I see you
in the distance
across a roomful of heads,
tall and silent
watching them with a
pleasant blankness-
a smile that turns your mouth
but doesn’t light your eyes.
You stand above
conversation,
listening without interest,
putting in the time
required for politeness.
My eyes call to you
and you turn,
one eyebrow raises a greeting
and your lips rise with it,
I see the flash of gladness,
as you incline your head
and step toward my love.
Some years,
September exits in a swish of scarlet, and
October dawns dappled in gold.
But this year,
October is opulent in shimmering emerald velvet.
Forests hold back their adornment.
The morning whispers on wisps of fog beyond
“I will wait.”
All around the lake, summer aches for more time,
grips tight to verdant hues,
and as October embraces green
its ochre arms
bide
the firey glory
of autumn.
The day is grey:
the sky washes the earth.
Dogs curled in tight balls of fur
are not tempted to inspect the outdoors.
We light the fireplace,
watch water streaming down the windows,
we dream of spring
as autumn taunts.
The distance does not change the feelings.
the reeling,
wheeling,
squealing of my soul,
no longer whole.
The space between us stretches
and in the distance you grow small
and old,
But time has folds
in dreams I hold
you close
My soul finds healing.
Though space and time change feelings,
you haven’t changed at all.
on Twitter
Along the journey
friends beside
we listen
laugh
talk
cry
and
walk.
As paths diverge
and rejoin
we grieve the lost
or greet new found
companions on the trek.
At times, we find a plateau
spread before us
and some stand still
admiring the view
choosing to settle
in the pleasant spot
But others walk on,
climbing hills,
exploring unimagined places,
pausing to watch a while at each
before reaching
for their hiking pole
and striding on.
Some walk forever, and see the world
and some stand still.
How to be a writer:
put words on the page every day.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Just write.
“and so,” you said, “that’s it.”
You turned off the light
and closed the door.
I blinked in darkness
waiting
because
“it”
was not really
“that.”
Soft words
across my pillow:
promises,
light,
dreams,
on the breath
of possibility.
It’s been a while since I went hunting for a found poem. Here is one using single lines or phrases found on the WordPress Blog roll under the topic of poetry between noon and 1:00 Pacific today, August 18, 2013. Each line of the poem comes from a different poem. If you find a line from your work, please link to it in the comments!
.
Lessons in bird song
like it was our world.
Art of revelation-
something more than me-
more temperamental-
heart of a warm sky,
My soul is
a glorious riot of frogs-
threads of raindrops-
transitory life.
Fear and pain
tied artificial limbs together.
Your words float
my infinity,
a drawn sword.
Twilight comes
shadows litter roadways
waiting to be discovered.
You lay here wanting
the new heaven
like a sinner sees God.
I danced a lone waltz
The women break
philosophical dreams
amid the forest wild.
Hope was an ever-blossoming flower
where dreams are made.
I caress your face
tear my soaring wings.
Everything in my head went quiet
a flute for the wind’s mouth.
She is the music
holding hands with my future nostalgia.
Let’s not be the ones who sleep with no dreams.
Beauty sits in itself,
one word for freedom,
the child that I used to be-
an archipelago of memories.
Pain needs no name,
exploring all its mysteries.
The sun touched your face,
passion
exuding her scent
never to grow old,
petals falling from a rose.
This thought ought to be true
like tree roots’
perennial embrace.
.
What I like about found poetry is the juxtaposition that comes. The pronouns change, and while some fit seamlessly, others jar you, and you have to consider why it works (or doesn’t, as you perceive it!). Sometimes a line catches you and holds you, and you have to ponder. The meaning weaves from stolen images, like Frankenstein’s monster.
I dive into a dream
through sloughs of doubtful inheritance
with sure strokes I slice the pool
of the possibility.
Doubts ride the boat beside me
but I swim in imagination
toward the shore of a tomorrow
where anything
can be
Captain T @capt_blues
Shawn L. Bird 