The Tangled Branch Discussion Forums

This thread is a call for new poems - they don’t have to be good, just newly written for this occasion.  

The topic is poems inspired by thoughts of summer past – of Remembrance / Regret – whatever spawns itself from this first line of thought.  

20 - 200 words, any style & format. 

Every Summer is a regret.
Its warmth slinks in
slow and sexy
lazy days promise eternal....

and just when
our humid complaints 
mix and fever
it buggers off

we get what we deserve! 
 

I regret the apathy of them,
the reckless disregard of them,
the wasted days wrapped in assumptions
that tomorrow, would be
another warm day. 
We were always strong then,
the sun and I.
It still waxes bright
while I
wane.

 

The boat is never at rest,
nor its mooring
which shifts nightly further
inland.

We failed to wonder
the first time our feet were wet
on stepping out the door,
now we look back
like ancient seafarers heading out
to the edge of world
not sure where it will be
or where we will return to.

So often I could have gone
to the dance. 
All life was there, and
the ticket was in my hand. 
Paper thin, in clammy fingers
that clutched too tight.

I could hear the music,
knew it was warmer inside
that I should be there, but
outside was safer.

Tickets fill my scrapbook
they overflow, and
photos of that girl spill sepia
on a barren floor.









 
 

Neanderthals' gaze
is gracefully diverted upward.
Facets of piety sweep the onlookers,
In a spectral tango, void of purpose,
Apollo drops the reins for Luna's Escher impression.
The chariot, rekindled, prompts the disbursement,
of spectators mumbling about routine
and their beloved eyesight.
I remain steadfast with an ache in my craned neck,
berated by unhindered daylight.
Hues coalesce one-by-one, all at once.
Sun and moon rest, blameless,
for I already knew their dance.
 

My life is a page of text
a collection of paragraphs.

But I've uttered words  
and sentences 
I can't retract.
Sleeping giants,
invisible to almost everyone, so
they appear, to an observer
as line breaks,
transitions.

Aware of their power now
I dull their legacy,
and my guilt.
I speak sweeter.

You can move them closer,
but paragraphs 
will always be what they are.

 

 

Beautiful writing, Colm -- you hit your stride!!
 

Ike wrote: ↑

Fri Aug 17, 2018 12:11 am

Neanderthals' gaze
is gracefully diverted upward.
Facets of piety sweep the onlookers,
In a spectral tango, void of purpose,
Apollo drops the reins for Luna's Escher impression.
The chariot, rekindled, prompts the disbursement,
of spectators mumbling about routine
and their beloved eyesight.
I remain steadfast with an ache in my craned neck,
berated by unhindered daylight.
Hues coalesce one-by-one, all at once.
Sun and moon rest, blameless,
for I already knew their dance.

Love it, Ike!  The sounds are really special. 

". . . I already knew there dance."   

Cheers.  

T

Thanks Tracy