A Poem Thread

To an old love


Never say a rhyme is cheap,
for all you know it still may make you weep -

I loved you once,
with all my heart
and every fiber of my being.

You left me
and there was nothing
in the world anymore worth seeing.

Time went by, as time does,
and even though all my heart and every fiber of my being did much strife,
the love I once had for you lost all meaning.

As you can see, I make somewhat light.
But with all my heart and every fiber of my being
I know my love is not
waiting anymore for your agreeing.
 
 
where-2B.jpg
 
 
Bit by bit by bit, pieces everywhere.
Torn, ripped, cut, smashed.
Million broken mirrors.
Yet only one is the eye
looking at all this.
 
so abate and pause are the same essentially?

and these poems of yours Ripley...they are more art pieces than poems.
 
Contemplare silenti, circiter auditus.

(Quatenus percaptatus, obscura,
...undique intenebra gravere.)

Clamans, spiritu canta tu vere, cordis tuus.
Sicut confactu es?

(Ex orbus ad orbis iam cedens)


Post scriptum: ecce, imago habetis itae?

Post-P.S.

Translationis Anglicani:

Contemplating silence all around, it is heard.

(Shadow perceived everywhere, a ponderous and cloying fog.)

Crying, thy spirit sings, faithful to thee and thy heart.

Surely, it does only as it should?

(Leaving deprivation and loss now behind, approach the world)
 
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draqon said:
so abate and pause are the same essentially?

and these poems of yours Ripley...they are more art pieces than poems.
Click to expand...

Not quite. To abate is an almost instinctual reflex to extreme stress, like suddenly—or not so suddenly—slamming into a thick traffic jam after having breezed along on the freeway. But to pause is a conscious agreement to cease all further efforts, and to quietly accept one's fate. But both 'abate' and 'pause' are occuring almost simultaneously in the course of my life, right now. Along with the inching forward, the slow headway. And the crazy crazy regression—the whole kit. I'm, uh, having a swell time. Wish you were here.

But they are poems. My poems. It's hard to describe, but at the moment these are what's helping me forge onwards. And this is all I have.
 
draqon said:
and these poems of yours Ripley...they are more art pieces than poems.
Click to expand...
I'm in love with type. Letters are both poetry and art forms. Space and visual relationships are also elements used in poetry. I'm trying to push this further (in my own way). The symbolism I want lies as a foundation to a piece, thereby creating a wordless impact, upon which a more immediate concern can be cradled.
 
I love Ripley's poems. But I also feel a bit intimidated to post mine - as he has raised the bar so high! Which is a good thing, though.
:)
 
No no. I won't have it Greenberg. Your poems have caused me to reflect upon my own situation, looking at my plight from your perspective -- extracting me, temporarily, from my insanity. Well, insanity is stretching it now after doing the stuff I recently posted -- I'm beginning to feel a new spark. But if you will all indulge me for a while more, please allow me to post some more, as they happen. This gives me an incentive to experience... a continuity, a community without futility. Lol. Rhymes are *insane*.
 
Ripley - Please don't feel held back by what I said.
Do post your poems as they happen! I'm looking forward to them.

As for my poems - I'll see what I can do.
 
Revised Version to Please Dragon

God is an elephant
Whose praises are sung
But he still goes on dumping.
We're covered in dung
 
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