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Poem: The Velvet Road

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posted on Aug, 15 2013 @ 09:20 PM
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The dove grey velvet road unfolds beneath me
Under the black sky heavy with sea breezes laden
With flies and pestilence from over the waves.

The grey green shallows of the black Pacific
Beckon me in vain, to wade into the gloom.
I cannot resist the tidal pull of your room.

You had so many avenues and secret enclaves
I longed to pursue, to pour the breezes of my breath
Into you, to find your interlocking mind.

The black sky rushes down as if to crush
The scattered palms, who don't know what to do.
The departing stars above are too busy for love.

And you, what of you? And what of me?
And what of seaweed swaying in the sea?
What of spools of nodules in tide pools?

The bother of biology and mythology?
Never, ever meant for each other, unless
For a future, as a necklace of shark's eggs.

I can't stand it, I never could, but would
Endure, a meagre vestige of the original
I was, an insect splashed upon a windscreen.

A cockroach crawling out of its own skin
In vain, to step again into the same stuff
Of which the world has more than enough.

You despised my grovelling delight in
Every line of an old form the sight of which
Was too familiar. My vision was your derision.

There is dust along the road and concrete
Cracked, where grasses have taken hold and
Insect eggs discrete, load slender stems.

I long for you still, like a shrill, insistant wind
Over Fundy, throwing the Atlantic on the rocks.
And wonder if your mirror mirrors my horror.

edit on 15-8-2013 by ipsedixit because: (no reason given)




posted on Aug, 15 2013 @ 09:57 PM
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reply to post by ipsedixit
 


glad to see a new poetry thread!! May I offer up a short one?



Kerouac used to say
"I am moved by strange whistles
and wear a hat
but the urban order
despises the stragglers and the lame."

Still I contrive to love
though burdened by alcohol
and heavy food

My vision of the desert
the broken glass
the chamisa
bicycle wheels and
rusted signs still point
to the peyote dream.

edit on 15-8-2013 by olaru12 because: (no reason given)



posted on Aug, 15 2013 @ 10:07 PM
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That's nice. I like it. The Kerouac quote is great and the rest of the poem lives up to it. Congratulations. I don't write much poetry but I have another nice one on a hard drive somewhere that I might throw into the thread.



posted on Aug, 16 2013 @ 10:23 AM
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Here's another one.

In a Gallery at the ROM

Robe of chinese silk,
The wind of delight
Blows butterflies and leaves
Across your golden sky.

Dream trumpets
Embroider the air
Within your glazed pavilion.

What glowing welcome
Did you wear with smiling dignity?

What precious wisdom
Lighted among your fibres
Like a dragonfly in the sedge?

These are the last days of wisdom.

Immortal dragons retreat
Behind cloudy mountains.

Dead dragonflies litter the trail.

Bewildered by secret intimations,
We dart, we pause, we wait
To join the jumbled swarm
Of the astonished dead.
edit on 16-8-2013 by ipsedixit because: (no reason given)



posted on Aug, 17 2013 @ 01:37 PM
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reply to post by ipsedixit
 


The first one was really good and I'm glad you shared ...

And your second one...well that one was a
too. Very nice work. Poetry brings forth your emotion within and I like writing it and reading

Peace and love
-nat



posted on Aug, 17 2013 @ 04:50 PM
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reply to post by natalia
 
Thank you very much.

If you fee like it drop one of your own poems into the thread. I'm going to do more if I come up with anything I think is worth sharing.



posted on Aug, 17 2013 @ 05:35 PM
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reply to post by ipsedixit
 


I really like your style of writing. I meant to say that earlier and forgot. I share my poetry on here. Just visit my profile and you can see the threads I've done
only if ya like that is.



posted on Aug, 20 2013 @ 10:04 AM
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America Ratchets Down

One can be conscious of status
Or maintain status,
But not both.

To be conscious of status
Is to lose status.
And, in fact,
To lose both.



posted on Aug, 20 2013 @ 10:14 AM
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reply to post by ipsedixit
 


Have you seen this thread?


www.abovetopsecret.com...



posted on Aug, 20 2013 @ 10:27 AM
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reply to post by olaru12
 

Thanks for the heads up.

Haiku is an interesting form. The Imagist style is derived from that, I think. I became aware of that kind of thing through reading Ezra Pound's earlier works.



posted on Aug, 21 2013 @ 09:16 AM
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Here's a haiku, I think.

The Dog's Tail

The dog's tail is certain
That it is pointed
In the right direction.



posted on Aug, 29 2013 @ 03:26 AM
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An Educated Mouse Responds to the Situation in Syria

I'm learning to squeak a foreign tongue.
What I hear in my own is foreign to me.
I'm hoping to find a refuge
In gobbledigook from over the sea.

The chief of the chief of nations
Is planning a massacre, you see,
To remedy another massacre
He arranged for, secretly.

I know I'm a dunce and a dope and a stupe,
But this is all too much for me,
Hearing him squeak in my own tongue,
Gobbledigook from over the sea.



posted on Aug, 29 2013 @ 05:41 AM
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This is probably a better statement of the situation. I tried to edit it but was told my four hours were up, although that is clearly not the case. This kind of thing has happened to me before.

An Educated Mouse Responds to the Situation in Syria

I'm learning to squeak a foreign tongue.
What I hear in my own is foreign to me.
I'm hoping to find a refuge
In gobbledigook from over the sea.

The chief of the chief of nations
Is planning a massacre, you see,
To remedy another massacre,
Arranged for him, secretly.

I know I'm a dunce and a dope and a stupe,
But this is all too much for me,
Hearing him squeak in my own tongue,
Gobbledigook from over the sea.



posted on Sep, 9 2015 @ 07:01 AM
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This records an experience of satori. In Christianity it might be what is called an epiphany.

An Immigrant's Joy

The unknown country
That permeates all others,
Where the path is always clear,
Where the footing is always firm,
Where the road never forks
Away from the intended destination,
Where the footfall supports
The ground it walks on,
It is a marvel known only
To the righteous beyond reproach,
To be lost in the
Unknown country.
edit on 9-9-2015 by ipsedixit because: (no reason given)



posted on Sep, 25 2015 @ 05:30 AM
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The Palm Trees of Los Angeles

The palm trees of LA
Crane their necks
But are rooted to the spot.
They want to fly away
But cannot.

The palms of LA
Tug with their might
And want to be away
But are held too tight.
They stay another day.

The palms of LA
Tussle with the wind,
Rejecting its advances,
Teased by bird wings
Slipping past the trees.

The palms of LA,
Trees of Los Angeles,
Stand in the sun
Waiting for no one.
They want to be away,
But stay.



posted on Dec, 26 2015 @ 06:42 AM
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To Me

Don't mind me.
I'm like a flowery powdery moth
Fluttering into the room
Among you, avoiding you,
Annoying you, looking at you,
Looking for something
Where you see nothing useful
To me.



posted on Apr, 18 2016 @ 08:29 AM
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To A Poet

Let the words grapple like magnets,
Not like beads hanging limply on a string.
Let them swarm like bees to a purpose, honey,
Heedless of harm, the natural way,
And don't waste time on rhythm or rhyme
That isn't a happy happenstance,
Like each succeeding breath,
Or every movement of a long slow dance
Off the floor of life, to death.
edit on 18-4-2016 by ipsedixit because: (no reason given)



posted on Apr, 19 2016 @ 08:46 AM
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a reply to: ipsedixit
Howdy there. I like that one you just posted. Then I read some of your others.


Hope you are doing swell.



posted on Apr, 19 2016 @ 09:09 AM
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a reply to: natalia

After I finished that last one, I was thinking of you, although not when I started it. I wanted to get over to your poetry thread and check out the latest. I will do that today.

In my own poem, I wanted to edit one line, changing the world "limply" to "limp", but ran out of time. If I ever get enough for a book, I will make some changes like that, here and there. I find that I am often very tunnel visioned when writing and obvious errors go unnoticed.

Other than that, I am fine. I'm trying to improve my guitar playing, every day, which is something of a slog. I also started reading Carroll Quigley's Tragedy and Hope, a very heavy (1300 pages) survey of modern history. I'm always working and worrying, the normal state of affairs with me. How about you?



posted on Apr, 20 2016 @ 03:21 PM
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a reply to: ipsedixit
Howdy there

I definitely have plenty for a book.. but I'm really not organized. I have them written everywhere. I'm actually in the process of writing them down in my new journal, from my phone. I'm on the date October 17, 2014. So I have a little ways to go.



Did you think of me cause of death? Because as I'm looking back at my poetry it seems I am searching for death really hard. I'm so glad I never found death.
Guitar is cool. I don't play any instruments. I used to paint but I don't do that anymore, which I should! Well that sounds like a big book, I really enjoy all sorts of history but have a hard time reading about it. I do love reading Stephen King and Dean Koontz though.
What do you worry about? I figured out that I can't worry all the time or I will drive myself insane. I can't worry about things that are out of my control either.
Talk soon



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