Cassea Posted February 24, 2012 #1 Share Posted February 24, 2012 Many years ago I used to be a gifted writer. But due to a TBI (traumatic brain injury) I am not able to write the way I used to. My OT has suggested that I practice writing poems to be able to retrieve words from memory that might be otherwise lost. So if you want me to write a poem for you write a phrase. A word. An idea. And let me see what I can do with it. They are poems for you that you may keep as your own. Love Cassea Each poem I write is written from the moment I see the words. So as soon as I see them. I will write. 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
+and-then Posted February 24, 2012 #2 Share Posted February 24, 2012 PATIENCE Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted February 24, 2012 Author #3 Share Posted February 24, 2012 (edited) OK Patience. I'll edit with the poem in a moment. The heavy tapestry falls upon the wounded like a dark theater in a red light district where the flaming coals like distant owls warm the heart with hope surround the clenched and collapsed body like obolus tucked in pockets This figure isn't dead just waiting the war wounds have been left by the slumbering patriarch adrift and ashamed but pulling forward the arms flex like those of Charon making his way Unassembled faces upturned to the evening sky settle in upon themselves like stones falling to the bottom of the river The tide will never come for the stones slowly they are turned seaward slowly they turn from shore slowly they turn away from the land that knew them. And this old man that sits on the shore keeps his eyes upon the horizon seeking love that left eluded faded and returned to slip by him like a twig upon that same river Certainty begets humility Somber somber dignity like flax upon the loom Edited February 24, 2012 by Cassea 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Jester Harlot Posted February 24, 2012 #4 Share Posted February 24, 2012 Whoa, I loved that! Here, do one for me too! Blood. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
d e v i c e Posted February 24, 2012 #5 Share Posted February 24, 2012 Yup, you sure have a gift alright Cassea. I'd like a poem about an Avenging Angel please. Thanks. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted February 24, 2012 Author #6 Share Posted February 24, 2012 Whoa, I loved that! Here, do one for me too! Blood. Blood She traces the wounds around her soul like a delicate tongue touching upon her lips she keeps them withdrawn inside Shadows in a cavern of shadows She is comfortable there like a mouse in an attic filled with wires and old wooden toys trying to hide She cannot look back doing so unleashes a keening that voice she no longer recognizes as her own Instead she strives to find the desert in her sadness Deserts are safe havens away from the liquid of pain that rolls down firmaments spills into the cracks within the pavement the ones she avoided as a child Her raw witnesses follow her like a trail of blood she watches her life fall in the distance like saw-grass pushed back with the cruelty of the early winds of spring Can she recall? She cannot remember any longer but continues forward pushing through the willows the fallen leaves of orchids scattered in the fields like so many bloody footprints in her wake. 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted February 24, 2012 Author #7 Share Posted February 24, 2012 (edited) Yup, you sure have a gift alright Cassea. I'd like a poem about an Avenging Angel please. Thanks. The curve of her back rises up to the phalanx of wings that unfold like sarissa aimed upon the cacaphony their cries do not dissuade her She is precise in her dedication as her spears pierce through the din She is engorged with ecstasy these small drops of pain slide down the wooden spears and find their way Those who doubt her do not know her she recognizes the perjury of their souls and forgives them as she renders through her justice like a fisherman sliding his blade through a gasping fish Clambering forward a scorpion upon a rock armored to the wind and the flagrant sun she rises in the ashy storm and stands arms lifted skyward amid the devastation She has no sympathy for the wicked For she has known them and revealed them flayed raw beneath the eyes of God. Edited February 24, 2012 by Cassea 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
+and-then Posted February 24, 2012 #8 Share Posted February 24, 2012 OK Patience. I'll edit with the poem in a moment. The heavy tapestry falls upon the wounded like a dark theater in a red light district where the flaming coals like distant owls warm the heart with hope surround the clenched and collapsed body like obolus tucked in pockets This figure isn't dead just waiting the war wounds have been left by the slumbering patriarch adrift and ashamed but pulling forward the arms flex like those of Charon making his way Unassembled faces upturned to the evening sky settle in upon themselves like stones falling to the bottom of the river The tide will never come for the stones slowly they are turned seaward slowly they turn from shore slowly they turn away from the land that knew them. And this old man that sits on the shore keeps his eyes upon the horizon seeking love that left eluded faded and returned to slip by him like a twig upon that same river Certainty begets humility Somber somber dignity like flax upon the loom Thank you Cassea...it was beautiful and moving. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Robbie333 Posted February 24, 2012 #9 Share Posted February 24, 2012 Many years ago I used to be a gifted writer. But due to a TBI (traumatic brain injury) I am not able to write the way I used to. My OT has suggested that I practice writing poems to be able to retrieve words from memory that might be otherwise lost. So if you want me to write a poem for you write a phrase. A word. An idea. And let me see what I can do with it. They are poems for you that you may keep as your own. Love Cassea Each poem I write is written from the moment I see the words. So as soon as I see them. I will write. The Horizon Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted February 24, 2012 Author #10 Share Posted February 24, 2012 (edited) Hmmm The Horizon I've been using horizons a lot already. Let's see if I can take it in a different direction. edited with the poem in a moment He is trussed up and wired He lays upon the gurney in the ward like so many others who have come back from the unfolding legacy His anguish crawls across his back like a sodden gibbon it's wet hairy arms stretched out to touch his face it sits hunched with its mouth hanging open as if inhaling a caul sucking in the terrors that come to him at night Medication drips into his arm slides long the clear plastic tubes He watches each drop traveling the journey to his veins He must focus there now and leave behind the cries of the men the weeping among the bent ferns crushed bamboo shoots the muddy graves the silt covered shells the dropped tokens of life that came before He is there now looking at the sky unable to crawl waiting as he watches the horizon for the coming of angels perhaps they may save him in time He watches the horizon and prays for the grey machines with blades tearing through the sky throwing off the smoke and rising fumes of death He would like to reach out to touch the grass but his arms are locked by his side like a child still in the womb. But here now, in the sterilized apology the attempt to save those who walked blindly into the nova of confusion and were devoured they take good care of you now Pillows plumped food trays brought promptly and the sweet nectar that oozes like so much poison into the assailed flesh that has been stripped of recognition stoked in the fires of Napalm Through the window he sees the clean horizon the normalcy frightens him he tries to turn away but cannot move As so he waits again for the angels to rise up in the distance come forward to save this poor soul this wretched paper mache man who will slip quietly between the starched white sheets until the kind sprite nurses pull them across his face. Edited February 24, 2012 by Cassea Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Robbie333 Posted February 24, 2012 #11 Share Posted February 24, 2012 Hmmm The Horizon I've been using horizons a lot already. Let's see if I can take it in a different direction. edited with the poem in a moment Whatever you want to do. How about " The Search"? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted February 24, 2012 Author #12 Share Posted February 24, 2012 (edited) The Search Let's try something less sad this time. Hmmm Bright eyed naifs stand in the entryway their legs cocked out in odd poses down the halls the echoes of stern misstreses are punctuated by the slamming of locker doors and the shifting of books and stuffed in papers Such young boys to be smug about their devious natures they are certain no evidence will come forth They amuse themselves watching the squat and pull of bending matriarchs that are intent on revealing their dastardly ways But the search will not prove fruitful The back pocket of one boy bulges with incrimination not understood by those caught up in diligence and expedience Instead they amuse themselves with a sly side eye a tugged corner of a smile hair slicked back and thumbs hooked casually in their belt loops waiting for the search in vain to end. Edited February 24, 2012 by Cassea Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Robbie333 Posted February 24, 2012 #13 Share Posted February 24, 2012 The Search Let's try something less sad this time. Hmmm Hmmmm, The Light Seeks Me Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Robbie333 Posted February 24, 2012 #14 Share Posted February 24, 2012 The Search Let's try something less sad this time. Hmmm Bright eyed naifs stand in the entryway their legs cocked out in odd poses down the halls the echoes of stern misstreses are punctuated by the slamming of locker doors and the shifting of books and stuffed in papers Such young boys to be smug about their devious natures they are certain no evidence will come forth They amuse themselves watching the squat and pull of bending matriarchs that are intent on revealing their dastardly ways But the search will not prove fruitful The back pocket of one boy bulges with incrimination not understood by those caught up in diligence and expedience Instead they amuse themselves with a sly side eye a tugged corner of a smile hair slicked back and thumbs hooked casually in their belt loops waiting for the search in vain to end. You have a wonderful talent child. Thank you so much. It is wonderful. Smiles at you. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted February 24, 2012 Author #15 Share Posted February 24, 2012 Oh man Robbie you are driving me crazy. LOL!!!! The Light Seeks Me I am there under the rubble I can hear them searching lights out dogs sniffing the crumbling of nearby rocks the calling out with hope But now my witnesses are sinews of light sneaking through the collapse of it all In years to come scholars will speak didactic tones students will whimper and shift awkwardly in polished seats Pages will turn pens will scratch across the tablets men will lament But I still lie there waiting for the light that seeks me Victory has written its own tome Voices will sing my requiem All heralding the truth as is what they know it to be But I still lie there waiting for the light that seeks me in a dark holding cell within the bowels of a shuddering ship that leaps to meet the waves that hold back from destination I am there in the barracks with cheap planks of wood slapped up to keep us in to keep away the cries of recognition when cruel death unfurls it's sinister wings I am there along the beaten path where machetes landed in crevices of blood howls reached the clouds and were beat back down by angels helpless in the face misery I am there now in the consternation I live in the confusion like men passing buckets down trenches trying to find some salvation some answer Many men will say they have come to know me But I still lie there waiting for the light that seeks me 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Robbie333 Posted February 24, 2012 #16 Share Posted February 24, 2012 Oh man Robbie you are driving me crazy. LOL!!!! The Light Seeks Me I am there under the rubble I can hear them searching lights out dogs sniffing the crumbling of nearby rocks the calling out with hope But now my witnesses are sinews of light sneaking through the collapse of it all In years to come scholars will speak didactic tones students will whimper and shift awkwardly in polished seats Pages will turn pens will scratch across the tablets men will lament But I still lie there waiting for the light that seeks me Victory has written its own tome Voices will sing my requiem All heralding the truth as is what they know it to be But I still lie there waiting for the light that seeks me in a dark holding cell within the bowels of a shuddering ship that leaps to meet the waves that hold back from destination I am there in the barracks with cheap planks of wood slapped up to keep us in to keep away the cries of recognition when cruel death unfurls it's sinister wings I am there along the beaten path where machetes landed in crevices of blood howls reached the clouds and were beat back down by angels helpless in the face misery I am there now in the consternation I live in the confusion like men passing buckets down trenches trying to find some salvation some answer Many men will say they have come to know me But I still lie there waiting for the light that seeks me Sorry. Just plain wonderful it tis. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Jester Harlot Posted February 25, 2012 #17 Share Posted February 25, 2012 I loved the blood one! Now, do one about my SN. Mistress of Shadows. >D Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
d e v i c e Posted February 25, 2012 #18 Share Posted February 25, 2012 The curve of her back rises up to the phalanx of wings that unfold like sarissa aimed upon the cacaphony their cries do not dissuade her She is precise in her dedication as her spears pierce through the din She is engorged with ecstasy these small drops of pain slide down the wooden spears and find their way Those who doubt her do not know her she recognizes the perjury of their souls and forgives them as she renders through her justice like a fisherman sliding his blade through a gasping fish Clambering forward a scorpion upon a rock armored to the wind and the flagrant sun she rises in the ashy storm and stands arms lifted skyward amid the devastation She has no sympathy for the wicked For she has known them and revealed them flayed raw beneath the eyes of God. Wow. Thanks very much. Good luck on your journey. God has blessed you. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted March 30, 2012 Author #19 Share Posted March 30, 2012 (edited) Eruption Those eyes sunken into the years almost pulling back to the husk of the womb unyielding and averting rolling skyward looking to the stars with such accusation I feel it in the bottoms of my heels as I fall backward and stumble into the couch as if you had raised your arm and released a sword you had slashed through the air trying to undue to tenuous strands those spiderwebs that draped across our tracheas and made our lamentations brethern those cries that made the crows fall like blackberries in the center of a forest of pine trees awaiting a winter that came with frost covered moss and broken kneed does and cracking ice that echoed like shotguns as you beat and beat and beat upon the pulled hide drum of your youth begging for the cold cloak of winter to relent but it does not we are all its cicadas burrowed deep awaiting our eruption or the blood that reveals the evidence to our tear stung eyes you are sorry again I know Edited March 30, 2012 by Cassea Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Leonardo Posted March 31, 2012 #20 Share Posted March 31, 2012 You have a wonderful talent, Cassea. A word I'd like you to poetise, please? ... Nobility Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
markdohle Posted March 31, 2012 #21 Share Posted March 31, 2012 Inner fire Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted April 3, 2012 Author #22 Share Posted April 3, 2012 Hey all, I've been sick. I am still quite sick now so I haven't been able to write. But I will soon. Hopefully. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted April 11, 2012 Author #23 Share Posted April 11, 2012 You have a wonderful talent, Cassea. A word I'd like you to poetise, please? ... Nobility OK I read a few Mohammed Ali quotes, plus I'm suffering from Insomnia tonight so I'll give it a whirl (I wrote it, it's more prosey but I'm trying. Funny it reflects my deficit in writing in the way it's choppy words) Nobility Nobility is the sag eyed man at dawn with a push cart in his hands and his God in his heart He murmurs (a little sadly, a little sadly) about his knees, his bills and his bitter coffee He remembers the last time he owned his nobility when he was fifty seven in that wild fray of yard behind the superplaza where cars parked up and competed for dignity next to the shopping carts that looked like the victims of a tornado or a bull gone wild He'd wished for the bull gone wild But he had hunched down beside the dumpster and pulled out a cigarette from a crumpled pack God how he missed those crumpled packs And wondered (he missed the wondering too) how those clouds could seem to roll across so quickly Each inhale revealed a puff circled up to the cerulean sky the wafting wanderers the rolling past the dissipation like his girls his mother his father his brother gone, gone, gone Only the strongest survive or the weak smart enough to crawl into shadows How often his fingers surprised him these days with their wrinkles and grime And he sat pressed up against the granite blocks pretending they were gravestones whispering out with each puff of smoke I miss you I miss you I miss you Some wise man once told him his journey was to hold the space to live the life but he had sunken into shadows oh so comfortable with their grayness and folds wrinkled memories and quivering eyes ah yes But the sky is unrelenting and he beckons beckons until it turns to begs and the horizon No..... the loft the arch the arc the entirety those full sailed billows of blue fading at night to orange cast into waves of violent lavender still still still Call down to the prince call down to the king beg and beg and beg for him to live Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted April 11, 2012 Author #24 Share Posted April 11, 2012 (edited) Inner fire The last poem I wrote just came right out, automatically. This one intimidates me because I have a hard time with "poetic phrasing" like the other one I skipped. I think. I get too intimidated? I think you expect something with the phrasing. So I tend to try to shake that off. By writing something. Completely unrelated. So Inner Fire. Hmmm I try to make it abstract or unrelated. I'm going to think a bit. On this one. Reading back I see I use eyes and skies a lot. So I will try for something completely different this time. Inner Fire The yelping dog breaks through the noisy afternoon with its bouncing tires ricocheting trains be bop sound drop of the afternoon lickity splitting bus stops hissing hydraulics and children's histrionics like the boom boom boom of an 80's juke box blasting out of the storefront of the local pub The pedestrians roam like displaced equestrians their horses agallop off their reins riding hard up Fifth Avenue knocking left and right the fancy paper shopping bags of daily shopping hags as they ignore you as you wander through lean to the right lean to the left side step spin away like dancers in The Thanksgiving Day Parade and keep on moving downtown maybe there you can trade your fare Another dreamer with solid soles of shoes to wander up and down the pavement try to pound into the granite your deliberate provocation Let them know that you were here Remember that as you fade beside the blue light flicker through your memory try to find your answer we never forgot you dear You were always here Edited April 11, 2012 by Cassea Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Leonardo Posted April 11, 2012 #25 Share Posted April 11, 2012 OK I read a few Mohammed Ali quotes, plus I'm suffering from Insomnia tonight so I'll give it a whirl (I wrote it, it's more prosey but I'm trying. Funny it reflects my deficit in writing in the way it's choppy words) Thanks for the poem, Cassea, and sorry to hear you've been ill. Hope you recover soon. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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