poetry....feel free to join in 16

2/5/2008 7:30:06 PM	poetry....feel free to join in
taurok Dartmouth, NS age: 50	hahaha...love the write^^^ you certainly have a way with words! Hope to see more of your writes!
2/6/2008 1:21:29 AM	poetry....feel free to join in
shylywilling Medford, OR age: 46	Hi folks. In 1980 just before my grandpa died, he gave me his collection of poetry and credo with a note expressing his hope that I might some day find something of meaning or even useful in his words. I have and do. Much to my surprise his words have inspired an interest in me which unfortunately I never before dreamed I would have. It is never too late, though I would have been a better student in boyhood days gone by had I of known such latent interest existed in me. I would like to share some of his collection, (as well as my own feeble attempts), from time to time here as a token of my appreciation to his hope. I also share his hope in that you too might find something of meaning and or usefulness in the collection. Feedback is always cherished. Critiques of my work is mandatory. LOL Well, at least is expected. I do enjoy the company no matter what the capacity, so, thanks. I am pleased to introduce my grandpa, Victor Hugo Croxton. ----Buddy, wipe your feet----- There's one small phrase from boyhood days that I shall ne'er forget. It seared its part into my heart and grew so tiresome, yet, It would be welcome music now, for these old ears to greet, To hear familiar voice within, "Now buddy wipe your feet". It seems my play, most every day, had to do with dust and dirt. As I recall, she'd never bawl me out for grime on pants and shirt. I'd rush up to the door in haste, but never could I beat, That stern command intoned within, "Now stop and wipe your feet". That constantly she watched for me, I never stopped to ponder. Just how she knew, when near I drew, never ceased to cause me wonder. But now I know it was her plan, my pagan entrance to deplete. 'Twas just her way to furl my sails with, "Buddy, wipe your feet". Perchance, someday, I'll find my way unto the pearly gate. I'll try the lock, then briskly knock and settle down to wait. I shall be disappointed, quite, if there's no voice so sweet, To say, "Come Buddy, welcome home, But pause and wipe your feet. V.Croxton [Edited 2/6/2008 1:34:32 AM]
2/6/2008 1:50:55 AM	poetry....feel free to join in
shylywilling Medford, OR age: 46	As an introductory bookend, I will present another of my favorites from grandpa. ----Huckleberry Pie------ A lingering recollection fills my wandering thoughts today, Of a hot and steaming kitchen of my boyhood, far away. Of a buxom, smiling lady, kind and generous to a boy, And cross the years that lie between, my heart leaps back in joy! It seems to me, the things between, for thrill could never vie With when mother strapped her apron on for huckleberry pie. She made her preparations with a fervor nigh to grim And threw some stuff in pot and pan and coyly covered them, To keep from anxious prying eyes, if not from toying fingers, And toy but once, we surely knew, would bear the brunt that lingers. So well do I remember, as the strings of time I tie, When mother strapped her apron on for huckleberry pie. A certain sort of stillness was the price that she demanded. No racing past her sacred oven, long as she commanded. She'd poke and stoke the old wood range and bear the torrid heat, So we, the kids, could have a thing she knew we loved to eat. The sun could fall, the storm could rage, the world could go awry, But still she'd strap that apron on for huckleberry pie! Now years have gone the way of years and gray is in my brow. Though time has dulled my sight and hearing, I can taste it now. She long ago, has gone to claim reward in blessed rest, I live, convinced more every day, that time of life was best. 'Twill be a pleasant memory 'til the moment that I die, For I miss that apron strapping on... and huckleberry pie. V.Croxton There is a great deal more of his that I will yet employ. As I do... but pace myself too, I hope you will enjoy.
2/6/2008 5:30:46 AM	poetry....feel free to join in
taurok Dartmouth, NS age: 50	Your grandpa left you a legacy! These are wonderful works of writing. They flow like magic. Very well written, and I loved reading them. By all means, continue.!!
2/6/2008 6:56:50 AM	poetry....feel free to join in
taurok Dartmouth, NS age: 50	INNOCENCE Of innocence, I search, the vine yet green, unyielding of forbidden fruit, it's alluring nectar, pure yet sweet, untasted, fermenting in it's cocoon, the womb of it's secrecy, soon to realize, it's moment in the sun.
2/6/2008 7:00:04 AM	poetry....feel free to join in
taurok Dartmouth, NS age: 50	WHAT IS IT ? That which seems beyond rhyme or reason, Lost in soul and afoul of mental treason, Abandoned spirit deprived and forlorn, A place where myth and legend are born. Idols and gods, and demons of doom, Creatures of a dark souless womb, Dreams from a dreamscape and legends of lore, Dwelling in shadows forever more.
2/6/2008 7:07:51 AM	poetry....feel free to join in
taurok Dartmouth, NS age: 50	Wise the fool, silent and quiet, walking the shadows, seeing, yet unseen, hearing, yet unheard, stroke of madness, write upon the tomb of darkness, where virgin eyes, will feast on your words, like buzzards on rotting flesh.
2/6/2008 7:13:28 AM	poetry....feel free to join in
taurok Dartmouth, NS age: 50	Daddy? Where is Mommy? Why doesn't she call? Daddy? where is Mommy? she never visits us at all. Daddy wipes away the tears, Then tries his best to explain, What drugs have done to Mommy, But can't take away the pain. How to mend the breaking hearts, of the children he loves so much, And try to justify the Mother's love, who now is out of touch. The harm is never ending, The tears are stains that last, The pillows a silent witness, of Mommy's addictive past. The children stand by Daddy, as they said their last goodbye, Mommy didn't make it out, She didn't have to die! Based on a true story of someone who committed suicide when she couldn't give it up.
2/6/2008 7:21:18 AM	poetry....feel free to join in
taurok Dartmouth, NS age: 50	Search the streams, in dreams, in pools, cesspools of human disintegration, waste of dissatisfaction, toxic souls, floating in the endless swamp of obsession, looking for completeness.
2/6/2008 7:49:37 AM	poetry....feel free to join in
musicofthesoul Madison, WI age: 18	AUTUMN NIGHT...(a song i just finished writing) -each leaf hits the ground the colors decay, the remnants of dreams just slowly slip away. And im looking out but i cant find my sight. in this mellow tone a sombre bled black and white. -early it falls and its slipping away im trapped in this night and cant find the day. so golden, it seemed so perfectly painted bright. but amber the mist on the cool autumn night. -so carry me home now, and dont let me fall. dont lose your color and let winter call. i dunno if u wanna actually hear the song i recorded just email me and we can talk or somethin! -rix
2/6/2008 1:50:40 PM	poetry....feel free to join in
taurok Dartmouth, NS age: 50	rix....very good write. Is your song done in Rap style or R&B? It has really nice flow to it. Keep writing girl, you certainly have talent! Feel free to add to this thread anytime.
2/6/2008 1:59:26 PM	poetry....feel free to join in
healthologist Page, AZ age: 60	Rix, Very nice, if you want us old coots to be able to email with sugesstions or hear your songs you have to send us a friend request. Les ps - like the lips - love the smile [Edited 2/6/2008 2:01:34 PM]
2/6/2008 2:49:27 PM	poetry....feel free to join in
taurok Dartmouth, NS age: 50	Forever locked, between the pages of life, saved as a memory, carried within the depth of soul, and spirit, the time, from birth to death, a golden seed in eternity, leaving, in it's wake, a whisper, a trace, of existence.
2/6/2008 3:11:11 PM	poetry....feel free to join in
taurok Dartmouth, NS age: 50	I walked among tall men, and I was there for a while listening. I walk among righteous men, and I, always keen, yes, I have been listening. I walk among honest men, my ears strain, to feign listening. I walk among idols, the demi gods they do not see me listening.
2/6/2008 3:30:36 PM	poetry....feel free to join in
taurok Dartmouth, NS age: 50	When you undressed, the white roses blushed, turning red, the petals unfolding, leaking nectar, exposing the erect stamin, aroused, by your naked flesh.

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