poets writing poetry


morning light
filtering through
rough
cockeyed
slats
i guess at what was
knowing i fall short of reality
anothers dream, labor of love
voices hammering memory
splinters
nails
into strong shelter
After all these years
Rough and splintered, empty and useless
Is this all there is of me?
the devastation of time
and splendor of the past
reveals an opportunity today
against my cheek
batik
and quantum
glassy veil
of wonder
shrunken, dry, broken beauty
the warmth of living
held in the
pores of her
wooden walls
so wide the slant
of light still
reflecting and
illuminating
urging me
to cast my eyes
up beyond
the surface
of my worn
decaying shell
I rest in shadows
uninviting
waiting
someone see me
venture in
unbury my treasures
I am yet standing
still
My hand reaches out
And touches a smooth forehead
Of someone unseen
Standing in shadows between broken patterns of light
My feet disturb ancient dust, sending it swirling
Through the stilted sunbeams shimmering through broken slats,
twirling through my memory the summers on this farm
And forming within the air long forgotten faded faces,
That when I reach dissolve again in dust and past.
Dark and deep
Memories sleep
Times long ago
Frosty mornings
Cattle breath clouds
Grandpa’s mud caked boots
Frosting of ice on an old tin roof
Hauling up hay bales to store for the Winter
Sweet smells of Fall harvest
Muscles aching, mind content
Bustle of city life now
Missing the farm
Memories don’t rust nor dry rot
Lumber and slumber
Time has it’s way
Hit the hay
weathered, broken
leaning
on
another’s arms
hoping
for
more time
There was a barn
raising, once;
horses and cows
snorted and
jostled, once;
Hay was baled and
lifted, once;
I lay on the floor
to fix the oil
leak on the
John Deere, once;
the we regret to
inform you
telegram came to
me there, once;
I lay dying while
they stored my
coffin there, once.
Slat-filter is what I need
to let through only the pure
light, the oldness and pain strained
away by sieve of wood
still standing
beams of light revealing
pieces of the past,
days when all was prosperous
and we filled the air with laughter.
Slanted,
Leaning,
Waiting and weathered,
this beaten brown
chicken wired life
This Broken down
Body of
boards
Planks, subject to
The elements’
decay.
But
beautiful
rest.
Yet-
sun-bleached
beauty
tells story
of
my heart
sated with
life
holding in
memories
laughing in
the wind
hold up
this old skirt
one last
time
and twirl
in grasses
swaying at
my hem
i am
ready
to die
now.
touches
lives unseen
sheltering
still
shedding skin
tunneling
scuffling
fluffing feathers
turning
to sun
and moon
murmuring
softly
burrowing
beneath
each other
and earth,
crumbled leaves,
scattered remains,
remnants
transfigured
another life
sheltering
still
woven together
grass
feather
paper
thread
and fur
tucked
between
mud clinging
heart singing
beneath eaves
helplessly
open mouths
and eyes
not yet
seeing
wait
inline
lean
slope
skew
to the pitch of a truth I tell.
I once stood strong
against the wind
I did not quake
nor did I bend
And now the end
is drawing near
I face it now
seeing no fear.
Dust in the air and under
my boots must contain the life
that passed through their stock.
This space plows my faith
and memory into neat rows
waiting for someone to sow.
slanted reality
splayed
tilted inward
against the eyes that see
mentally
graying aspects
wrestle the air between
to gasp
grasp the senses
now!
oh, the power of wind
once settled in
will scatter
this debris
poets:
Jim Schmotzer, Kelly Langner Sauer, Erin, Val, Lorrie, Kathleen Overby, Maureen, Russell Holloway, Nitewrit, Krist Fornshell, Susan, Glynn, Monica, Linda, Bradley, Laura, Melo, A. Jay Adler, Fishing Guy, Marcus Goodyear and nAncY.


this is a repost of a poem, that was started with the intention 
to have comment poems added to it.  comment poems, being
poetry left in the comment section.  my lines were the first
five, and all the rest are from the comment contributions of the 
other poets.

this poem was originally posted in January 2010, at a blog that i have,
but have not used in a long time, called just say the word.
you can go here to see the actual comments.
~

i am using this for my contribution for 
one shot wednesday which is 
being held at the one stop poetry blog.


i hope you enjoy it.

4 thoughts on “poets writing poetry

  1. Very cool! Your image was one of my favorites (tumble-down barns are poetic).I could find my lines and those of a number of others. They all go together really well.This would be the kind of piece that would be fun to put through one of those computer analysis programs that are supposed to be able to identify writers' patterns.Love it.

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