Poems

Silent Waves

Her hands dig into the riverbed
letting the tides in her mind win.
The rocks dispersing in waves
rushing o'er her,
erode her freckled skin.

The dirt embeds further
A light flickers,
in her last breath
she closes her eyes to the deep,
a crushing blow depleting her chest.

Swirling, dancing in water
with starfish and with eel,
she decays in silent mumblings,
under mortals sailing their steel.

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Nice! What was your inspiration for that, Ophelia?

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Review: Cabin in the Woods 8/10

A couple more of mine:


One Regret Among Many

Soft sweeping lines
permeate the parchment
to the rhythm
of you--

gentle tears
saturate the grain,
cry watercolor--
a true composition

more beautiful than
you know

living only in my dreams



Contrary to popular belief, I did not write this one to get myself laid (it reads better out loud):


More Than Just a Three-Letter Word

Intoxicate my bloodflow,
setting my nerves in motion--

My stomach cries
butterflies,
fluttering felicitously
as bedlam dwindles into
silence--
Exploring the
undiscovered country
with my intrepid
heart,
lively to be
burning the midnight oil.

Electric as we
nuzzle our muzzles,
setting off Roman candles
scandalously--
we radiate,
sweltering.

Lubricate the music,
rhythm dancing 'round;
our steps synchronized
unspoken--
Humming the
primrose path,
we sing tribulation
and triumph--
a buoyant symphony of pleasure.

Heavenly bodies clash,
chaotic and clandestine,
magnetic--
We give off light,
invisible fire churning;
explosive our
sultry solar eclipse.

Rushing cliffs
glaze our waking eyes--
Anticipation of elation
we cannot describe,
feeding--
swept away,
fading into
a swirl of color and
transcendental bliss;
we go blind--
luminous creatures we become,
fabled,
like we're writing legends
on the effulgent fabric
of our souls.

Not ophelia believe it or not. I think it was written numerous hours after watching "the hours".

Below, another little silly ditty. I wrote this to a friend ages ago. How corny



Goodnight my sweet
goodnight as I,
kiss the rainbows
from the sky.

Swallow them whole
digest the seams,
a colourful heart
will have colourful dreams.

that's awesome 7thson, good job.

Also it would be cool to see some more poetry from Mofos.

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Concert Tab!! MOFO poetry Been Dreaming Lately?

Ok well I'll get the ball rolling with something I wrote a few weeks ago. I'm thinking of joining a creative writing class or something because as some people have said in the past "i've got the bug" for it now. I just want to expand my mind and see beyond the obvious. But a lot of my friends are being a little overly supportive :P I mean they are just too nice about it and won't say what they dislike or even very much on what they like. So I am hoping for some cool feedback from my family at Mofo. k here goes

- Girl -

A distant look, a hidden smile
a skin-tight dress; what flair, what style
brown cropped hair with a touch of curl
make no mistake this one’s a girl.

A shaky voice is her desperate cry
but nobody sees, or believes, or tries
she’s someplace else it’s clear to see
she’s staring in my eyes but not at me.

Her eyes show stars and a twisting road
she’s searching for a shadow, a life, a home
there’s a blackness there and a run down soul
an emptiness of knowing she’ll never be whole.

It all just flows like a confusing dream
she wishes she could just stand up and scream
but it’ll all be real if she stops and cries
so still she runs and hides and flies

A distant look, a quiet sigh
hoping sorrow won’t find her if she lives this lie..

(C) Joel Grant 2005

I like it Spooky. The third and forth paragraph don't flow quite as nicely as the first two, I am not that knowledgable on poetry mind, but apart from that which is very minor indeed I liked the layout and the words used.






The River Ghost

In the still waters of a receding world
Where dwells the lawless and free
Ghost that haunts what cannot be held
An apparition on a lazing sea
If imagining can see what has been
Then that ghost has passed that domain
Sunk deep into the sub-conscious seam
Where the river flows and death will refrain.


Tribute to a Husky

A heavy pack with all heavy burden
Laid on muscles strengthened by time
A heart for work, through the snow harden
Visage of wisdom, snow paws in line
Tail tucked over, balance in command
Thick toned, ready for action
Compact body making a stand
That is your art, Yukon Alaskan

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MoFo has some very talented poets/writers…

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....uh thanks....if that was directed at me in some way. I would post more of my stuff but I didn't get much feedback from my last one (I got a little which was much appreciated).....maybe there just isn't enough people on this board who get into writing and enjoy it like i do

Tainted is my heavy heart

Painted is thy lazy start

Life needs just a spark

If I bleed my bleeding heart

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“The gladdest moment in human life, methinks, is a departure into unknown lands.” – Sir Richard Burton

“Walk You Softly”
c.2001, Miriam M. Wynn


tread light,
‘round my heart circle in whispers;
make fingers slight,
trailing ‘cross this fragile shell;
and murmur soft,
all the sweetest things to tell,
bury words in lightest silk
and gently ring the bell;

worry not,
I’m not one to make you suffer
pointless delicacies,
and I’m no crystal flower;
but I need caressing,
a huge soul of understanding,
a complex soul of knowing
with simple hands.

so come,
wrap me in what you have to offer
walk you softly
within this world of mine;
I’ll give you anything
if you quietly demand it,
I’ll give you all the world,
at the slightest, sweetest command.

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life without movies is like cereal without milk. possible, but disgusting. but not nearly as bad as cereal with water. don't lie. I know you've done it.

Where is it?

My Epiphany

The sudden comprehension of my life.

The past haunts the present

The present fades to future

Then I die

Where is it?

My Epiphany?

I really really liked this one Ophelia. As soon as i started reading it The Hours was straight in my mind. That image of Virginia Woolf's shoe slipping off her foot through the current. So incredibly moving.

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Pumpkins scream in the DEAD of night!

Thank you very much for your kind comments. It was a film that affected me very much at the time....yes, it was very moving.

I think I just fell in love with you.

“The Kids on the Steps”

They sit, vacant, waiting. Poised for action in a slack-jawed, glaze-eyed pose, back slouched, legs hanging loose. Waiting for something to happen as if they think they emit a magnetic aura of greatest magnitude that will propel something interesting toward them with the sound and fury of a jet plane. Nothing is going to happen to them here and yet they don’t seem to know it. If common sense was their guide, they’d move. Create some action with their own hands and feet. Too bad they bow at the temple of a much lesser power. Something that can’t exactly be named, but is fueled by laziness and plagued by indifference. One gets the feeling that they will never leave. Of course, that’s untrue, but you wouldn’t know it watching them. God, don’t they ever move? Why don’t they move?


“What to Do, What to Do”
I would be more prolific if I didn’t scare myself to death; wasn’t afraid that each word I typed would be my last, and I’d fall careening into an abyss of nothingness uttering only monosyllabic nonsense. Even if you do have something to say, what’s left once you’ve said it? Instead, watch the rain a little longer. Prolong the notion that once you begin, words will come pouring out of you like Noah’s flood, and envelop the page in a monstrous burst of mind-expanding talent that would make the great writers of past decades and centuries weep in their graves over their inadequacy when compared to this new movement. This new movement comprised of the self of one artist so awe inspiring that words can describe his talent, but only he can summon such powerful language. Inside of him dwells a brilliance so insurmountable by any contemporary who wishes to challenge our fair hero, that he becomes the only writer left on earth. Everyone else who’d dare touch a pen crumbles beneath the feet of his adjectives; their remains washed away by his verbs, they’ve nothing left to do but lament the day they dared commit to such a brash undertaking and understand that soon they’ll be at sea, awash in their agony. However. If this is not the case, then I’ll be crushed. Maybe I should just give up on writing.

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"Like all dreamers, Steven mistook disenchantment for truth."

Strummer, those are both excellent. You have really powerful word choices and clear ideas, there. Punctuation, not so much, but otherwise, fantastic stuff!

This is a really nice thread.You guys and gals should think about producing an anthology.Would be interesting to see everybody's contribution in one big book.There are so many different perspectives here.

This is one I wrote a few years back,which was published.

"What's Wrong, Gail?"
(c)c.watt
(2002)

Gail sleeps in a cabin of regret.
Had a guy in the biblical sense
and now she's three men past the limit.
Looking for a way out.
Takes a razor,takes twelve pills,
six would do it,but she's killing for two.
No one here to settle her fear.

A couple haikus:

winter waits
for all smiles to
blow away

I wrote this haiku
to hone my haiku writing;
it didn't work.

chris w
Dang!
That's very powerful.




I love that!