The Turtle
Somehow he thought
No greater pleasure
Than reading your paragraphs
To a friend…
But he cannot catch
Lightning in a bale of hay,
Set fire to honey,
Drink vinegar on a dry day.
Take the afternoon –
Out-paced by words he cannot repeat –
But don’t open your ears against
The morning’s calm retreat.
The lanterns make night.
My imagination
Stirring or silent,
Swaying in confusion—where my voice sleeps
Disturbedly.
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 01/08/2021 03:32AM by petersz.
As usual, your poems paint a beautiful and kaleidoscopic image.Or perhaps a clip sequence with a blurring effect that only serves to make certain ideas more focused. The frightening nature of restrictions combined with reassuring comfort of those same restrictions. It serves to remind one of the expectations of life.
Appreciated,
Startle
I like a lot for some reason i cannot say
Thank you both, Startle and obiwan, for visiting and commenting.
amo,
Peter
Seems sometimes, though most often I am the rabbit...one must have the mind of who he races...
I thought knowing your history and age, you'd know the answer.
I have a poem.
Merc and Peter, sittin' in a tree
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
First comes love, then comes marriage
Then comes baby, in the baby carriage
We're going to substitute cyanide for the cloroform.
No. Stupidity and its projections need only be ignored, not even deplored. What's deplorable is that he don't write much poetry or doesn't post much beyond repeating an innate rhyme he must have heard once when he thought he was half-conscious.
Perce, I'd rather read your actual poems than read silly insults or supposed insults...since you seem to know as little about me (or 'Merc') as I know about you, which is Nada beyond how you expose yourself on the internet.
Cheers,
Peter
Ahhh Peter, will you ever stop ruining my fun? I was joking. Clearly you two don't bump uglies. I highly doubt you hide the pickle. Or picki, as it were. You reeeeeeealllllllllyyyyyy need to to relax man.
I still want to see more poetry and less talk out of you, man, no matter...
Peter
So do I! I do love it when a poem comes together, but they just haven't been for some time. Nothing to do but wait.
You could do what I do...bang your head against the wall for fifteen minutes every night between 3:27 and 4:19 a.m. And then try to write for four minutes.
amo,
Peter
That doesn't sound as fun as you think it does.
I do have an additional 1,309 other techniques for inducing poetry, but some of them involve interaction with other people, so you might not enjoy them quite as much as the mid-night wall banging technique mentioned about...which I assume is too common for most people even to need called to their attention.
Avanit e Corraggio! {I don't know how to spell in any of the languages I quote.}
Peter
Are you calling me a shut-in who's afraid to socialize? Gonna have to try harder.
No. Just describing my less painful experimentations.