Ethel, Don A., Ross, Angelo, Terry G., Tim O.

It's As Good A Place As Any

2007-11-22T20:36:00.000-08:00

The morning seemed so different
And I just couldn't take it
Hurray

The bright, warm sun forced slits in my eyes
but I failed to notice
Hurray

The only conscious thoughts in my head
were those leading up to
Today

The hour it was endless
In dreams I was befriended
Today

All my troubles seemed so far away
as tomorrow had rushed in from
Yesterday

I'm sure to stumble, just as sure
As today is just tomorrow's
yesterday

The poem looks fascinating
and I haven't even seen it yet
this evening

Now just became Then
and Soon will be when,
this evening

None of this is a problem
If I remember to be here
Now

_________________________________________
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

2007-11-12T20:49:00.001-08:00

"Collectively Speaking, Something Serene"

2007-11-12T13:21:00.000-08:00

Shortened days of Autumn splendor
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

synchronous seasons
stillness deeply woven falls
winter nymphs flutter Fate’s
mystery exhilarates

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

apogee/perigee
molecules quicken
snow dripping rivers
and sleeping things stir

first warm day
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.

4. Image: Ethel Mann

Writers: Don A., Angelo, Terry, Ethel, Tim O.

SNOW

2007-11-11T21:10:00.001-08:00

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

down

downy

down

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.

FACES of TIME

2007-10-23T22:54:00.000-07:00

Like the hands of a clock, the planet is turning,
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

REQUIEM for the FALLEN LEAVES

2007-10-21T23:08:00.000-07:00

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

PILGRIMAGE

2007-10-21T19:39:00.000-07:00

Three pilgrims under a dark moon,
dusty road wayfarers from the Valley of the One Eyed God,
they steal away and turn their backs.

Serenity slips
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,
excruciating. Lonesome
worlds impossible.

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,

knowing why
not knowing where
they go.

___________________________
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

FIREFLIES

2007-10-21T10:56:00.000-07:00

My hair flows in the wind
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.
slowly.
silently.
without fanfare.

to the east, her sister, moon, rises.
slowly.
silently.
without fanfare.

as the blue light takes over the yellow, the stars appear.
slowly.
one by one.
without fanfare.

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

dancing.

supple

fluid

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.

pulsing.

moving.

undulating.

setting the time signatures of our dance

our lives.

and we

we 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.

2007-10-21T10:44:00.000-07:00