Poems only

[MWise725]

may your dreams be cast upon fertile waters,
and your creel to the limit with love, health and others.

Short and sweet, I like that.

[RoKi]

The game master has left the home of brown
Looks like he ran out of stamina
maybe he's tired of being let down
by people with their phones and cameras
what is this chase really about
the man keeps telling us and telling us
get the kids off the couch and go outside
He's just sick of it all, I'm tellin ya

[MWise725]

I found this poem online today written by a pilot in WWII that I really enjoyed. I would love to get my pilot license one day, seems like it would be an incredible experience.

[Tur-a-neu]

He's sick of it all so true
left the room and chest
interrupted by technology new

The bugs must go
and take with them
all they know

Too much technology
Too much confusion
Too much sniffing for - the solution

Peace was all that was sought
Via privacy and respect
Everything now for naught

Too many eyes and ears
Brought so many tears
Now nothing for years

Hope everyone is happy now -

Break anything you want
Including a gifting heart
Rules should have been a part
Nothing is left from the start
nothing except spyware
an its ways must part
Part and now -
for all is over and like the wilderness
was destroyed and polluted
by man's desires for richness.

Shame to one
Shame to all

Answers understood
once and for all.

Like Einstein's work,
effort turned to nothing but hurt.

All bugs and spyware must be removed
for there is zero now and a negative
which raped a heart.

The destruction, you see,
began with the invasion of me.

Witnessing my entire privacy
displayed for all to see, laugh, and mock
destroyed master and learner.
nothing but blame all around.
IMO - invisible I GO.

Not one, but two have been let down!
Given the Flag today, get the Flag out of my life, privacy, and business.
If the spyware does not Flag away, it will become the legal action I so longed to avoid.
Some things cannot be avoided and some not tolerated.
So leave my privacy my life and my intellectual property alone.
And go away - Superior ones. Since ya'll know everything,
Remove spyware from everywhere - it served no purpose other than to cause extreme harm from extreme hate.

I'm just Nobody - nothing before and nothing now
I've been harmed spiritually, emotionally, and physically.
I owe it to all those cameras and cells and key loggers and eaves droppers - you all win - My vision lost - Take the gold and the fame and fortune and well . . . superior ones don't need to know where to put it . . .

Good bye - for I refuse to indulge in the hate of the community. I came with morals and ethics and I leave with them still intact. My choice and applies only to me.

[lingerlonger]

fences, fences everywhere!
I'm boxed in...

[sadcom]

Mongolian connection
----------------------------

To think the poem's in English
is so Napoleon
In fact, he simply translated it
from the old Mongolian

I'll explain it here,
since no one yet caught on
That Forrest Fenn is modern
Genghis Khan

He grew like a simple peasant,
not a samurai
The Earth Mother's womb he cherished
and Father Sky

He was fishing and hunting,
spent quality time on horseback
He was a fighter, a warrior,
cattle tamer and lumberjack

Generations of searchers
combed Gobi desert for naught
Likewise for his burial
Fenn found his own Camelot

That son of a gun
is a master of words crochet
From his skill with marbles
came the power of ricochet

I'm gonna tell you the truth
under my breath
Fenn's secrets are not a secret
when beyond death

Do not kill the messenger,
let me put on my safety hat
Temujin had told me
where Fenn's treasure at...

[Rose Livingstone]

Affected by the Wind:
Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood

William Cullen Bryant, 1794 - 1878

Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs
No school of long experience, that the world
Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen
Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares,
To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood
And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade
Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze
That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm
To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here
Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men
And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse
Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth,
But not in vengeance. God hath yoked to guilt
Her pale tormentor, misery. Hence, these shades
Are still the abodes of gladness; the thick roof
Of green and stirring branches is alive
And musical with birds, that sing and sport
In wantonness of spirit; while below
The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect,
Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shade
Try their thin wings and dance in the warm beam
That waked them into life. Even the green trees
Partake the deep contentment; as they bend
To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky
Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene.
Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy
Existence, than the winged plunderer
That sucks its sweets. The massy rocks themselves,
And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees
That lead from knoll to knoll a causey rude
Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots,
With all their earth upon them, twisting high,
Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet
Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its bed
Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks,
Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice
In its own being. Softly tread the marge,
Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren
That dips her bill in water. The cool wind,
That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee,
Like one that loves thee nor will let thee pass
Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace.

[sadcom]

A marvelous choice, Rose
Thanks for sharing!

Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet
Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its bed
Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks,
Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice
In its own being...

Here is a poem I wrote about a little brook, that I am fond of. I will share it with you, but not its ending. It reveals too much ... if you know what I mean

I'm a big fan of little rivers
I
….always
……………...was
Not for a profit, not for a reason
Just
……...because
A bubbling brook. Banks
Are few
…………….feet
…………………….apart
It's magical beauty and warbling sounds
Have captured
……………………….my
……………………………..heart
But when its angry, its voice will surge
To a
……….battle
………………….cry
It moves boulders and heavy loads
With
………..its water
……………………….high ...

[sadcom]

A word that is key
-----------------------

The experts screwed up
They didn't deliver
They dropped the ball
And washed it downriver

The water runs muddy
After a storm
Who knows if it's cold
Or is really warm?

You know, the temperature
Doesn't matter
I learned from my friend
The Mad Hatter

He is not quite quite
I must confess
A good old man
With a touch of mad-ness

When we were parting
He told me this:
Slava, always
Follow your bliss

Divorce the takers
Marry the givers
Become a husband
To forests and rivers

Look deep inside
Find your ally
Then bring up a fire
In your belly...

So, here I am
My mind's in a twister
Trying to key in
Rule defying trickster

By golly, I solved it
The Holy Writ!
A river is running
Straight through It.

[rapala67]

from the inkwells of my eyes, these words drop to the page.
sometimes a small splatter, sometimes a flow without gauge.
at times they may seem blurry or look like horse before cart.
the trick to view them clearly is to look inside your heart,
your only true perspective and a good place to start.

[Tur-a-neu]

I love you with all my liver . . .

[rapala67]

i stood there motionless on a warm fall eve,
five minutes more i'd have been catching some z's.

a pain and a burning at my fingertip,
a few choice words from my lips i did slip.

i stumbled and staggered, till my wits were regained,
and whined like a baby at my finger there maimed.

in two seconds time i was back in my place,
and realized my line leaving at a frightening pace.

the pain went away with nary a thought,
i cranked the reel fast and held the line taught.

a long steady pull, not much more,
to tell the truth, it was kind of a bore.

and then it happened, no time to snore,
straight up river, water splashing, it tore.

a lot of things happened, i won't write of it all,
but i'll tell you it ended with eighteen pounds three on my wall!

[rapala67]

out tossin a spinner,
got a bag full of shrooms.

lookin' to eat dinner,
in an outdoor type room.

i step to the bank and throw it way out,
crank it back slow, and make the blade shout.

i'm all the way back, there's no more room,
so i just let it flutter, my shimmering gold spoon.

when out from the shadows came a long wide head,
anything under two feet would surely be dead.

it swam real slow and never did hide,
it's body was as long as a walking mans stride.

it paused and gazed at that falling spoon,
time was so long i thought i'd see moon.

then it finally ate that shiny metal bait,
i set the hook hard, arm tight, in mid gate.

a battle it was and an epic ensued,
every new run was a story construed.

it finally ended, six men stood in awe,
it was easy to tell from the length of their jaw.

[rapala67]

my day began just like any other,
eggs in the pan and some cookies from mother.

i went to the river in search of some trout,
seen friends, thru wave and sent out some shouts.

i got to my spot and i was not alone,
across the river three guys on their phones.

i paid no attention and thru where waters parted,
and with that first cast my short day was started.

two casts later my adventure was done,
three fish in a row, twenty five minutes of fun.

[Rose Livingstone]

Longish but worth it..:
Epistle to Augusta

BY LORD BYRON (GEORGE GORDON)

My sister! my sweet sister! if a name
Dearer and purer were, it should be thine.
Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim
No tears, but tenderness to answer mine:
Go where I will, to me thou art the same
A lov'd regret which I would not resign.
There yet are two things in my destiny—
A world to roam through, and a home with thee.

The first were nothing—had I still the last,
It were the haven of my happiness;
But other claims and other ties thou hast,
And mine is not the wish to make them less.
A strange doom is thy father's son's, and past
Recalling, as it lies beyond redress;
Revers'd for him our grandsire's fate of yore—
He had no rest at sea, nor I on shore.

If my inheritance of storms hath been
In other elements, and on the rocks
Of perils, overlook'd or unforeseen,
I have sustain'd my share of worldly shocks,
The fault was mine; nor do I seek to screen
My errors with defensive paradox;
I have been cunning in mine overthrow,
The careful pilot of my proper woe.

Mine were my faults, and mine be their reward.
My whole life was a contest, since the day
That gave me being, gave me that which marr'd
The gift—a fate, or will, that walk'd astray;
And I at times have found the struggle hard,
And thought of shaking off my bonds of clay:
But now I fain would for a time survive,
If but to see what next can well arrive.

Kingdoms and empires in my little day
I have outliv'd, and yet I am not old;
And when I look on this, the petty spray
Of my own years of trouble, which have roll'd
Like a wild bay of breakers, melts away:
Something—I know not what—does still uphold
A spirit of slight patience; not in vain,
Even for its own sake, do we purchase pain.

Perhaps the workings of defiance stir
Within me—or perhaps a cold despair,
Brought on when ills habitually recur,
Perhaps a kinder clime, or purer air
(For even to this may change of soul refer,
And with light armour we may learn to bear),
Have taught me a strange quiet, which was not
The chief companion of a calmer lot.

I feel almost at times as I have felt
In happy childhood; trees, and flowers, and brooks,
Which do remember me of where I dwelt
Ere my young mind was sacrific'd to books,
Come as of yore upon me, and can melt
My heart with recognition of their looks;
And even at moments I could think I see
Some living thing to love—but none like thee.

Here are the Alpine landscapes which create
A fund for contemplation; to admire
Is a brief feeling of a trivial date;
But something worthier do such scenes inspire:
Here to be lonely is not desolate,
For much I view which I could most desire,
And, above all, a lake I can behold
Lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old.

Oh that thou wert but with me!—but I grow
The fool of my own wishes, and forget
The solitude which I have vaunted so
Has lost its praise in this but one regret;
There may be others which I less may show;
I am not of the plaintive mood, and yet
I feel an ebb in my philosophy,
And the tide rising in my alter'd eye.

I did remind thee of our own dear Lake,
By the old Hall which may be mine no more.
Leman's is fair; but think not I forsake
The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore:
Sad havoc Time must with my memory make
Ere that or thou can fade these eyes before;
Though, like all things which I have lov'd, they are
Resign'd for ever, or divided far.

The world is all before me; I but ask
Of Nature that with which she will comply—
It is but in her summer's sun to bask,
To mingle with the quiet of her sky,
To see her gentle face without a mask,
And never gaze on it with apathy.
She was my early friend, and now shall be
My sister—till I look again on thee.

I can reduce all feelings but this one;
And that I would not; for at length I see
Such scenes as those wherein my life begun,
The earliest—even the only paths for me—
Had I but sooner learnt the crowd to shun,
I had been better than I now can be;
The passions which have torn me would have slept;
I had not suffer'd, and thou hadst not wept.

With false Ambition what had I to do?
Little with Love, and least of all with Fame;
And yet they came unsought, and with me grew,
And made me all which they can make—a name,
Yet this was not the end I did pursue;
Surely I once beheld a nobler aim.
But all is over—I am one the more
To baffled millions which have gone before.

And for the future, this world's future may
From me demand but little of my care;
I have outliv'd myself by many a day,
Having surviv'd so many things that were;
My years have been no slumber, but the prey
Of ceaseless vigils; for I had the share
Of life which might have fill'd a century,
Before its fourth in time had pass'd me by.
And for the remnant which may be to come
I am content; and for the past I feel
Not thankless, for within the crowded sum
Of struggles, happiness at times would steal,
And for the present, I would not benumb
My feelings further. Nor shall I conceal
That with all this I still can look around,
And worship Nature with a thought profound.

For thee, my own sweet sister, in thy heart
I know myself secure, as thou in mine;
We were and are—I am, even as thou art—
Beings who ne'er each other can resign;
It is the same, together or apart,
From life's commencement to its slow decline
We are entwin'd—let death come slow or fast,
The tie which bound the first endures the last!