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A place for Poets to discuss their craft


Writing Club
  1. What's new in this club
  2. Thanks Parker. I'm glad it interested you. This was another rewrite. I originally wrote this around 2010 I think. I unfortunately lost the original when my laptop died. Anyhow, in the original, the angel didn't fit the pretty boy mold, and was being chased and beaten by the other angels. He tripped on something and fell from the clouds. When he hit the pavement he was bloody and bruised, being stepped over and overlooked by unconcerned strangers. One stranger felt the angel's pain and fear, so he took him in, and loved him. The next morning the stranger woke to see his love made the angel's inner beauty shone through, giving the angel an outward appearance as golden as his heart. I was happy with the emotion and imagery of the first draft, but thought I needed work on the wording and rhyming, so this rewrite was the end result. If I can, I'll try seeing if I posted the original somewhere.
  3. Now I’m interested in knowing more: how did the crash occur? How broken was this angel?
  4. Come ye now and rest a spell A mystic tale I’d love to tell Of three myths different they seem Their coexistence is like a dream The brilliant Phoenix vibrant and wise On wings of flame, she takes to flight Gracefully soaring through the skies An angel bathed in morning light In luscious meadows the Unicorn plays His life is full of love always Shimmering splendor and gentlest of wills With innocent wonder he roams the hills In the distance a mighty Dragon roars Shaking mountains and sandy white shores He heeds the Phoenix’s cry to retire Engulfs her aging flesh in breath of fire The Unicorn offers comfort and mirth Together they witness the legend’s rebirth
  5. Angel crashed out of the sky Broke his wings from the fall In pain he cried I want to die He beat his head against a wall As I watched the horrid scene A surge of love awoke my heart Kissed his cheek and got him clean A broken angel was my new start
  6. You totally rock. I love the power of the imagery you poured in this.
  7. The Phoenix The Bird that always dies. The Bird that always flies. Many view it turn into ashes even if they are distant. And, see it come back together in an instant. "He" has wings of fire. Some think "She" is only desire. But, what the Phoenix truly is, Is truly HIS. It is ultimate power at every hour. All darkness, it will devour. It has not even a single feather, yet, always flies. Just like the storm's weather, It rules the skies. It is never foolish & always wise. It has burning eyes. It hates evil & all lies. It sees good & bad. And, that is why it gets mad. Anything that gets in the way of its path, It will destroy it all, with its wrath. Its mind is stronger & longer than anything you can imagine. That is why you can never go in. You wouldn't survive in there, Similar to a Tornado's violent air. It blows & goes everywhere. You think you can beat it? You can never defeat it. Just like water, It has no permanent form. That is why it has the ability to transform. It is so warm... The main lesson of the Phoenix, Is everyone has the power to fix, Anything bad in their life if it is possible. If so, they are responsible. Oh, you think you cannot? That is why the Phoenix is so hot. Because when you use it, You would be surprised how far you can go. Go. Simply, do it and have fun, While The Phoenix burns just like the Sun.
  8. Pain You have the ability to turn pain into power. Do not let it fool you. Do not let it rule you. Use it to fuel you. From the ashes of failure stem the roots of success. From lost games, can burn new flames. Forget all shames. They can be hotter and stronger and longer then ever. Yes. They can truly burn on forever. Enough crying. Tears are caused by pain, joy, or fears. Wipe them away. Today is a new day. That already is power, But, only if you use it, can you bury the past in the ground and grow a new flower. It takes time like this rhyme that you were meant to read. Patience, to eliminate pain, isn't even what you need. What is required, Is for you to simply let go. And, you will no longer feel tired. Your new flower will grow.
  9. Thanks Parker I'm grateful for the comment. I'm a mixed race gay male in a biracial marriage. I'm Japanese, Mongolian, Polish, Irish, and Native American. I'm not sure what tribe I'm from, since I was adopted. Add to all that, my husband and I are Wiccan. LOL Thanks to my adopted Mom who was part Plains Indian, I was taught about the racism, pain, and inequality that hatred, greed, and fear can birth. I never like to brag about my creations, but this was one of my most powerful. It truly wrote itself. This is actually a much less violent and dark rewrite. Unfortunately, at the time I felt the need to destroy the original it was too much for me, and I wrote it. Sorry for the long response, I just wanted to give a bit of I guess insight into this poem's life.
  10. Six years, and the voices still echo as if they were new.
  11. Here come the screams Every night they’re haunting Interrupting my dreams Sleep becomes too daunting Outside the thunder rolls Flowing with fury and pain Of all the tortured souls Murdered by an unjust reign Silence adds fuel to hate We yield to the covetous fear Speaking out changes fate And gives us all a brighter year
  12. Myr is looking to expand the genre tags into more specific categories, with a primary genre followed by specific subgenres. The poetry tags need a lot of work, so we're looking for suggestions. I've already done some consulting and have come up with a list based on their feedback. Please let me know if there are any other suggestions to include with the poetry tags. NaPoWriMo Translation Haiku Limerick Epic Blank Verse Free Verse Counted Syllable Forms Sonnet Lyric Mixed Forms Erotic Other Forms
  13. This poem came to me in an old, inexpensive volume of his collected essays. He heads most of those essays with original poems, like this one for "Friendship." It's possible the poems from the essays were not reprinted in Emerson's collected verse. This one has certainly never shown up in any of the dozen or so anthologies of Gay verse I have...and it should!!!
  14. _ What a marvelous poem, and one more reason to read Emerson again.
  15. . A ruddy drop of manly blood The surging sea outweighs; The world uncertain comes and goes, The lover rooted stays. I fancied he was fled, And, after many a year, Glowed unexhausted kindliness Like daily sunrise there. My careful heart was free again – ‘O friend,’ my bosom said, ‘Through thee alone the sky is arched, Through thee the rose is red; All things through thee take nobler form, And look beyond the earth, And is the mill-round of our fate A sun-path in thy worth. Me too thy nobleness has taught To master my despair; The fountains of my hidden life Are through thy friendship fair.’ _
  16. I ran across this poem recently. I wish the poet were alive today to talk about it. Shall hearts that beat no base retreat In youth’s magnanimous years— Ignoble hold it, if discreet When interest tames to fears; Shall spirits that worship light Perfidious deem its sacred glow, Recant, and trudge where worldlings go, Conform and own them right? Shall Time with creeping influence cold Unnerve and cow? The heart Pine for the heartless ones enrolled With palterers of the mart? Shall faith abjure her skies, Or pale probation blench her down To shrink from Truth so still, so lone Mid loud gregarious lies? Each burning boat in Caesar’s rear, Flames—No return through me! So put the torch to ties though dear, If ties but tempters be, Nor cringe if come the night: Walk through the cloud to meet the pall, Though light forsake thee, never fall From fealty to light. - Herman Melville, The Enthusiast
  17. And people wonder why it's so important to save and read letters. This reads like a wonderful poem.
  18. . I feel the truth in his body Later: Everything is okay again and I didn't have to move downstairs after all. He slept alone on the beach [last night] because he needed some sleep. Doesn't get much with me. But that's his own fault for being so incredibly beautiful. We wake up two or three times in the night and start all over again[.] The ceiling is very high like the loft of a barn and the tide is lapping under the wharf. The sky amazingly brilliant with stars. The wind blows the door wide open, the gulls are crying. Oh, Christ. I call him baby like you call Butch, though when I lie on top of him, I feel like I am polishing the Statue of Liberty or something. He is so enormous. A great bronze statue of antique Greece come to life. But with a little boy's face. A funny upturned nose, slanting eyes, and underlip that sticks out, and hair that comes to a point in the middle of his forehead. I lean over him in the night and memorize the geography of his body with my hands — he arches his throat and makes a soft, purring sound. His skin is steaming hot like the hide of a horse that's been galloping. It has a warm, rich odor. The odor of life. He lies very still [on his back] for a while, then his breath comes fast and his body begins to lunge. Great rhythmic plunging motion with panting breath and his hands working over my body. Then sudden release — and he moans like a little baby. I rest with my head on his stomach. Sometimes fall asleep that way. We doze for a while. And then I whisper "Turn over." He does. We use brilliantine [hair oil]. The first time I come in three seconds, as soon as I get inside. The next time is better, slower, the bed seems to be enormous. Pacific, Atlantic, the North American continent. — A wind has blown the door open, the sky's full of stars. High tide is in and water laps under the wharf. And now we're so tired we can't move. After a long while he whispers, "l like you, Tenny" — hoarse — embarrassed — ashamed of such intimate speech! — and I laugh, for I know that he loves me! — That nobody ever loved me before so completely. I feel the truth in his body. I call him baby — and tell him to go to sleep. After a while he does, his breathing is deep and even, and his great deep chest is like a continent moving slowly, warmly beneath me. The world grows dim, the world grows warm and tremendous. Tennessee Williams,[i] 1940 The picture of himself Kip gave to Williams that summer [i] “I feel the truth in his body” Tennessee Williams, July 29-30 letter to Donald Windham from Provincetown, Massachusetts. Included in The Love of Friends by Constance Jones and Val Clark, New York 1997, p.383 _
  19. May I say each is lovely in it's way for the feelings evoked. Thank you for sharing them.

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