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Category: My Poetry

  • It’s National Poetry Month – So I Should Write Some Poems

    I was just glancing at Youtube, and it said that it was national poetry month. Man they have a day and a month for everything, don’t they? Hehehehehe. Well, since I’m a poet, I thought I should write some poems, especially this month! Just wrote this sonnet a few minutes ago. Hopefully I can do one each morning for the remainder of the month, in honor of the month. I’ll just keep posting them here so I don’t have to have a new post for each and every poem. Maybe I’ll do a Youtube video at the end of the Month in honor of “Spoken Word Poetry.”

     

    Sonnet – April 11th, 2011

    It’s middle April and the rains have come
    The silent morning rings to life and sings.
    Each note a whisper of our long lost love
    that glides on creeks and swims through springs. 

    The turtles’ silence guards the lake all night.
    The frogs swim through the moistness of our song.
    When morning curtains nudge, they plop from sight,
    Soul searching for our long lost golden ball.

    The crickets provide the strings, the ducks the horns;
    An evening symphony that gives us bliss;
    To help in healing what the dragons tore,
    And bring us comfort for those that we miss.

    The flowers bloom, and trees sway in the wind.
    They dance lost songs to visit us again.

    ___________

    Sonnet – April 12th, 2011

    At dawn we lost the whisper of our song.
    Dreams carried us to worlds we’d rather stay.
    The mind builds places our souls don’t belong.
    And so the heart remains asleep all day. 

    Who’s driven long and who has driven far
    To face the mountain hiding secret love?
    Inside a bower lit with dreams by stars
    They’re parted by the birthing rays above.

    Below her bathing pool is where they hid:
    Two gems of corn who’d seek the northern light.
    She knew their power even just as kids
    To overcome the monsters which they’d fight.

    The road to follow is a mag’cal one
    To marry dreams with the light of the Sun.

    ______________________

    Sonnet – April 13th, 2011

    I’d like to hold your essence cool and free.
    Your hair is waving spirits to rise up.
    Your parents are the mountains and the sea.
    You dance with legs of deer and arms of dove. 

    Your eyes are saying dive and swim this stream.
    They speak a language without having sound.
    Tonight I dance with you like in a dream.
    I can’t describe but know this thing I’ve found.

    There are no tensions in this purest form,
    Here even where Yeats said the ladder starts.
    You are the place where happiness is born,
    and fill with light the center of our hearts.

    You are the warmth of Sun that’s brought by Spring
    We glide on light by saying not a thing.

    ____________________________________

    Sonnet – April 14th

    I’ve noticed that the people seem to glide
    And sing down by the river through the trees
    They seem to have the glow that’s born inside;
    Exuberance from not caring what life means. 

    A shadow carries water to their Spring.
    They’ve always known that someone lived in there.
    Was it a spirit or a human being?
    They say it breathes the water, drinks the air.

    The children leave their houses for the Sun.
    They swim like fish this river made of snow.
    It feels though time had just begun
    The garden nature made so long ago.

    And in the forest still the spirit rests.
    Upon stars made from Mother Nature’s breasts.

    ____________________________

    Sonnet – April 15th, 2011

    We’re meant to glide upon a beam of light
    But here in one wave where life splits in two,
    Collapsed a notion of what’s wrong and right.
    And now there’s nothing but toil and work to do. 

    Sometimes I think therefore I’m not so free.
    The stagnant water forms where walls are built.
    Drowning spirit born effortlessly.
    Like burning rays so hot the flowers wilt.

    It feels like its only those fleeting times
    A moment when the mind naturally rests
    A spirit born inside the heart’s red wine
    Appears in actual joy and manifests.

    A bliss that doesn’t seem the need to show
    With pride how far it’s infinite knowledge goes.

    _________________________

    Sonnet – April 16th

    There was a darkness that surrounded her
    What do I do I thought as things grew dim.
    A feeling of emotions’ vision blur
    When she brought night and cold from where she’d been.

    What was this night so sad shown through her eyes?
    It was an empty stare she laid down cold.
    How can you judge a thing through all the lies
    And describe a feeling that has not been told?

    A path through strife we see a shining truth
    Come here again so I can touch the face.
    A land of plenty rises from the root
    A mouth says things we feel but cannot trace.

    Few days of riding through the emotional highs
    It disappears up through the nighttime skies.

     

  • Poem: “Together”

    “Together”

    Each day they add
    more marble to our wall,
    but what is physically kept away
    grows larger in the soul each day.
    The lake is frozen.
    Black Baikul.
    Every time we take a glass from the garden,
    the serpent grows another head.
    The World doesn’t spin
    when the rings inside her don’t extend.
    What if we didn’t care
    about being
    lighter than air
    caught in her cherubim’s hair?
    For the magician in
    the Vermontian woods,
    below consciousness,
    in a field,
    keeps the wild
    imbalance between us
    still.
    Sun in the palm of our hands,
    the German Mountain moves
    us to tears.
    The chariot lifts
    the curtain of the night.
    The gods hold court around the sacred tree
    upon which all the stars dance.
    Let us give everything away,
    everything,
    so that we may cup our hands and drink
    her moonlight
    together.

  • New Poem: “New York and Light.”

    New York and light.
    East Egg above.
    They dance all night
    The Jitterbug.

    Their dreams play notes
    Her favorite song.
    The things they wrote
    She danced along.

    With eyes like that
    That guy could sing.
    She flys him back
    Across the sea.

    The city’s moon:
    It strums their tune.

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  • 4 New Iambic Poems

    Iambic Dimeter:

    “I Know the Lake”

    I know the lake.
    There’s nothing more.
    What is at stake
    Is behind the door.

    Up in the sky
    Your hair flew wild.
    Your sunglassed eyes
    They hid the child.

    I thought you said
    To meet down there.
    We’d find the bed
    Without a care.

    It’s over now.
    It died somehow.

    ©2010 Stephen Pickering
    _________________________

    Iambic Trimeter:

    “The Girls of Boston’s Bay”

    The girls of Boston’s Bay
    With circled stars for crowns,
    They have some tea to save
    Before a nation drowns.

    They chew on Franklin’s ear:
    French whores, they’ll have to cease.
    Theses secrets Paul must steer
    With snakes’ coiled fangs to sea.

    The peoples’ fists clenched
    Poetic visions choke.
    Only shelters smell the stench
    As purple mountains’ glow.

    They pull the dream to shore
    Jerusalem had bore.

    ©2010 Stephen Pickering
    _____________________________

    Iambic Tetrameter:

    “Comets”

    It’s interesting to say the least
    To sit here now among the stars
    Above the desert’s slouching beast
    Watching warriors collide on Mars.

    It be temper and it be stew
    The magic bogeymen were brought.
    They drank from stones the witches brew
    And guarded temples where Zen was taught.

    The egg that cracked the Russian woods
    Blasted our chimps through Sputnicks cage.
    Forever laying where they stood
    Each past dropped in a falling stage.

    If we sit back enough and stare,
    Our dogs we launched be finally there.

    ©2010 Stephen Pickering
    ______________________________

    Iambic Pentameter:

    Sonnet #6

    I smell the burnt red color of the fall.
    Back from the hunt curled up in evening sleep.
    The girls have climbed the mountain spirit’s wall.
    The fireplace burns a pathway to our dreams.

    A Norwegian pine absorbs the grieving day.
    The children leave their Latin books alone
    With the decisions Caesar has to make,
    And cherubim who speak in tongues through stone.

    Through Italy the German troops will drive.
    We pass the ball hoping for winning years.
    They pass the scotch just hoping to survive.
    If either drops, the Tiber drowns in tears.

    The ‘Mercan girl was born in a French Bar.
    But leaves this world through a bent steel guitar.

    ©2010 Stephen Pickering

     

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  • A New Original Poem: “There’s something dark…”

    [audio:http://www.stephenpickering.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/Theres-Something-Dark.mp3]

    There’s something dark about this town.
    It’s made my heart all broken sore.
    The stars upstairs they hear a sound.
    The dark hair girl she’s at the door.
    I want to go somewhere and weep.
    She hurts me with her darkest stares.
    Through her I walk the lonely street
    Of silent dreams and cold nightmares.
    The scars of vice in Central Park
    Arrest the man the news had lost.
    He waltzes girls back to the dark
    Who think of nothing nor what it costs.
    These folks who tell their dreams goodbye,
    Build towers up to cut the sky.

    These flowers bloom and the night goes on
    The T.V. tells us what’s right from wrong.

    _____________________________________________________________

    *Notes: I’ve been experimenting with different sized ‘feet’ than pentameter. So, the above poem is just like a sonnet in its structure, except its in iambic ‘quadrameter’ or four iambic feet. I don’t know why. Just to try something different. I did another in iambic tetrameter. Oh actually I posted that a few days ago, I think. Oh yes, in this lot of three poems, it’s the first: http://www.stephenpickering.com/2010/08/28/saturday-reading-three-new-poems/

    I’ve also been working with some that have varying lengths. I think the best bet in the long run for me, is to let the line speak for itself, in the sense that, however it hits me, whatever length that is, just go with that. And then I think you get to a point where you don’t really need to fit the line into a structure if it doesn’t come to you that way, which naturally is free verse.

    So I guess, one of the points of writing within structure, is almost like exercise. You do that (or this) for a while, then your brain feels strong enough, confident enough, if you will, to walk out on the “limbs” alone.

    ©2010 Stephen Pickering
  • Saturday Reading: Three New Poems

    That is the temple there.
    The symbol that they stole.
    A border thin as hair
    Between Bob Frost’s two roads.

    But we’re not here to fight.
    We dance a certain beat.
    Incorrigable night
    Will glide upon our feet.

    The way it crowns is good
    Her charms decide it all.
    She guides us to the wood,
    And bares the fertile wall.

    This vision she will keep.
    Eternal in her sleep.