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6063. Seamus - 7/25/2008 7:44:55 PM Quite liked Panting Schnauzer, Nu. Loved the ending. 6064. Seamus - 8/5/2008 4:46:39 PM Convergent evolution
Cast through grasses
with your hawthorn staff;
I'll be four again
so you can carry me
and instruct:
Old leaves tent
the morels
and give them up.
Explain again how
two must never fight
the tide
off Inisheer
unless there is faith.
Say Boyo,
when the whitebeam shows
her silver side,
there's a wind
with a worry in it.
Then prove you'll never stand still
if the fuss is over you--
Tell me how there's no profit
in fruitless protocols
in pharmacology.
I'll be manoeuvred
by your voice gone
garlic, becalmed
as if I were still away at university
and you'd come, absent
whistles or steam, by train
for a drop in and a pint up.
On that last platform, each of us
will discover: Everything runs
from Heuston Station.
But years after I've carried you at last,
my back will still strain
over shipped oars
when I watch
a laggard teal pull hard from Corrib's cold waters
and dip,
dripping,
over my skiff--
wafting
above the water
until he turns west
to the hills of Clifden
and the sea.
Seamus 6065. Seamus - 8/6/2008 7:25:05 PM Lane end
Commerce thirsts
in the next street of haze but one.
Here, whips of woody petunia
bow to phantom passings of no man.
Bits of crap paper the curb,
the browning grass in bivouac
around the oak, dead
but for the zizz zizz zizz
of the locust, waiting in vain
for a crisp answer.
Seamus 6066. NuPlanetOne - 8/16/2008 12:13:25 AM seamus…
That is a finely tuned and nicely structured rendering, 'Convergent evolution.' It almost needs a dedication, an homage to a specific individual, because you carry the story through a sea of time, yet the present moment is never obscured or lost in blurred remembrance. The images are remarkable, I could feel the spray off the hill of Clifden sure as I sat aft wafting along there in the skiff. Excellent poem. Your progress these ten plus years is no longer progress my friend, but just the norm. 6067. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 9/12/2008 8:46:52 PM How do the poets vote?
6068. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 11/8/2008 12:07:00 AM This is finally in stock at Amazon--for those of you with a penchant for melancholy, madness & addiction . . .
6069. NuPlanetOne - 1/8/2009 9:46:56 PM This one is a final draft of a version posted previously. Which ties in with my goal of finalizing all my Mote poems.
Out of The Silence
We drove in silence
Coming up on a light
You asked me what was wrong
The song on the radio
Ended, and I pretended
Not to hear
You shut it off
You asked again,
Why I ignore you
You said now and then
I do that
I ignore you
No, I spat
I do it all the time
I ignore you, I said
She goes red with desire
I was thinking
Before the interruption
Merely
Because I smiled or
Brushed against her arm
Not like you,
I said it within
She is magic
And you are not
I felt guilty, defiant
Then said I was joking
Out loud
Poking fun,
Said I always pay attention
You shot that glance
Then stared at your lap
Your left hand gripping
Your right as the light
Strobed illuminating you
At intervals
But what was I thinking
Just now, you asked
Claimed
I had a look
Like I had a secret
Like I wished
I was alone
You watched the light go green
Then said nothing more between
The next two lights
Do you love her?
The world exploded
There was crackling
Pupils darting
Sweat in furrows
It was starting
To rain
It is true
When you drown
So much
Dances down
And across your mind
It felt like drowning
And if you can find
The words
If you are the kind
That uses them
You might begin quietly
You won’t say anything?
She asked
Then unbearable quiet
Except the wipers
Scraped the windshield
I reached for the radio
She hit my hand
The motion fanned
The cigarette smoke
The time we had spent
Trying to fix things
Denials and acknowledgement
Beat like a heart
In the air between us
Like shooting stars,
Long tailed
Lights whizzed by
Your head trained on me
Soul, strained on me
Out of the silence
I began quietly
Yes, whispered
Yes I do.
6070. RickNelson - 11/21/2010 8:48:33 PM Cricket Music
Footfalls vibrate
upon deep mulch
path. Limbs light
as petals; heading
for the heather.
Under twilight patina:
Cricket music.
Harmony to wind
blowing leaves,
stems swaying.
Distant reeds, hora
dancing stalks.
Dark brown heads,
percussive ranks
rasping rhythm.
Darkness saddling aura,
balancing upon pine
feathered hilltops.
Mesmerizing,
euphonic ambience.
6071. RickNelson - 11/22/2010 8:28:21 PM From: www.Poets.org
October (section I)
by Louise Glück
"Is it winter again, is it cold again,"
6072. RickNelson - 11/23/2010 8:30:19 PM Walking that sidewalk
thinking about buildings
thoughtful of people
memories in grasses
memories of skylines
purpose each presents
direct and distinct
feeling warm cement
warming grasses
warming metals
lying under the donut
statue carved of granite
soothed by the smoothness
bumping along memory
rutted and tracking
the sidewalk.
6073. judithathome - 11/24/2010 10:08:58 PM Very nice, Rick! 6074. RickNelson - 12/6/2010 7:34:04 PM http://poems.com/poem.php?date=14920
I haven't much time left on this library computer, but I found a poem I want to revisit. 6075. RickNelson - 12/8/2010 8:41:28 PM Fathers and Sons
By Patrick Lane
Some individual words that express what I think the poem means.
"love", "first word", "whole earth".
These three parts of the whole run through the words of the poem. There is an intenseness for the morbid, beyond which lies agelessness.
6076. RickNelson - 12/12/2010 11:38:32 PM “Catch the wind that” breaks “the butterfly” – part quote from Oasis (the band)
Talking to you is like filling the deepest chasm;
Whose depths are spackled with spittle and spew.
New poem I wrote this week.
Catch the Wind:
Through the thick winded words,
where hearts and minds are damned,
there is glad and sorrowful music,
clinging to the most fragile tissue of my being.
My spirit cuddles nothing in a dark corner,
whose aural glow shoots sparks of anger.
Soul numbed tendrils fade because of the intense gloom.
The expulsion of energy, suspense,
punctuates the stress. Accentuate,
acculturate, accelerate.
I'm alienated, conciliate.
Diverted to harmonize my voice.
Intruding spikes pierce the aural glow,
spikes of misfortune, to mangle a message.
My Intolerant occasion, discordant flow,
corollary to the rise of inevitable
development. Expanding and connected.
Succession of repetition and sequence.
Music on the wind, melody and muse,
springs strings, tapping and breeze
and mixing like the tidal swirl of my words.
Clash-chasm is deep and wide, it was made
just so, impossible depths, keep those words,
damn words--Slam--the rocks below!
6077. Seamus - 9/13/2011 9:00:59 PM Magus, in flight
Sleepy worded worlds conjure
Neruda with my lips moving,
late evening, high over Peloponnesian foothills.
Nearby, a voice down under warm
salt water stalks
the poem's next strophe.
She dogs me
through moon-spent nights.
Down by the knees, I'm taken, even before
her sky eyes lift
me across the sea, sand, aisle,
land me in 23A.
We have agreed
we will never touch
down else the hounds find me.
Seamus
(appeared in Triggerfish Critical Review Dec 2009) 6078. arkymalarky - 9/14/2011 3:44:17 AM SEAMUS!!!
love the poem. have you posted it here before? 6079. arkymalarky - 9/14/2011 3:47:10 AM SEAMUS!!!
love the poem. have you posted it here before? 6080. RickNelson - 9/15/2011 2:32:20 AM Seamus
Warms the heart.
Arky,
That's a new one I think? How could I really know though? I wasn't doing anything for so long.
Things are Ok, except for politics, the environment, education, etc... blah, blah, blah... All the stuff to avoid.
Just turned 50 and I'm contemplative. Ha, as if. I'm always contemplative.
Itching to write. I hope I've time very, very soon. 6081. RickNelson - 9/15/2011 2:42:28 AM 6028 Wizard, I lost that opportunity to give my regards. That share of your work assists many. How wonderful you shared and gave so much. Delightful and gracious. I'm warmed to the core. 6082. arkymalarky - 9/15/2011 4:21:21 AM that's how 50 was for me. so lovely seeing you in here, rick.
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