Tag Archives: poems

Book of poetry

Clods of dark brown earth break
With each determined thrust of boot and blade.
Revealing in the core of warmed embrace
Some small and welcome fruit of labour made.

Roots of month-long summer toil
Lie exposed in conquered disarray
And sit, hard won, on frozen winter soil.
I smile. We shall be fed yet again today.

Fay Slimm

 

This is Fay Slimm a poet from Cornwall U.K

In the online poetry world we go way back

I have associated with her for many years

And although we have never met, I consider her a friend

The above poem is a sampling of her work

I assure you that it is far from her finest because she  is a talented and prolific poet

It just happens to be one of my favorites because I am a gardener

She just achieved what all writers and poets strive for and has her first book of poetry published

I have a link below

If you like poetry, please check her book out

She is a wonderful woman and a wonderful writer

 

http://www.amazon.com/Versing-Beyondness-Selected-Poems-1/dp/1326477048/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1453829152&sr=8-1&keywords=fay+slimm

Stalker

I can’t tell you why it is
Anymore than I can tell you
Why the warm spring sun feels so good
Or that a tumbling waterfall is something to see
Or a blue sky something to be lost in
Or how gently crashing waves can soothe a soul
But all I know
Is what it is
Somethings are just meant to be
And I think that I was meant to love her
I knew it the first time that I ever saw her
That we were like nature
The sun, the sky, the waterfall and the ocean
Everyone needs someone to love them
She has me.

Classical/bluegrass quartet made one of my poems into a bluegrass song

Geeked? Yeah, a bit. It is why you write after all isn’t it?

Below is about the quartet which is named Invoke

“If the goal was to make classical music relevant, it couldn’t have proven the point any more clearly.”

– Columbia Free Times

Described by one pretty important radio guy as “not classical…but not not classical”, bowed and fretted string quartet invoke continues to successfully dodge even the most valiant attempts at genre classification. The multi-instrumental band’s other not-nots encompass traditions from across America, including bluegrass, Appalachian fiddle tunes, jazz, and minimalism. invoke weaves all of these traditions together to create truly unique contemporary string quartet repertoire, written by and for the group.

 

Invoke’s 2015 debut release “Souls in the Mud” begins with original works that conjure images of America, including the fast-paced opening track Travesty and The Trace (inspired by bourbon whiskey). The third and title track, Souls in the Mud, is an American transformation of a 16th century motet featuring banjo, mandolin and a bluegrass-influenced boot-stompin’ finale. The EP is rounded out by invoke accompanying a historic recording of a haunting traditional English ballad and two compositions by prolific American composer Danny Clay.

 

Since its inception in 2013, invoke has been selected as Artists in Residence at Strathmore, Emerging Young Artist Quartet at Interlochen, and Fellowship String Quartet at Wintergreen Performing Arts. invoke has shared the stage with some of the most acclaimed chamber groups in the country, including the Enso Quartet and the U.S. Army Field Band. Other performance highlights include appearances in Columbia, SC as honorable mention recipients at the Savvy Musician in ACTION workshop, on two consecutive seasons of the Common Tone concert series in Maryland, and as part of the Radical Sound collective.”

And here is a link to the track:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B3E6EWfhkB7YdkVsU2daekZtUzA/view?pli=1

And the original poem:

Beneath the mountain

Leave alone what lies beneath the mountain

The labyrinthined caves and deep burning fire

Take instead the cold stinging creeks

The summer pines and pale blue sky

Take the rocky trails and sharp stone

And all the beauty for your eye

But don’t stray below and leave alone

What lies beneath the mountain

I didn’t know that I was dead

I didn’t even know that I was dead
That my empty veins held no life
And my heart
That engine of my life
Had sputtered to a stop
And become cold
That my bloodied hands
Somewhere in the climb
Had faltered
Lost their grip
And let the rough stone
Slip
My hand suddenly clenching
Nothing
Just an empty fist
I didn’t even feel the fall
The rushing wind
Nor even the impact
I didn’t even know
Until I looked up at the sky
And it’s pearly blue
With quickly fading sight
That I was dead

So, how cool is that?

Over the weekend I was contacted by the leader of a world class string quartet. They had stumbled upon one of my poems and were requesting permission to use it for lyrics.

The name of the quartet is invoke and they play a mixture of classical and Blue grass. These guys are top of the line musicians and have played with some of the best symphony’s in the country and all of the top venues. They want turn my lowly poem into a bluegrass song.

My inner writer geek says “Way cool”

Rape

I wield my words viciously

Like a knife

I slash at her

As I rape her

Hold her down and penetrate her

Blood showers from my blade

As I overwhelm her

But slowly my ravishes

Thrust after thrust

Turn into love

And I wonder

What have I done?

A little explanation on this one.  It was written about a year and a half ago after a particularly vicious fight with my my wife. As most married people know, it is easier sometimes to hurt the one you love the most and know the best.

You know how it is; you know all of their triggers and weak spots. I am not normally a cruel person nor is my wife ,but in this instance, I started throwing low blows while we were going at it. Immediately , I regretted it because I could see that I had deeply hurt her and she is the last person that I want to do that to.

So, there it is. Yeah, I was really an asshole that night.

Under the cold moonlight

Under the cold moonlight
I lost the love of God
‘Though I prayed
I lost more than faith
While she cried
Looking through a telescope
Into that black sky
Hoping that the moon
So magnified
Would bring her
Closer to God
But her small prayers
Went unanswered
And her telescope
Lies in my closet
No closer to God
Than she ever was
And I can never look upon it
Open those doors
Without wanting to cry

Pathetic. Little kid crying in my driveway wanting to use the telescope because she thinks if she is closer to God that he will hear her prayers. Why? Because her family is breaking up and her mother is about to estrange her from her grandparents. 7 Yrs. and who walks through the door of my business this morning? While my wife is here? Our long estranged daughter, looking as stoned as the day she left. Guess, I am supposed to be good with this and forget 7 yrs. without a grandchild.
I think I will stop for now so my head doesn’t explode.

Execution

Her hair has been shorn
Her face cut and bruised
Her flowing gown torn
The beauty once in her eyes
Faded
Drone strikes
Warrant less searches
Roadblocks and pat downs
Eaves dropping
Secret eyes and ears
Always listening
Always watching
Be careful what you do
Or they may come after you
Swat teams and armored cars
Men clad in black
Weapons at the ready
Waiting to attack
They have her now
Imprisoned
Cold shackles hold her hands
Her breath is low and shallow
Seems that death
Is now at hand

Censored on a poetry site

A poetry site? Really?
My words and thoughts are so much more inappropriate
Than the others?
Fearful that I might subvert the poets?
Tear them from their pain and longing
Steal their happy moments
With my words
Really?
You have no idea how your cowardice pisses me off
You in your fear cannot stop words
Or thoughts
I spit on your sniveling censorship
POETFREAK
POETFREAK
POETFREAK
I will take my things and leave
My closet full of wrinkled poems
And all you will hear are my footsteps
Out the door

coffee stains

Some people wear their hearts on their shirt sleeve
I wear coffee on mine
Fallen from un-cautious lips
Like careless words
Hot and steaming
Spilled down the front of my chest
But the same
A temporary stain
That proper washing will remove

 

 

   

How poets fight

A few years ago I dropped this in a poetry forum full of squabbling liberals as a random rant. They were actually a mean spirited bunch who were preying on less accomplished writers.   It was like throwing a frag in there. Each one  all thought that it was written about them. I of course thought the reaction was hilarious.  Be careful fencing words with writers…

You should sulk away in shame. You are a bottom feeder pretending to be predacious. Life has shown you that in the order of life you will rapaciously lick the lips of the alpha every time . You mistake your pretension for power, and you and only you make that mistake. Don’t think that any other believes that you are anything more than the absolute bottom of the order. You can cry to all who will listen about your greatness and only the most ignorant will believe; For a while. Your attempts to empower yourself by belittling others is a pathetic attempt to cover your own inadequacies. Maybe you haven’t realized yet that they can’t be covered, that everyone really can see you for whom you are.    I am amazed that something would mate with you. I can’t believe that one of your slightly more pretentious peers has not taken her from you yet. You are a disgusting example of a human being. You are petty, jealous and cowardly. You are the very definition of anthropomorphism.; You have been attributed with human traits without actually having them. You are lower than an animal and are pathetic.

Poems of love

Her kiss

Spoken softly

Onto my lips

Recites me poems of love

Wild with passion

Told to my tongue

And I listen

And listen

Texas girl

She doesn’t care

If I think about her

But I do

As the sky runs from

Blue to red

And the sunset bleeds out its final hues

Power lines and traffic

Distracting with electric hum

The bustle and blur of modern life

That interjects and controls

But I do

And will

In between the weaving lines of traffic

Crossing dotted lines

That mar my sunset

And sometimes dull my mind

I always will

I can’t help it

She’s my Texas girl

Bluebird

She is robed in beauty

Singing of the dawn

Shades and hues

Of innocence and color

Make her glow

Like new found love

Sparkling like dew

She has captivated my heart

And captured my eyes

But not my spirit

Even she is not enough

To quell my dark desire

Pity and mercy

Have left my primal soul

I am born to kill

Purpose supplants passion

Gaze becomes focus

As I set to destroy her

Her death to come

In one moment

Frozen in my heart

Will destroy me

But I do it anyway

Many if not most of my poems are cryptic and have meaning only to myself. I normally do not wish to explain what the meaning may be. In the case of this particular one, I think the explanation is probably better than the poem so I will explain.    I am many things and among those a bird lover. I have a special penchant for bluebirds as I find them to be among the most beautiful of birds. I am also an accomplished archer and have a 30 yard range set up at my shop. I reliably group at 1 1/4″ or under whenever I shoot and as a rule I do not miss.   When I am calm my aim is unerring.    So, a bluebird lands on a branch next to my target exactly at 30 Yds.  Yep… Right at my target. What’s a man to do?   I couldn’t help myself. I sighted in and took aim. The bluebird framed fully in my peep sight and I was even able to pick a spot; middle. I use a trigger release and I had become steel as I squeezed the trigger. There was no movement as I sighted and released.I slowed my heart rate as I prepared to shoot. I was dead on as the arrow left my bow.  308 F.P.S. of instant death.  I missed by half an inch, impacting just below it’s breast.  I was so relieved that fate had intervened that I can’t describe it. I was panting in relief as I saw that I had missed. The bluebird actually stayed there for a moment perplexed by the impact then fluttered away.    It wasn’t me; I had held my mark. It had to be the gracious hand of fate.    My punishment for this evil? I have never seen the Bluebirds again that used to frequent my shop. I am left now with only the fickle crows that kick at the front door and demand food. I traded the bluebird of happiness for the crows of depression. I know.. I deserve it.

A prayer for the dying

When the wind sighs

and fills your sail

and pulls your restless

soul afloat

To journey ‘cross

The sea of night

In dwindling life

And muttered hope

One final prayer

Slips your mouth

Unknown, unsaid

You breathe it out

One prayer for your journey

The prayer for the dead

Your final breath

And all is said

Hope

I hope someday

That you will know

The love that was born with you

And will die with me

I hope someday

That something

Will take

Your pain from you

I hope you know

That I wanted the pain

To end with me

I hoped

That I could make it  better for you

I couldn’t

I am sorry

My love

Has never dulled

And only will

When I cease to be

I love you

And will never know

If you care

I can never change that

But I will replace you

I swear

With something

That will make me forget

Although

All of the things

I’ve tried in the past

Have not worked

Someday

I hope

Snakebite

The serpent has mingled with my blood

As she devours me,

I become her lover

Half lidded eyes

closed with numbness

My body tingles

from her touch

She has me paralyzed

She has left me speechless

Her poison

runs through my veins

I can feel her all over my body

She has become I

And I she

I can feel myself

becoming dead

yet alive

Becoming, Soil, water and sky

All things and none

My soon to be widow

lays across my bed

And Weeping Mary, weeps

As I  leave her

for another lover

I am afraid to close my eyes

19 hours in the ER, 3 days in the hospital, 25 vials of anti- venin,  2 1/2 months recovery. Getting your hand out of the way in time……Priceless.  Kids don’t try this at home, we are professionals.

Inside your head

Some days it sucks

To be a poet

To have words

Softly banging

In your head

Clouding your sight

With visions

Of things pictured

Or perceived deep

Within your brain

Incomprehensible

And duplicitous

Swirling and straining

To chain

Into verse or prose

The Goddesses of words

Unasked and uninvited

Laboring in your mind

Squatted down and

Birthing broken strings

Of words

That linked correctly can

Make them demi- gods

Half God

And

Half lyric

Spelling out the Iliad

Perhaps…

But you are left

Walking through the day

In a daze

Quietly tasting words

As they flood

Into your mouth

And onto your lips

From the jumbled maze

Inside your brain

Addiction

She is my drug,

My addiction

She courses through my veins

I consume her

All night long

And forget all around me

I awake

And all I can think of,

Is her

I partake of her love,

I am a slave to it

Her passion,

Her scent

Consumes my thoughts

My passion drives her needle deeper

She punctures my vein

I am flooded with pleasure

She is my drug

She courses through my blood

All I want is her

She is my love

And my addiction

I cannot stop

I will imbibe

Until I die

Golden child

My golden child
in the sun

My child of my
heart and dreams

From faraway fields
of time gone by

I see you
in misted
moments of memory

stepping over stones
in the warm meadow

Then running to me
with open arms