short story writers, journalists, painters, and poets

[alistarr*]

i'm not saying it's time to quit trying to say anything, just that maybe sitting trying to push forward through poems isn't the right thing any more. i mean, until the next time i get bored of those same old six guitar strings, or prose, or whatever, and the space around the edges of the poem starts looking appealing again.

y'know, things move in circles.

[jebreject]

I feel you.  Not that I ever really quit trying, but I haven't written any poetry in ages ...

[theartlessmonster]

Fear Strikes The Grand Flora

Like an stubborn old dog
Barking up the wrong tree
Bright eyed, tail wagging
At every movement I see

I chased a squirrel to the clouds
Now my wimper won’t fade
Over the Atlantic he threw acorns
Like an S.O.S. for aid

He’s not coming down though
The squirrel just won’t play
One night he dropped a note
That clearly stated “go away”

Guarding the Magnolia
At my post day and night
Never did I waver
Never lost my sight

Now it was my passion
I had to coax him along
Intercepting all the acorns
Claimed them as my song

Rustling the waxy leaves
White flowers fragrant blooms
Perceiving in that tree
A dangerous rodent looms

He made himself at home
Amidst the glossy greens
Still I lay below him napping
Dreaming what it means

From down here seed capsules
Look like hand grenades
But please don’t pull the pins
The lonely soldier gets parades

Sometimes it takes you a long time to realize the danger you are in and the mistakes you made.

Don’t play with squirrels.

[Lalitree]

Continued here:

Sing, eunuchs!
http://lastplanetojakarta.com/forums/viewtopic.php?t=7920