Poetry and Poetic Thoughts

Also, in a shameless display of self-promotion, one of my poems was recently published!


Yeah, thought you were a bit quiet…

Apparently, if you post more than 3 times in a row, you can’t post again until someone else does.

So I’ve been sitting here patiently waiting for someone to rub the magic lamp. :laughing:

I guess it would be per thread then, since I did see you elsewhere 'round here.

Yeah, exactly. :slightly_smiling_face:

Thought #1:

I’m like a cat with a thousand lives, made to be broken again and again and again, each time becoming anew.

So burn me alive! I’ll only thrive!

For I was born to die.

Thought #2:

I’m like a golden arrow piercing through the heart of the blazing sun, flying - Ruthlessly! Recklessly! As I burn in flames - laughing, as the day falls.

Thought #3:

Some men, I want to destroy.
Some men, I want to love.
Most men, I want to do both.

Thought #4:

We haven’t even begun to speak.
Our minds are copulating.
Think I’ve seen you before.

A heavenly meeting of the minds -
So ecstatic,
To see your soul bare
And you seeing mine.

You never spoke to me again.
Pushed me aside for your -
Tissue mechanics and intra-vital microscopy,
Kept your head down
As I stood, lovely,
Before the Spanish seaside.

Thought #5:

As I child, I loved flipping through images of the human body, bones and flesh all bare. Now I rip up flesh for a living, one of my favorite pastimes, so therapeutic and calming!

And soon, I’ll rip up yours - I’ll figure out your anatomy in no time.

Better not to catch my eye! I’m the Master Surgeon. I’ve turned my insides out more than once.

You and I are nothing but a grand experiment to play with.


I don’t know what I’ll do today.
And so I’ll wait.
And watch the workers on their way
To summon forth another day.
But if I had a word to state,
Inside my heart a little fire,
Then I wouldn’t sit here and wait.
I’d feel a desire
To make something great.

I think
I thought of a thought
that thinks about thinking
a thought about thinking.

Memory diverts my morning breath,
Only a sense of sadness left.
The ocean drained by the light of day,
The fish of dreams have gone away.

You’re back again, that wayward scent,
Misappropriated wonderment.
It’s been a year since I’ve felt this way,
No longer do these feelings sway.

Let me dream of shivers yet to come!
And not sad moments never won.
Disperse! Away, you ghostly heart,
Before you bring this lonesome start.

The sun will tend to happiness,
Please fade away — be less and less.
Please let me lose this memory:
The phantom past when you loved me.


The city stretches languorously in the sun,
Her metal fingers gently trace the sky.
Her frigid shadows fall on everyone.

The citizen-cells, down the streets they fly
From each task to the next, no time to feel.
If anyone should falter, should they sigh—

The city shoulders on, the people wheel.
And the trees and flowers don’t ask why,
Living among the pavement and the steel.

Their leaves and petals on the asphalt die.
Cacophony clambers in cries of zeal,
Shadowed by buildings that cannot cry.

The living things, along the wires run,
And everything is everywhere and one.

Another of my recent poems was just published in a little online magazine:

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Concise… I read it thrice… each time more dire. I feel luckiest here where you lay them before us like sweetmeat surprises, but congratulations on the publication as well!

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Thanks! I will definitely still post them here as well. :slightly_smiling_face:
I have a question for you, @TinyYellowTree. Do you read poetry often?

No, not really, mostly only where it finds me. I like it in children’s books. I enjoy it in books when it heads a chapter… etc. I liked it in school though I think they were quite weak in it and I did not therefore understand the importance of it. Though as I grew I realized that the best songs were poetry put to music and that, I would say, is where I get the most of mine.
I used to be in a writing forum, and we played a game, I don’t remember what it was called, but the poem was made of syllables, two, four, six, eight, two if I remember correctly… where you had to use the last line from the previous player for your first line. Loved that game. Became a tad frustrated when people would not follow the rules though. J hang up.
I read poetry at the site also, but did not dwell in that section… I think due to some pretentious poetry going on at the time by an ego heavy user who vanquished one of my favorite threads.
However no worries, as I find your’s the opposite of pretentious.
And I try sometimes [morning pages] but I use no poetic rules [contrary to above frustration]. Mostly because I know but one.

Thanks for your reply! I’m curious how (and even if) people engage with poetry these days. I read a fair bit of poetry but none of it is contemporary … so I’m really at a loss there.

I agree with your sentiment about pretentious poetry. It does feel like that’s what a lot of it is these days. Pretentious and vague! It’s possible I just don’t “get it” but I also suspect the emperor has no clothes.

Do you like children’s books? I know you have a few kids, but I thought they were a bit older? My wife adores children’s books (she’s a schoolteacher) so we have a fair few around our place haha!

I love artistic children’s books with beautiful illustrations and good stories, some using poetic prose or poetry, like I said. My kids are older but now I have a granddaughter and I saved all the favorites and those with sentimental value. I am sentimental in certain regards. Plus I am an avid book reader myself and have some YA plus loads of adult books. We never have enough shelves and I am ever looking on CL for more. Always wanted a library in my house, and I pretty much have the beginnings of one except they are all over in several rooms.
One of my favorites kids books ever is ‘Frederick’, about a mouse who is a poet. Also love ‘Everyone knows what a dragon looks like’. Well and so many more, I probably have at least 75, just a guess, now I wanna go count. Some are board books, some more specifically ‘educational’ but most are just lovely stories and art. And I like illustrations in many forms, art in many forms.
I guess I’d say one way to get poetry out to many would be to make a book of it, and I suggest not only doing illustration yourself or collaborating, but also to think about what you already do that could be for children. Rather than trying to write ‘for children’, write for you and allow the realization that some is all ages. I really don’t like things dumbed down for little people, they are smart and okay and grow with poetic imagery when that is what we share with them. My daughter read ‘Zorgamazoo’ [sp?] seven times on her own in grade school. It was brought to her attention once and she could not get enough of it.
Have you ever made a story line by poetic line? If your wife likes children’s books, I doubt what I am saying is new, but maybe an encouragement? Or of course there are comic books that have gone beyond super hero to all sorts of illustrated stories.
What else do you write? I’m sorry if you’ve said, my memory is insufficient.

Yes, same with us!


That reminds me of a children’s graphic novel called “Musnet” about a mouse who paints and lives in Monet’s garden. The writer lives close by and I’ve hung out with him a few times. He went to France for months to make the book, very interesting guy.

Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. I agree with you completely about how children can understand a lot more than most people give them credit. One of my favorite poetry books and a huge inspiration for my own writing is Robert Frost’s “You Come Too” which he compiled as a selection of his work suitable for readers of all ages.

These days are as short as September nights,
When the warm air mixes with the cold.
And you, my future, just out of sight,
Fade, like the seasons, withered and old.

I feel like the trees waiting to change,
Guided by Mercury or dying light –
The shadows, the leaves, my fingers all arrange
For the sun to enjoy its last delight.

In that moment, when it seems to Fall –
I remember, in failure, a little bliss,
A moment in the storm when I felt small,
And the tremulous terror of that kiss.

Winter will summon – when summer has paled –
Something that shimmers when the light has failed.

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There was a baring of teeth –
a wolf’s head in the twilight…
And out rose the clutches of night
where the stars could find each other,
solid… stained with purity –
millions of galaxies away where
Death could leave no mark.

The scribblings in the sky tell tales
of longing – a longing lost but
waiting feverishly to be found.
And I notice this with distant eyes:
eyes like dust-covered diamonds.

A search reveals the secrets –
secrets which won’t be hidden
in the clarity of dreams.

plato god.