Tag Archives: poetry

Aside

This is a Poem I wrote this morning. My Mind IS   My mind is an eager puppy My heart is an aching bruise My soul is a scout for a journey My spirit is a frightened child My world … Continue reading

“He Was In Heaven Before He Died” Lyrics by John Prine

There’s a rainbow of babies
Draped over the graveyard
Where all the dead sailors
Wait for their brides
And the cold bitter snow
Has strangled each grassblade
Where the salt from their tears
Washed out with the tide

Chorus
And I smiled on the Wabash
The last time I passed it
Yes I gave her a wink
From the passenger side
And my foot fell asleep
As I swallowed my candy
Knowing he was in heaven
Before he died

Now the harbor’s on fire
With the dreams and desires
Of a thousand young poets
Who failed ’cause they tried
For a rhyme without reason
Floats down to the bottom
Where the scavengers eat ’em
And wash in with the tide

Repeat Chorus:

The sun can play tricks
With your eyes on the highway
The moon can lay sideways
Till the ocean stands still
But a person can’t tell
His best friend he loves him
Till time has stopped breathing
You’re alone on the hill

Repeat Chorus:

Thank you to songmeanings.com.

Image

Silent Solitude With Memory So Close

Lumbering bare limbs

porcelain plump long bones

luminescent, in last

summer’ setting sun

Gentle bear

shy conquest

Did you know

I felt like a warrior

chieftess making a treaty?

Shadows under your eyes

from a long week

tolerating my company

made them round

Your eyes glowed

quiet, understated

I feel the most

zen at your side,

Kumar

a moment’s slipping by

catching in timelessness

the presence of us

Like naked 

on the woodtrail

You open my mouth

I hear your words with my arms

I see your legs with my ears

and I walk on your shoulders

dissolved in our moment

Always in these moments of ours.

We wouldn’t feel

more advanced experience

if we had lifetimes

to collaborate with science.

by Vicki V. Jones

Sad, Sad Poem, by me, Vicki, Revised, Again.

 

Fighting is futile,

as loss displaces life.

The Dying one

may be consoled

A warm hand replaces love.

Like the hand of God

The grasp of life trumps love.

 

But as for a living one

retreating, she entreats

a dark-corner pardon,

as Un-consoled, she

is inconsolable.

Her palm can touch the realm of death.

when Her Only One’s hand

has been withdrawn–

The loss of Love trumps Life.

Eva X Poet of the Month Winner

Poet of the Month Winner.