By michaelcahill
bottleneck
the earth collides
with its reflection
and we realize
that the moon is a liquid
floating on a lake
disheveled by a breeze
but, never harmed
yet, we always look up
to find it
up into the frozen vacuum
trying to warm it
with some cloying romantic notion
and some unseen force
is sick with laughter
as the pretense of togetherness
wraps its greedy tentacles
around our throats
and gently squeezes
we become light headed
mistaking our swaying motion
for dancing
finally, confusing support
with an embrace
we declare that the game is afoot
but that's all it is
in the bottleneck
hells yes, baby,
we's in love
all our fluids
spill into the lake
making the moon shimmer
ultimately, we are a mixed up
twirling couple thing
that keeps sucking the being
out of ourselves until
there are identical piles of dust
stored in coffee cans
in an infinite warehouse
where we join the others
all in a row
we all was in love
hells yes!
but, really, we just got caught up
in the bottleneck
and why we traveled there
we will never know
it has something to do
with the tide
By michaelcahill
By michaelcahill
So, you think this might
be a good night
to open that door
and go in that room
and pull back that
worn out rug--
grab the rusty handle
of whatever they call
a door in the floor
and descend that
stupid splintered
tritely symbolic
ladder
to that
rocky cavernous
expanse
with that cobblestone
road that is only cobblestone
for the sake of style
that damn road
waiting for a
brave walk
to put a hint of wear
somewhere on its surface, anywhere
and then
wind my way
round the bend
past the damned
photo gallery
with those insipid snapshots
of that pathetic construct
in the black hat
with the clever "I'm a mystery" glare
with the silent lips
that speak the same
volume and insight that a dark
photo might let you hear
and if you hear anything
well, you see, you're the
clever one for not a word
was spoken
and there is that child's
drawing
of the guy posed
with the guitar
all the children loved
for what would a child love
after all
and then around another bend
that worn out game board
those game pieces
broken, scattered about unmoving
with those spotless dice
inviting play in a game
where only the winner knows the rules
and finally,
close to the destination,
that room full of echoes
in search of a solid surface
searching frantically for
validation from
a solid surface
a solid surface
without which an echo is not
and so, they float about
the mindless ugly little
baby that opens its mouth
and screams into the
vacuum
for all the air was
long ago used
and what must that scream
sound like?
perhaps, a frozen ocean
balancing on a needle
falling through an
endless glass tube
sliding on a single grain of sand
lost
I jump
and hope this is not
the final stop ...
By michaelcahill
By michaelcahill
By michaelcahill
coastal eddy
trapped in some fiord
up north, where ice
accompanies every journey
even here a barnacle
clings to frozen debris
laying claim to a small piece
of a large reality
it sings its song
and sends it out at random
on whatever current happens by
and then the music of the ocean's dance
has a new counterpoint
to weave into its own melody
a bit of harmony perhaps
maybe a lost symbol crash
in the middle of a crescendo
or even a lucky three note solo
in between movements
there's no way to fathom the current's whim
the currents are without feeling
yet, we praise them
and damn them
and blame them
and thank them
as if they knew
the havoc or joy they brought us
and some need
to find reason and order
begins forming a delicate web
and we trap ourselves within
even as we try to hold the universe
captive for a moment
but, it never pauses
never pauses
that is the tragedy
for a moment's pause
is all we require
a brief peek at the puzzle
stationary
a clear picture
to fit our piece in
that damn nonsensical piece
so forlorn and mishapened
unconnected
but, for brief encounters
with passing currents
on their way
as you are on your way
no pause
never a pause
how noble the struggle is
when at best
futility is your goal
an endless search for truth
when there is none
finally you accept a world
that never pauses
never pauses
you realize
there is no puzzle
only debris
and you are sorry for
the frightened little particles
that cling to each other
squinting at some picture
of themselves intertwined
proclaiming themselves
the cornerstone
and then sorrow turns to contempt
and you pray for ice
for it seems less frantic
and there is order in some measure
alone
but, the currents stop for nothing
for no one
never pausing
never pausing
and insanity reveals its truth
and meaning
and you embrace it
with gratitude
as you realize
that in all the universe
all the chaos
the hopeless maelstrom of existence
there is one
current
that will pause
By michaelcahill
| Author Notes | I am new to the forms that Alvin taught. I am offering this from that perspective. I won't have Alvin to call on, but I will have all of those that learned from him. That is how he lives on. A visit to his profile shows how proud he was of his students. A rare and wonderful soul. |
By michaelcahill
By michaelcahill
polar bears
appearing to be without cares
surf the Bonsai Pipeline
'neath parasols
I believe those are
strawberry daquiris
with red, white and blue umbrellas
they are a sippin'
it isn't a competition
but the crowd cheers
nonetheless
who knew they could surf
certainly, not the
Globalist Luciferians
I could interject
were I more circumspect
about her
there's always a her
as it were
when I
am ensconced
an apple of
a certain turtle dove
but I grow weary
and Timothy Leary
didn't interest me
much to everyone's chagrin
were this a dream
I would not fall to sleep
and sheep
their mindless leaping
would not
signify the coming
gloom of one more night
in lonely's tomb
what have we here?
an assembly to address ...
"People, people
The Earth Conscripted Unitripted
Dudes and Dames Who got a Little
Froggy When the Icecaps Turned to Slushys
Society of What the Hell
welcomes you
to my world
did anyone bring that girl?
Okay, just checking
some necking could've
sent this vision in a whole
exciting different way
but no derision is intended
so, let's play"
the world is going surely
straight to hell
and I mean really
if you are believers
metaphorically
if you find
that such talk is from
deceivers
either way our goose is
sautéed crisped and cooked
we've all been rooked
ENTER: The rays
of the eternal daystar
bouncing deliriously
on my forlorn figure
like ... lights ... yep
under the clever guise
of a nightmare
the days pass by
this day
that day
and then there was
the other day
I remember as I watch clouds
dancing by
Mark Larky from the third grade
they called him spazz
it hurt his feelings
but he didn't have a machine gun
no one did
we didn't know our rights
so, we all lived in ignorance
we were wrong to call him that
but it didn't cost us anything
the Constitution was not threatened
there was no need to mend
In days of yore ...
The young Mark of Clumsastumblefoot
was gregarious by nature
but strange to the nimble and fleet
folk of Gracefulopolus
but as the town motto said
"Grace is for all, should they stand or fall"
so, young Mark could always
count on a helping hand
he was most clumsy a foot
but his grip grew strong
and his love for all did too
when Susie Weakbonette
fell down the well
all were forlorn
no one had toes
of suitable grip strength
to grasp her
Mark reached down with his
powerful hands and snatched her up
(at least that's what my
daydream was about ....)
well, daydreams, nightdreams
we all scream
yes, I scream
I had a dream
but she left
on that cloud over there
the one that looks
like a ravenous clam
consuming a Kosher pickle
as it approaches
two mountains
made out of molehills
but I dream anyway
for it's all she left me
it's become a foolish dream
for I am
I awaken
having dreamt of you
yes
without an open eye
I feel the sheets
entwinned in my legs
silky and warm
and the pillows
held close
I taste you on my lips
and I hear you moan
that satisfied moan
and I writhe a bit
for I want more of you
before I face the day
I open my eyes
you lean forward
and kiss me
it's just a dream
but no dream
would be sad
opinions vary
| Author Notes |
ANYONE is welcome to join our little club. I highly recommend it. :)) Write a free verse poem that involves dreams or dreaming in some way. It can be any kind of dream, daydream, nightmare, dream for the future, a dream life, a dream girl ... there's no limit but your own creativity. Of course, we are poets, and poets who create our own forms and styles, so remember, use all of the poetic tools available, rhyme, meter, alliteration, form, shape and don't forget that presentation can enhance your vision as well. As always, if you have any questions or any suggestions to offer, the discussion threads are open and waiting. I can only dream of the amazing work about to unfold. Our dreams are always an amalgam in my view, just like our waking hours. The world goes on, we react and are affected. At the same time, our personal lives follow along of equal or greater importance to us. Everything means more to me when I'm in love. Perhaps, I'm a silly old fool. LOL |
By michaelcahill
Free of my moorings!
this old barnacle-jeweled bedazzler
once ghosting the mist
silent of tales
as even the moon ignored me
in favour of star reflections
in phantom dance
unworthy of a roaring scuttle
perhaps a ghostly rumour
or two
a shimmer 'neath the wave
to spark a yarn
an amusing briny teaser
to please a crowd imbibed
long have I strained against
these gnarly knots--
monkey fist, rolling hitch
the slippery eight loop
I suppose they tired of tying
thought me tamed
or of no consequence
unseaworthy …
the ropes frayed
and snapped
no one noticed
until the horizon
became my canvas
perhaps too tasking for them
perhaps no matter in any case
do I drift?
"not a worthy endeavor to enjoin ..."
so, no, you might say
for such is your view
from the shore
where I leave you wondering
this kind mistress …
asks no questions
and answers none
she takes me
and I go
will is a foolish thing
when it matters not
the tide is the tide
ancient
as you considered me
so long I remained tethered
measuring time
pondering time
fretting time
when time cannot be measured
time occurs in moments
this moment
moments past
and ones to come
they have no span
riding a tsunami
sails unfurled
cast to the sky in flight
into the heart of the milky way
sailing on, ever on
a nova's blast
whisking me through
galaxies unknown
sails aflame, unburning
and moments to come
moments beyond thought
never again safely moored
forever at sail ...
| Author Notes |
Scuttle: To "scuttle" a ship is to poke a hole or holes in its hull, thus causing it to sink. monkey fist, rolling hitch, the slippery eight loop-- various sailor's knots. |
By michaelcahill
| Author Notes |
Any immigrant from a war torn country fleeing to America seeking asylum and safety. NOTE: Without rhyme and meter, you must keep ALL of your other tools in use to give a poetic feel to your piece. Alliteration, consonance, assonance, and imagery are critical to avoid just being words on a page. Meaning is critical, of course, but never forget, this is poetry. I'm talking to MYSELF more than anyone to be honest. LOL |
By michaelcahill
ya look smug
I'll give you that
rat a tat tat
n a dab'l do dat
the long-haired dude
in the cowboy hat
the cool cat
so oo smoove
mista neeto keeno hipsta
dude a batareeno
or so you dream
and scheme
an ice cream swirl
of gals and girls
you claim are at your call
when beckoned forth
come one and all
don't fall
it's just a swoon
the blue June moon
found bells in
Levi bottom's
well, they know the score
won't bore them with the tale
you look alone to me
that's all I see
could it be
you fib to thee
thyself
a bit?
those fingers on the keys--
please
I do recall
the waterfall
of tones
when tickling dem der bones
you had fire
that just ain't there
(though you desire
it so to be)
anymore
so, don't be sore at me
just sing your song
though it's not near
as clear a tune
though you pretend
the notes don't end
you're not fooling me
and you're not
fooling you
all those ladies
claimed as yours
don't seem anywhere
around
though I'm sure those
tales are true
they did abound
like schools of minnows
in a brook
and all did look
upon you sweetly
and you wooed them
quite discreetly
... neatly placed your mark
on each and every heart
you did your part
to give them mem'ries--
but they're gone
and you're alone
or do ghosts suffice
for company
these days
is this the haze
you find yourself
within
Peter Pan with silver hair
that land never did exist
and you were surely
never there
does anybody care?
and she
the one you made
up from the blue horizon
did that ship leave port
with her aboard
how your heart soared
it wasn't true
you never knew
that to ma lou
your brain had skipped
a sweet romantic trip
for two you took without
a mate, a sorry fate
you know I know the answer
and if I know so
you do
but I know I won't get through
maybe it's okay
just let the day go by
and then the next
as though there is no end
then just a single sad surprise
will take you 'round the bend
you're alone
you've just a list
of those you kissed
remembered bliss
so, cherish this
and just pretend
the list will grow
forever more
I've said my piece ...
now carry on
rule with joy whatever
realms you think
you're ruler of
one day you'll blink
I'd take a swing at you
just one good shot
to wipe that smirk
away
but at my age
seven years' bad luck
could be all my days
| Author Notes |
By michaelcahill
| Author Notes |
I love doing this, what can I say? Attempt number two of ... ?
Here's a link to my first entry "Comet" if you're interested, click HERE HERE is the challenge us Fabulous Free Versers were given. You are ALL invited to join up and participate. You'd be surprised what you can do ... but we wouldn't. :)) You are challenged to write a ten-minute free verse poem. Here are the rules: You are NOT to think about what you are writing about before beginning your write. You are not to edit your write when you are finished. I want you to clear your mind, look at your watch or clock, note the time and start writing. When ten-minutes have passed ... stop writing. THAT is your piece. Post it. :)) Some people write like this as a rule. Of course, most DO edit and pick and choose what they keep in the write. This time we don't want to do so. For those of you who've never written like this, I think you may be surprised at how creative you are "under the gun". Some of the most compelling poetry is often difficult to explain, however, upon reading, feelings are induced in the reader and the mind is often thrown into deep thought. There is great value in that, often as much as there is in concise, easy to understand pieces. My opinion, of course. In any case. This is our challenge. I hope you'll all give it a try. |
By michaelcahill
a bird's shadow
dances on a cloud
but I don't understand
I know the stars are there
but phantom wings
whisk them behind
the forming shapes
lovers
drifting
as though the wind
were spiteful
I dive into the Sun
for solace
and now I'm blind
for wet earth
is a stinging compress
to opened eyes
I follow my heartbeat
it pounds relentlessly
without empathy
it brings me
here
if I were a sailboat
it would all be
just a picture
an escape
but the din of life
surrounds me
muffled and suffocating
now I do see the bird
I lift my arms
but they are not
delicate
blue is everywhere
the sky's illusion
the ocean's unopened cover
I knock
"welcome"
is a myth
I draw your name in the sand
releasing you
to the next arriving wave
but you can't
be erased
| Author Notes |
This challenge is simple. Listen to the music and write what it leads you to write. Please pay the videos themselves no mind ... just listen. A free verse poem, of course, using all the poetic devices at your disposal. Discussion and questions always encouraged. Start a thread, we all love to talk. :)) Instructions. Listen to the first version and type thoughts, impressions. Listen to the second version and record thoughts, impressions and combine the two into an atmospheric poem. As always, you cannot do this wrong. Whatever occurs to you is right. As we've already seen, the variety and quality this group comes up with is simply amazing. |
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