Midnight Poetry Thread: Originals only!

[Perseid]

Write what you feel. I do.


Tomorrow may be beyond my reach
Though rightfully or wrongfully
not fought for yet

Today is already a fading memory
Maybe from a day of washing the clothes
and folding the clothes and making certain
that nothing is lost
though this is life, and things get lost

anger gets lost in confusion and understanding
hurt gets lost with a soft touch and a kind word

Tomorrow is beyond my outstretched hands
but I will fight for it
even when it becomes a faded memory
even when it takes my mind away from the things
that have been lost
even when it no longer happens

tomorrow is life, and life is mine, at least
for today

[The Straight Story]

1. A poem of mine:

Captured hearts

Part 1
My Josephine

Floating like an apparition from a dream I saw you
Across the saloon on the stairwell
A moment in time my lady I shall not forget
The sight of you has done what no man has ever
It stopped this beating heart

Outlaws, guns, bullets I have lived by
Fear and a racing heart for the weak
For where I have been
A weak heart becomes death

The look of you, My sweet Josephine
Standing there alone looking down at me
Was like that of an Angel
Coming to take the dying man home
A sweetness the taste of which I have never known

Had the site of you come to me in battle
I would surely have died
AS my very being stopped
My concentration given over solely
To staring at this vision before me

I have seen the greatest evil in men
Felt the wind of bullets near me
And never have I wavered
Never, Oh Josephine, Until now

I have come here, to my home this night
And found myself unable to think of anything
But you
And so I write of you, to you
Until the cock crows if need be
And even then I suspect I shall leave much unsaid

I liken my passion for you like the hunt of a posse
I shall not be satiated so long as you remain free
And out of my grasp
I shall spare nothing to find you
To have you

May God have mercy on this man
I pray that I shall find you again this evening
And that this letter has found your heart
Until then my sweet….

-Wyatt

Part 2

Starry Night

Dry desert night winds slid across the prairies
As a horse draws near another rider
She sits alone near a creek
Tethered to a tree, waiting

Long flowing Gown revealing her to the moon
She watches him approach
This lawman, badge glimmering in the dim light
IN her hand, her heart, clutched a letter

He sees her
And stops
The horse prances nervously
Feeling his heart racing
Knowing his movements from many battles
The horse prepares

A moment passes
“Josephine”
A whisper to no one
But she hears
They stare at each other
Neither moving

Approaching Hoofbeats
Shouts
Two deputies ride to him
A murder
Trouble in town
He nods and they ride off

He watches them
Uncertain
Turning to her, her name escapes his lips
A tone of empathy
Smiling she shakes her hair out
Face caught in the moonlight
Body revealed quietly beneath her gown
Cocking her head to see him better she whispers
“Go my Wyatt…”

Heart pounding in rage he pulls on the reins
And rushes off to town
Hell to pay for someone
The sound of the hooves
Does not drown out the beating of his heart
And he knows
He is deep in love
With Josephine


Part 3
Letter from Josephine

My dear Wyatt
How it gladdened my heart to see you
Though brief was our encounter
I remember it as I remember you
Such a Handsome man you are My Wyatt

Does it interest you Lawman that I am alone
As I write this to you?
Dressed as I was when you left
Feeling the need to pull you near to me
And hold you

My hand trembles across this paper
As a cool wind blows into my window
Why have you not come to me?
Why Lawman, do you fear me
I have no gun
No desire to harm you

I am called from below
So I must take my leave
I hope this finds you
My Wyatt

-Josephine


Part 4
Together

Sitting alone and tired in his tent he ponders
And rages
Why did I not stay that night?
And he thinks of the dead man outside
And sighs

A horse approaches
And stops
Stepping into the night, a deputy sits on his horse
Folded letter in his hands
The scent of a woman drifts to him
Taking the note he retreats again inside

Candle light dances across the paper
The smell of her
He reads

Commotion as he bursts from his tent
People awaken and look
Hastily dressed, gun belt on shoulder
He rides

Hoofbeats pound as does his heart
Town draws nearer
And he prods the horse on
Faster
And like the wind he rides
To Josephine

Darkened town
All sleep well
AS their lawman rides the night
The horse stops hard in front of the saloon
His heart pounds

Leaping down he races in
And stops in the darkness
His feet carry him to the stairs
Those stairs
Where first he beheld her beauty

Rushing up them
To her door
To her
And stops as his hand touches the door knob
What if?
Someone else?

Anger flaring
And hurt
He leans back and kicks the door hard
It gives and slams open
A candles protests and flickers
Another goes out
A wisp of smoke rises and dances

Gun in hand he stares in
As she sits up alarmed in bed
Alone
For a moment neither moves
Slowly the gun goes away

The passion inside him explodes
He rushes in to her
To her arms
To his Josephine

They embrace hard
He and His Josephine
And he swears to her then
To never let her go
His Josephine

[Perseid]

2. damn!

you certainly have the muse with you on that one.

Beautiful, and thanks for sharing. I'll be re-reading that for quite some time.

thanks again

[Perseid]

3. what I am doing with this is reviving a periodic thread

from a poster who had great success with this here many years ago due to some great input.

[Heidi]

4. Self-deleted. Misunderstood the OP. Original poem downthread. (nt)

[Perseid]

5. hiya Heidi

Are you Taylor Mali?

Fun with words, but I'm looking for originals here from the hearts of posters like us.

thanks

[Heidi]

6. Fair enough. Here's a poem I wrote a couple of years ago.

:hi:

Every Complaint

". . . and they call themselves journalists,"
(Well, yes, in fact we DO. I lean in, closer closer)
a woman wearing yellow Capri pants tells her companion
as they leaf through today's McPaper at a cozy cafe
on Duval, drinking Cuban coffee and cultivating the skin cancer
that we journalists never once warned them about in
12-point Times New Roman every freakin day for twenty years
(But I digress)

Perhaps the time has passed for taking
this shit personally
for feeling wounded and somehow nekkidly revealed
every time I hear it.
Rhetoric spun into revelation that becomes more rhetoric
(and it's all tiredtiredtired after the first time)
and we spit it out there for the Universe to absorb
(space schmeg, sky pollution)
I could get worried about this, too,
and maybe I will one day
but not today.

Today the topic is: Self-Pollution
(you cannot cure it
by renting the videotape or taking the Shambhala warrior course
or finding a new relationship this time it will work or I'll die trying, please God let it
work this time.)
or having a baby
(like this fuckedup world needs another anti-resistor
searching for Truth in USA Today)
or changing jobs
or going to church (it's not the place, it's the SPACE)

How little I know is written in my journal
(fattest little book on earth)
but I do know this:
Memememememememe is not the mantra.
(nobody changed the locks while you were away
you're still just purple turnipbutter spooge
squirted on the big BluePlateSpecial Universe
food-styling-freewheeling whim of a flaming sequined god
with a good sense of humor and a little pizazz)
It's still H-ohmmmmmmmmmmmmm,
then one day you wake up and it has morphed,
(not changed, I'm told:
essential locks change us. We don't change them)
into H-ohmmmmmmmmmmmmmygod I've become my mother/father
and it FEELS like time to have a baby
(Do NOT believe this! It is a TRICK!)
and further dilute the gene pool.

So few magical kids are born these days
and when existence does eeeeeeeeeek them out
we turn them into GapKidsMcKidsBarneyBarbieBeanieBaby kids
who'll read newspapers
(translation: notice big splashy cyanMagentayellowBlack --
Process color gets you NOTICED! -- advertisements)
buy PRODUCTS, play golf, drink Cuban coffee
and vacation in paradise.
You'll see them at every complaint and think.
Just think.

[Perseid]

7. Oh yeah!

The first sentence in every stanza is a keeper, and the thoughts expressed within are wonderful.

thanks!

[Name removed]

8. Deleted message

Message removed by moderator. Click here to review the message board rules.

[Perseid]

9. whoa Nelly! I mean Peggy! I mean.........

shower time for me!

[fizzgig]

10. a little something

your voice trips

down

the stairs

cadence imperfect

but words honey-toned

sweeping the cobwebs from my brain

like waking up for the first time

i take the stairs two at a time

but all that is left is your scent

[Perseid]

11. you getta

:thumbsup:

[Droopy]

12. Here's one of my crappy poems. A drinking song!

Beer

If wine is divine
then beer is heavenly.

You know when life gets going strong
that there is absolutely nothing wrong
with throwing back a cold six pack
to ease you of your panic attack.

And when it seems like life is hell
and everyone is ringing your bell
invite them out to have a drink
and drink the brew until you stink.

And if your mate leaves you one night
old beer never grows trite
it will be there ever faithfully
to share in your poor misery.

But you really don’t need an excuse
to put good beer into use
all you really need is a five spot
and a place to keep it from getting hot.

[Perseid]

13. sorry. can't post right now. too verklept

dang, that was fun reading

[Heidi]

14. If only I'd met you in college, Droopy.

:rofl: :spray:

Nice to see you, friend. :hi:

[Lyric]

15. Callalilies

(still a work in progress--this is my 2nd revision)

She said she loved fresh callalilies
In the glass on the table, flowers repose in
morbid ivory, breathing their last, while I,
a killer of things plucked fresh and pure,
dream of flying and falling hard
in a tattered leather hospital chair.

The needle singing, drip-drip, weeping
pale pearl tears into mother, my Creator,
dripping down like dew on the petals of the
lilies before they were cut down young,
clinging to the earth in defiance of my knife.
Today she's expiring in a room with them.

She says it doesn't hurt, but I hear her teeth grind
when the morphine shot is late, shaking
and shuddering because it's been four hours,
and are they sure it isn’t time yet?
I know she lies to me because she loves me.
I am witnessing her end as she did my beginning.

She doesn't want a priest, she wants easy
sweet sleep, to take leave with grace,
maybe just one more evening-blue summer sky.
I can do nothing. We are caught in this sterile
trap of clocks that tick too loud, too fast, goodbye.
I love her, so I brought her callalilies.

Tonight I'll watch her die right here beside them
in a bed without my father, in a room down a hallway,
where whispers seem shouted, and weeping obscene.
The intercom endlessly breaking the spell,
and it's too late, too damned late, farewell.
She's watching the death of her lilies.

Tomorrow I’ll lay her beneath them.

[Heidi]

16. oktoberain,

:yourock:

[Perseid]

17. mmmhhhhmmmm

WOW! inspiring and thoughtful and intriguing and surprising.

[wildhorses]

18. i have 2 muses. this is what one of them told me the other day:

they tell secrets you know

that is how
dysfunctional families work.
whisper. whisper.
behind the back.
little whisper here.
little whisper there.

don't shout out loud!

oh, did you roar?
at the injustice of it all?

you must be the crazy one.
cos you are the one
doing all the screaming.
we are the sane ones
cos we speak
in a well modulated voice.

and my, aren't we nice?
what's wrong honey?
do you need your meds adjusted?

[wildhorses]

19. i like it better when this muse comes to visit:

I go to the mountains
and I swim in the river

I walk through the valley
and I smell all the flowers

The mist rises o'er me
and the rain falls down on me

I cry to the treetops
and I pray for the violence
to end

I look for the sunlight
and I drink in the moonshine

The stars glitter for me
and the birds fly above me

I look to the angels
and I talk with the strangers

Let there be peace all around me
and I pray for the violence
to end

I fall down on my knees
and I close my eyes

I bow my head
and I pray for the violence to end


i haven't seen this muse in a while :shrug:

[DarkTirade]

20. hmm... haven't written poetry in a while. See what flows out.

a gentle caress
a controlled strike
then pounding, pounding away
fingers flying, rending the air
then all was quiet
a lone voice calls out
then thunderous strikes
the lone voice continues, afraid
but unwavering



Inspired by Shostakovich's String Quartet #8