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Anyone here enjoy original Poetry or Prose?

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posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 10:06 AM
I have always written something of a blend of each. I enjoy doing it...experiencing the chance to squeeze the life out of the muse one more time...

Here's a sample or three of what I write...

Colors, episodes I,II, & III

Madness drips red
along with other colors in my head
a summer seaside B&B for two
a subtle thrust of the knife and you’re left for dead

Madness drips white
not the vastness between, but the stars which shine bright
my head floats above the pillow
and the constellations just aren’t quite right

Madness drips blue
Flowing in rivulet along the broken shard of a memory or two
Will sets hand writing, this stylus against paper
blood and tears mingle, changing madness' hue

A Black Dot

somewhere, a squid is shrivelling on the cracked desert floor
a tiny vole, traipsing along through the garden, a will to explore
the final electrical signal travels from brain to feather and back again
and the entire, stinking, twirling, sparkling world is a just a bit more noire


A dulce dipped wet dream
Of Sunday afternoon
Our lovers dalliance
On the far end of the pool
Toe gently nudges ship
Tiny rigging and sail
Mornings sermon forgotten
Lovers breath caught

Poppy Memories

Dreams outlined
in the halcyon laudanum glow
with sweaty fingers that dance along through fires
which were intentionally set for the show

the elements settled
whence the giants stirred
and began their walk
towards the glow

certainty tainted with saffron and alcohol
the diplomatic measure stains
as waters collide
and ideologues once again take over the show

the precipice attained with sins redress
the behemoths again begin to slow
as poppies shed tears into absinthe's abyss
upon the evening’s azure glow

I hope you do enjoy these. If any are interested, I've got a fair bit more. Some good, some worse, some better.


posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 10:10 AM
Abstract Heart

...wear my love is but a drop in time's not the flesh that matters's the spin of the dime
...for my eyes only level on yours
...and something inside me breaks
...anytime I walk near you heart simply aches
...this is my love for you.

- NF

posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 10:11 AM
The Heisenberg Form

Holding onto you, the less I know
Looking into your eyes, the distance grows

a morsel of faith, and I let go…

only then, do I realize...what is there...and that it is real
it is the space between you and I , “us”

a taste of faith, and I know….

edit on 13-1-2015 by nullafides because: (no reason given)

posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 10:12 AM

That’s quite the find you have there…
All shiny, and wet
I wonder where it came from
It’s bound to cause some tears, I’ll bet
If the blood is any indicator
It’s the cause of wars and sin
For the men will come dying
Just for a little piece within
If you can’t tell what it is I’m describing
You should look to your own self
Look to the gloaming for the dark things
And then place it on the shelf.

It is best left to forget.

edit on 13-1-2015 by nullafides because: (no reason given)

posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 11:04 AM
Strangely enough, it would seem as though some of you enjoy my work

Danseuse Nouveau

carelessly she did pirouette across a soul
an insouciant smile towards warnings, boundaries
disregarding them with a oui
nonchalant with regards to the toll

fruit of her recital bittersweet
each measure fuzzy, yet concisely planned
would leave a heart dangling upon thin strand
yet she danced on to a steady beat

a serial performance to rave reviews
peers within her company once more applaud
in this late autumn, their compassion has not thawed
they turn a deaf ear to the mews

winners win and losers sulk that away
little thought given to the weak and wounded
blessed are the fools, gloriously undaunted
for it is beaujolais day

posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 11:14 AM
I'd truly appreciate it if some of you would give me your impressions. I intentionally write a bit vague, as I feel that there is much to be said for the theatre of the mind. There is what I was saying, but there are no single correct interpretations...

Please share


posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 11:34 AM
a reply to: nullafides
Your poems are very good. I enjoyed each one of them.

Thanks for sharing!!

posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 11:49 AM
a reply to: natalia

Thank you
Writing like this is two fold. First and foremost, it's a chance to bleed onto the paper/pixelated screen. Second, it is a chance to ask for approval...don't let anyone try to fool you on that

I am still interested though, very interested... Did any one or so stick out in particular? If so, what did it mean to you, internally? Was it too archaic and dense, or did the meaning that you got from it jump out at you? Did you get any influence from the writing, as in, where my head might have been?


posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 12:13 PM
Here's something that greatly influenced me...the intensity is out of this world. Really made me sit back and think "Holy Sh&t"...

45 Mercy Street by Anne Sexton

In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
I’m walking up and down Beacon Hill
searching for a street sign -
Not there.

I try the Back Bay.
Not there.
Not there.
And yet I know the number.
45 Mercy Street.
I know the stained-glass window
of the foyer,
the three flights of the house
with its parquet floors.
I know the furniture and
mother, grandmother, great-grandmother,
the servants.
I know the cupboard of Spode
the boat of ice, solid silver,
where the butter sits in neat squares
like strange giant’s teeth
on the big mahogany table.
I know it well.
Not there.

Where did you go?
45 Mercy Street,
with great-grandmother
kneeling in her whale-bone corset
and praying gently but fiercely
to the wash basin,
at five A.M.
at noon
dozing in her wiggy rocker,
grandfather taking a nap in the pantry,
grandmother pushing the bell for the downstairs maid,
and Nana rocking Mother with an oversized flower
on her forehead to cover the curl
of when she was good and when she was…
And where she was begat
and in a generation
the third she will beget,
with the stranger’s seed blooming
into the flower called Horrid.

I walk in a yellow dress
and a white pocketbook stuffed with cigarettes,
enough pills, my wallet, my keys,
and being twenty-eight, or is it forty-five?
I walk. I walk.
I hold matches at street signs
for it is dark,
as dark as the leathery dead
and I have lost my green Ford,
my house in the suburbs,
two little kids
sucked up like pollen by the bee in me
and a husband
who has wiped off his eyes
in order not to see my inside out

and I am walking and looking
and this is no dream
just my oily life
where the people are alibis
and the street is unfindable for an
entire lifetime.

Pull the shades down -
I don’t care!
Bolt the door, mercy,
erase the number,
rip down the street sign,
what can it matter,
what can it matter to this cheapskate
who wants to own the past
that went out on a dead ship
and left me only with paper?

Not there.

I open my pocketbook,
as women do,
and fish swim back and forth
between the dollars and the lipstick.
I pick them out,
one by one
and throw them at the street signs,
and shoot my pocketbook
into the Charles River.
Next I pull the dream off
and slam into the cement wall
of the clumsy calendar
I live in,
my life,
and its hauled up

This personal discovery, was thanks to Peter Gabriel...

Mercy Street

Looking down on empty streets, all she can see
Are the dreams all made solid
Are the dreams all made realAll of the buildings, all of those cars
Were once just a dream
In somebody’s head
She pictures the broken glass, she pictures the steam
She pictures a soul
With no leak at the seam
Lets take the boat out
Wait until darkness
Let’s take the boat out
Wait until darkness comesNowhere in the corridors of pale green and grey
Nowhere in the suburbs
In the cold light of day
There in the midst of it so alive and alone
Words support like bone

Dreaming of mercy st.
Wear your inside out
Dreaming of mercy
In your daddy‘s arms again
Dreaming of mercy st.
‘swear they moved that sign

Dreaming of mercy
In your daddy’s arms
Pulling out the papers from the drawers that slide smooth
Tugging at the darkness, word upon word
Confessing all the secret things in the warm velvet box
To the priest-he’s the doctor
He can handle the shocks Dreaming of the tenderness-the tremble in the hips
Of kissing Mary’s lips

Dreaming of mercy st.
Wear your insides out
Dreaming of mercy
In your daddy’s arms again

Dreaming of mercy st.
‘swear they moved that sign
Looking for mercy
In your daddy’s armsMercy, mercy, looking for mercy
Mercy, mercy, looking for mercyAnne, with her father is out in the boat
Riding the water
Riding the waves on the sea

And to think, all of those years where I thought it was "where your inside out".....The song still has that meaning to me...but, exploring it's origins, discovering that it was "wear your inside out", well, just greatly expanded things...

That's the beauty of words. Of poetry.


posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 12:16 PM
a reply to: nullafides

You definately have talent
thanks for sharing these with us.

Have you heard of AllPoetry??

posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 12:22 PM
a reply to: PageLC14

Wow, thank you

Nope, haven't heard of all poetry...I'd imagine it's a poetry posting / sharing website?

I also sing. Oddly enough, I can't kick the muse hard enough to let me squeeze out a song.

Some things just suck.

- NF

posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 12:36 PM
Water is water wether in rain or sea, the air contained in a bottle is the air thats free, milk is milk in a glass or a pale, the divine within you is the divine within all.

posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 12:42 PM
a reply to: nullafides

Colors and A Black Dot were my favorites. Excellent work, all around.

posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 12:42 PM
Yes love reading and writing poetry
Good stuff
edit on 13-1-2015 by artistpoet because: slip of the muse

posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 12:44 PM
Just to add ... I love the positivity of this thread

posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 12:51 PM
a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat

Thank you for your input

Was it the imagery that you enjoyed ?

posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 12:53 PM
a reply to: artistpoet

I was fully prepared for "oh, you suck"....or as someone else so elegantly summed up my thoughts "you're just going through a mid life crisis"...yepp, anticipated it. Nice to not get it so far



posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 12:54 PM
a reply to: artistpoet

Thank you!

Have any that you'd like to share?


posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 12:56 PM
a reply to: FormOfTheLord

Nice work of thought provoking imagery...



posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 12:59 PM

Woke up reeling
it’s just past four
One xanax happy, Two xanax happy, three xanax, Four
Looking for some comfort
Find that pillow on the floor
One xanax happy, Two xanax happy, three xanax, Four
arrived at the mines
a huge sign on the door
One xanax happy, Two xanax happy, three xanax, Four
day proceeds
why is the boss so sore
One xanax happy, Two xanax happy, three xanax, Four
the day is over
heading home is a chore
One xanax happy, Two xanax happy, three xanax, Four
What could it hurt,
Just one more?

edit on 13-1-2015 by nullafides because: (no reason given)

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