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to provide comments and feedback
In offering
responses to the poems submitted for the gallery, please make
them positive and helpful, identifying what lines you are
pulled to and, if need be, maybe what lines might need a little
more work. Perhaps talk about what moves or intrigues you
in the poem or what it triggers in you. Maybe even consider
writing a poem in response to the posted poem. Let's make
this an on-line workshop that respects the poet's ambitions
for the poem.
~ CB
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by Joanne
Leva
comments
Drug
of forget
like a queen
of idiots
the teacher said,
It's time to understand
why you are here.
She
was where she was and she entombed it.
She
knew if she went any further she would repress it
and
she was frightened.
Grip
with your hand.
Insert in your mouth.
When the bells ring,
crawl under the [ fade out ]
like an animal.
Some skunk.
truth
by Mary
comments
Succulent
fruit hanging on the vine.
Humans and animals living in
harmony with the Divine.
Beauty of the creating Lord
flourishes in blooms and grasses
across the garden floor.
Adam
and Eve strolling among the leaves,
lives' a life of grace and easy.
Man and women created to celebrate
the harmony and joy of this garden so great,
can pet the lions and play with the elephants,
and live in a world without barriers or fence.
A garden of love for animals, insects, plants and trees.
A love of one another and the Energy Source
which created all they were and all they see.
Through
the choice and thoughts they made,
the Universe gave them the ability to co-create.
Universal Law a gift from God,
says it is your thoughts that create the life
and feelings you procreate.
In
contemplation of wanting more
Adam and Eve ventured to the forbidden tree
protected by a serpent of truth.
Eve asked, "What is it you protect in this tree?"
In slithering silence the snake left his perch,
to look the couple in the eye,
to see what questions
the souls were hiding inside.
As
he looked he saw the souls trying to re-align,
Ego gaining strength,
pulling tight the choice line.
"One choice can send your world in a spin,"
is what this serpent said to them.
"It is our right to know…what it is this tree
does grow?"
Responded Eve.
The serpent moved closer to see what Adam didn't show,
"Why are you so silent and not asking to know?"
As the snake hissed and moved away slow.
"It is my partner's plight to see the truth in a different
light,
and there is no one else for me to love so joyously."
"Ahhh," said the serpent,
"A couple so free, in a garden of bliss,
so eager to separate
from the Divine that created all of this.
Yes, it is your choice to taste the fruit.
And, I will tell you it is your choice that
grows the Garden of Eden
or creates a world of fears and hate.
So use your thoughts wisely…
For they will quickly procreate."
The serpent slide from the tree
to reveal the lush fruit.
In last words he said,
"You have received the message from your Creator,
Who has given you this freedom to choose.
And always, God will sit and wait for you,
Receiving you back regardless of what you think and do.
In re-alignment you will find the Garden of Eden is still
divine."
Further
from the tree he slid,
and one last time looked back to see
the forms of Adam and Eve lose their radiant light
as they bite the fruit from the forbidden tree.
It did not take long for the ego to take hold
and the life of contrast ignite
into a world of illusions and fright.
Prometheus
by Fran
Baird
comments
Promise
us!
You promised
fire!
I
bring my children fire every night,
never let them see beneath my shirt,
where the spleen hangs like a tongue
thirsting for a drink of its own water.
Ripped
by the beak of another day,
I toil beyond the caves of childhood,
while they slay the terrors that chill
in the light of the never-noticed sun.
Snow
by Carol
Bond
comments
There is a fierceness to snow.
It
caresses as it kills.
Its
relentless whiteness vanquishes all other colors except
gray.
It
paralyses with its beauty.
And
deadens with its monstrous cold.
No,
snow is not our friend like its paler cousins, rain and
fog.
What
is beautiful can kill.
What
is soft can break you easier than a knife or a sword.
T-Rex,
fearsome lord and prince of blood,
Once
ruled the forest primeval.
And
the snow came and brushed his lizard eyelid
With
a soft, tender flake.
And
he said, “Welcome friend, soft and beautiful one.
And
he was wrong.
Dead
wrong.
What
is soft breaks things more completely,
Forever
and ever.
Yes,
there is a fierceness to snow,
And
a shimmering of silvery white.
A
Mother's Song
by Mary
Barrett
comments
In the calm setting of a Serengeti day
An elephant family grazed and played.
All engaged in their pleasures of life
And the beauty of the African Plains.
A
young bull wanders in joyful bliss,
To chase a butterfly that his nose did kiss.
Mother now basking in the bright sun light,
Saw her son was on her right.
Showering herself with the liquid of life,
Spraying her bull in sheer delight.
The
butterfly touched down,
On the young calf's knee.
And off in a flurry his new friend flee.
Into the tall grasses of the water's edge,
The little calf followed his friend,
With a heart full of glee.
Quietly
a lioness crouched,
Waiting for the prey to move her way.
A young elephant so naïve and eager to have fun,
Can feed her pride and her little ones.
She glanced behind to see the others
In stillness waiting for lunch.
The
eager tot so content to play,
Clopped down heavily,
On the tall reeds that day.
The sounds echoed loudly…
To the lions that waited in lay.
Mother
turned to see where her young son had gone,
And caught a glimpse of a butterfly flitting away.
She raised her trunk and called out to return,
While wondering where he strayed.
With
his ears perked up to his mother's bray.
The young bull turned and moved closer,
To where the lions lay.
It
happened so quickly he could not hide.
The queen of the hunt dug her nails into his side.
Turning in fear he let out a cry,
And lumbered away from the elephant tribe.
While running he cried and cried,
As the lions bit at his side.
Not
giving up despite his pain,
Running into a clearing he came.
A large solitary tree,
Sitting on the Serengeti Bed
Became the place to lay his head.
The
tribe of Elephants heard his cry,
His mother took off with the others close behind.
They stampeded loudly with trunks held high.
The sounds of charging elephants,
Filled the Serengeti skies.
The
Queen lion stopped to take heed,
As she listened to Mother Elephant's trumpeted grief.
So
torn and weak crumbling to his knees,
Falling as the lions continued to feed.
With one last cry,
The young bull raised his trunk, as if to say,
"Mother, I die today."
The
dirt of the Serengeti did fly,
As the Elephants came bounding to his side.
His Mother approached as he gazed at her.
Her tears of sadness filled her eyes,
As she knelt at her baby's side.
With
her trunk she stroked his face,
And covered his body in a loving embrace.
It is said she sang a mournful song,
Inviting the Angels to take him along.
It
is there that the young bull died,
And a legend was born.
As his Mother sat surrounded
By the Elephant tribe.
Now, each year on the anniversary day,
Grieving mothers come from far away.
With photos in hand and love in their hearts,
They say, "We hear the Elephant's song,
Inviting the Angels to take the young bull along."
And In their hearts and minds they sing,
And watch as the Angels come,
Bearing their young souls…
Into Eternity to bring.
The
Skating Lesson
by
Steve Smith
comments
When in winter the ice froze ,
I'd follow my distant father to a nearby pond
eagerly watching him as he quietly laced up
his sharpened ice skates.
Then like a figure in a snow globe
full of whispering spindrift,
bend slightly at the waist,
arms folded behind him,
and start executing figure eights, and s turns,
skating backwards and forwards,
the edges of his skates swishing and rasping
smooth crisp cuts in the polished ice
like an artists brush strokes on a canvas,
his steaming hot breath forming clouds
that floated behind him in the cold air,
as he wheeled and twirled.
And as I skated nearby, head down looking at my feet
slipping and stumbling, all elbows and kneecaps,
arms flapping in an effort to stay upright,
ankles wobbling, stutter stepping and stabbing the ice,
I tried to follow the figure eights he had carved
and felt him brush by me and saw his shadow
weaving on the ice around me like a blue ghost.
Hungry
for art
by Steve
Smith
comments
The rich flavor of turkey wafted
thru the old Bronx railroad flat of my grandparents,
where as a child of eight I had gone
to Thanksgiving dinner,
where my eyes had become focused
on a painting of an old farmhouse
hanging above the buffet table,
brushed and palette knifed in swirls of green ochre,
Naples yellow, muddy sienna and umbers,
globs of thick cerulean sky blue,
with creamy white clouds laid on,
all gleaming in varnish,
looking good enough to eat,
it me want to paint right then and there.
That paint by numbers landscape,
that I was so surprised to find out from my mother,
that my scary grandmother had painted ,
an ogre with the temper of a hungry wolverine
who kept us all walking on eggshells around her,
who smelled of tobacco and alcohol,
and laughed like an old furnace hissing
when she did scathing caricatures
of people she didn't like,
cutting them up like she did the turkey.
And I couldn't take my eyes
off that painting all during dinner,
as I gulfed down a plate full of tender white turkey meat,
With sumptuous stuffing, and juicy cranberry sauce,
gobs of mashed potatoes with brown gravy dripping down my
chin,
as though it were a palette loaded with paint.
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