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Virtual Meeting May 2012   Poem #3

5/24/2012

6 Comments

 
TEN YEARS IS NOT SO LONG                                     

You have not changed.
And winds that bore you from me
like sails of neon men-of-war, full-thrust
against past tides of cities, lit with efflorescent lens
of dew and myriads of time-shined spores
have kept you -
I, the wind-maker.

You have not changed.
And I, the firefly and moth 
of constant dreams and surging sands,these fluxing tides 
of shifting in the glow of ancient keeps, built high 
on wave-strewn coastlines, gusting with the banshee scream
have kept you -
I, the wind maker.

You have not changed.
And clouds that bore you in me
light as dusk on distant forms of stream-swept jade
sweeping past sweet banks on polished sleds of glass
fresh-cut from Chartres’ ancient rose
have kept you -
I, the born-on-wind.

You have not changed.
And youthful blooms of forest depths
lie swimming in the galaxies of starfish, lighting with their fires
the phoenix of never-ashing keep, fanned high 
by winds that bore you to me
sails that kept you -
You, the wind-rider.

Brad Drew © 1976 London   

6 Comments

 Virtual Meeting  May 2012   Poem #2

5/21/2012

4 Comments

 
Balancing act

We step across wide water,
taking our time.  Breathing:
it’s taken most of our life.
You shout and I can’t look back.

Water dark as guinness –
what made us think we could risk it?

Out here in the middle
the river fizzes faster.
Too late to turn back.
Green rocks now,
lank weed stranded,
every one a slippery stretch
and the far bank receding.

Alone together, balancing,
too far apart to clasp.

Lyn Browne

4 Comments

Virtual Meeting May 2012

5/18/2012

5 Comments

 
Hello Pente Poets across the world, and welcome to our first virtual meeting. Here's my poem for comment.

Night Blindness

They said it would be like this--
a super moon rising over water,
gleaming the horizon
as far as the eye could see.

But they didn't say
it could blind with its brilliance:
a hard light, laser sharp,
paling the Cross into insignificance.
Omnipotent, it draws us--
fence posts, gnomes and tall dark strangers--
to the cutting edge.

Here at the precipice
we falter—stature lessened.
Fears illuminate
as monsters lurch from dappled pools
and sit like fat toads,
waiting.

J Bandidt   ©   May, 2012

5 Comments

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