A three line verse is next. I'll keep this going.
You never know how long this might get some day. It
would be interesting to see a social poem continue
to go on and on for some time with different verses
interjected by numerous people. We've probably had
at least 8 different people put verses into this
poem so far. Sometimes an individual gives a verse (a
three line or a two line depending on the turn), and
then
others give a verse, then somebody that already gave
a verse gives another verse somewhere down the poem
and it grows. It's not a story. It's based on renga,
the roots of haiku. Static, dynamic steps.
Ok... a three line verse is next.
The bright moon,
the wind moves leaves -
geese not seen.
Flight across the pond, well met
A being bigger than names
raindrops on the roof
dead leaf oceans scattering
who knocks at the door?
Weeping willow, strong old oak,
fire dancing from ancient skies.
Fresh sweet cool air
Solid comfort
Deep stillness within the rush
Here..., It..., Is..., desiring,
galaxies, and swollen breasts.
the wind stirs
sick, achy, resting
quiet sun shines
Change flowers in the wanting
Petals inform beauty, grace
In milky way embrace
Lustful Impassioned ethereal whisps
Of angels breath in starry skies
Nothing, her darkness shining,
words unwritten, waves unseen.
Her hair hung lovely as
the autumns dusk,
Her eyes dark almonds
...by a neurosurgical stroke so fine
I find myself completely out of my mind..
clouds and blue,
earth dripping cold water
- Get over it now!
Laughing, calling, babbling,
this river flows well.
unseen beneath trees
flowing ocean
of Glowing tune of autumn
dreaming of approval, approval, approval
the starving child who never sleeps
on my PC,
hours pass like minutes pass like seconds on my PC.
my childs weeping in his sleep
Leaf drops overhead
- I move out of the way.
Into a future without flow,
under a sky no longer blue,
but with its calling no less true.
I wrote for you then, like Cyrano,
Words I would never speak.
the autumn leaves pile by the door
I almost hear the rustle of her dress
how can I bring my aching heart to rest
Skin is green, wart on her nose,
bitchy as hell, has webbed toes.
one gray squirrel now five,
stomach fur, snow lays, teeth push,
- more white by the moment!
a preview of things to come,
as the dog takes in the heat.
Cold night, cold light,
thoughts falling from the trees.
Wind chimes, rabbit rhythms, dancing sea.
reborn now, chimeric, chameleonic
a goddess, she thought was she
Poetic stereotypes, often called tropes,
Include things like women, graphic pain,
and darkness.
On the edge of a long fall,
breathing you, memory and dream.
Creativities code...
Art must do!
What art does!
in this quietness
- what ya doin'!
island of senses, She sighs,
Isness shines and sings,
slowly to See. Ecstasy...
Is your world stale?
Colors, poems - beautify!!!!
When I die, let it be
calling for Her.
Ma, Mother of all names.
Small hand searching for treasure.
Placing it on your heart. There!
Giggle the time scale and rocks roll.
Mountains, crumble and erode
The fractal forms of valleys flow
All things cleave and shatter
Zoom in, Zoom out, refocus.
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