SL Poetry Thread - Dancing Muse

Bumping cause I can...If you have a problem with it please feel free to contact an attorney

hehe!!! nice job!!

April is the foolish day of the year because of fools we have april fools day - a day to suffer fools render fools foolish and find food for fools, fire the fools in the office off the job they go packing their foolish ware and tubby toys from hell or where else fools hang with other fools - the hangman tarot card is a fool hanging upside down and the first card in the deck is the fool card a care free being about to walk off a cliff knapsack over the shoulder with all his foolish belongings about to let go and surrender to his foolish fate which could be the captain's guest on the ship of fools which set sail to the port of ghouls in the morning under a fool's moon of foolish sorrows.

Familiar sounds I wake to
Water from your morning shower
The sound of your electric razor
The whispered words of I love you
and Have a good day
Familiar sounds fade, I drift back to sleep

or....(cause I love to write poems based on other peoples muse...I'm a hack )

Tempted
To say the I love you's of the day
As the sweet murmur of your razor
Colides with my dreaming mind
You find your way, disrobed
Through my morning thoughts
To whisper, have a nice day
While I succumb again to dreams
Of you.

*smoochies Isis*

A love song heard far beneath
Your slumbered beauty
Quietly your silence
Fades to immortality.

_/_/

How beatiful Merwan!!


My beloved

A warm cloak
Amorously wraps
About cold-shoulders
With fair suspension
Of time and misery
Complete with eternity.
Eyes fixated upon
The farthest points
Of space; accidental
Infinite in delusion
The obtuse complexity
Of the ethereal shade.
Starlight brightens then
Fades into dawns glory
Shuddered by pennied lids
And hollowed lungs
For your sanguine embrace
I would betray forever.

2

I am emptiness
If not a bleak stone
Unformed statue
Of astounding regret
Carved subtly
In the rock face
Removed from sight
But for the guilt
Of tomorrow’s wakening

Here is one of mine -

------ Hot Snow ------
a field of snow as ocean waves,
stretching out towards the horizon,
white on white and a darker white,
shadows in the waves of cold,
seen through a steamy window,
drops like rainforrest dripping down glass,
hottub bubbles, water lapping smoothly,
icelike champagne frosty bubbles,
frozen softness outside,
icecold softness inside,
(C) me 1996

^;;^

Uncertain

I am not certain
If I wish to feel
The sting of cold steel
Against pulsing flesh
The purple stream
Of warm silk running
Over skin white with fear.
Yet, I often think of
The sweet relief
That the silver shaft
Would lend this
Nervous, uncertain heart.

Thank you Isis - much appreciated!

How many branches has your life had?

How many other paths were open to you?

Do you ever think about it?

What if you'd taken a different path?

Would you still be in the same place?

Have you ever thought about it?

Do you regret the path not taken?

Do you wonder about what would have changed?

Why wouldn't you think about it?

All the opportunities missed......and the happiness lost.....and the tragedies gained......

and then there's only one thing left to ask yourself.

So why didn't you take it?

And the answer will leave you

smiling

crying

dying

or lying

to yourself.

Sing from the roof the pain within,
And rejoice the Sun's return.

A harem girl squeeled with delight,
"Oh my clitoris shines like a light!"
"Now the fellows may stare, but I really don't care"
"For now Siggy can find it at night..."

I live in a little sim where everybody rents
To a man, we own no land, so we can't hold events.
But we have something special here that sets our sim apart
Coz each 2nd stipend day we hold the Festival of Farts.

There's displays and decorations, people come from every sim
And those who come personally just send thier farts in prims
Then our most feted local resident, with clipboard and a pen
Will let them rip, and take a sniff, then rate them one to ten.

He gives 2 points for audibility, and 2 for the bouquet.
2 points for burst of particles - and the rate of their decay.
2 points for presentation
2 points for grace and class.

For a ribbon for the best fart in our Festival of Farts.

Poem To My Love Glory

deep waters flowing rapidly to the source,
to the beginnings
where love's delicate whispers stir in darkness,
silky warmth
she touched my soul.

scent of love,
thankful for the memory as it emerged
like a broken wing on the storm's furry,
sounds of crashing waves of passion.

this intruder who
still runs from surrender -
is grateful once again for showing me remembrance.

I love you...

In this Rennaissance of our other lives
every image here bursts with makeshift heart
we wander from space to space
imagining the person who fought for every prim
little masterwork of art

Empty rooms draw close and graze memory
children in an old house, seeking old dreams
fighting nightmares in the complexity
of their solitude

vistas like centuries fall away below, and we skim over them
hands held, swirling in newly imagined skies
seeking, seeking, seeking
answers to questions we aren't sure we asked

Playing dolls, dress up, house, we grab each second greedily
gather it close and cradle its precious experience deep in our hands
creating intimate climbing roses, an embrace of vine and petals
memory like one serene pearl
harnessed miracle, mystery and secret within a glowing teardrop

Fish swim round and round the world that empties and fills
particles of light seeking eyes
and when you fly close to the details there is always a tiny gasp of breath--
fear that it could be only illusion.

in the light of reality
the ego feels so so threatened
needing to be encased
within a fantasy existance
secured and protected
by structure and agendas
your crys for love
sound like prayers to our father
to rescue your sand castle

You told me I took your memorys
But how can real memorys be taken
What is the value of the cork
If the wine has allready been drank
What is the value of the rays of the sun
If the warmth is allready upon your skin

If memorys is all you want than you shall have them
You will be tortured by them at 2am some morning
not being able to sleep
Remembering Love instead of Being Love

On my deathbed, there is nothing I shall take with me
Nothing here in matter or form
Only my true memory
Which I have never forsaken
and never will

Young ones venture first
flights, budding self-songs, briefly
singled from flock-life.

The words stumble out
dusty from misuse
lack of calling
from the muse

the words once
danced across the page
and the lyrics sang
across the wind

now the loss
brings nostalgic ache
and a hollow in the
pit of a stomach

wishes for a muse
to reply
go unheard and echo
back to me, laughing

Incomplete Remembrance

Can you remember your father's face,
Or -
Sounds of your birth and the first voices heard?
Sunlight streaming into your room energizing tiny dust specks?
Morning song birds on the tenement rooftops?
Your puppy's whimper and your cat's presence?
Nasty wasp sting on your finger?
Doorways not opened?
Deep mountain lakes filled with dazzling water?
Sight of blood flowing from your body on to the sidewalk?
Electric rainbows you could almost touch?
Your bed spinning in the night, knowing it won't stop?
Taste of chocolate and oranges?
Fear and pain of your parents anger?
Snowflakes caressing your small face?
Lightening that blinded and thunder that deafened?
Cleansing of the sin eater's soul?
Simple pleasures of an ordinary life?
Water skiing at 60 mph?
Ecstasy of multiple orgasms?
Seemingly constant insecurity?
Nightmares that catapult you awake?
Seemingly constant bliss?
Union of love with your beloved?
and the birth of your child you brought to this world?
Or-
can you remember your mother's face?

_/_/_/

Summer's Regrets

Faux Venetian gold
backdrop to a girl,
more beautiful than
she wishes to be,
dreaming of art
while the intoxicating
vapors of stale chianti
and fresh pizza pie
slice the heavy air
her hands work
to clear the lipstick
from a wine glass
of a lover scorned
In the heat
skin liquifying heat
of summer's regret.

I once wrote a ghazal.. id love to share it here.. but its not in english.. ive never read a ghazal in english before..

Ghazal
Written by Meher Baba
Translated from Hindi, by Bhau Kalchuri


Just like a wounded deer, I am caught in the trap,
And dancing in agony on the grounds of Infinity.

You are not satisfied shooting arrows at my wounded heart;
You are pouring salt on the wounds - I am now writhing in pain.

How can my wounds heal when Your arrows are constant?
The only thing I can do is silently beg for Your mercy.

I have only one desire and that is to see You.
I am taking every risk - I am throwing my life to the wind.

I have left the sacred thread, repetition beads, and traditional prayers;
I have left everything - You have become the sole object of my longing.

Either come, or draw Your bow back farther,
As I derive pleasure from the pain of my wounds.

Now the arrow and the salt have become my very life;
I cannot live without them - but with them I am dying.

Without Him, this life is suffering and hell (pralaya).
Oh how can I go on living? I cannot bear this separation!

---