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Below are the 9 most recent journal entries recorded in The Poetry Room's LiveJournal:

Thursday, June 30th, 2011
10:04 pm
Wednesday, January 12th, 2011
10:46 pm
The Jungle

I've got a real jungle in my own back yard.
Over the fence, I did climb.

Into the thickest trees and bushes,
Into the wild and vines.

Strange noises erupted as the birds made calls
Telling the rest I had come.

From under my trampling the living things fled.
My feet pounding like a drum.

I ran to the tallest tree I could find,
Thew my arms 'round and squeezed.

Found a good sturdy branch and started my climb.
Not till the top am I freed.

At the top of my tree, I let out a crow.
Joining in the jungle's song.

We sang our wild music, every creature crooned.
We sang so loud and long.

Then I heard a calling, Time to come and eat.
I retreated from my tree.

Mom says that my jungle makes me a wild child.
But, I say,  the jungle is wild because of me.

Saturday, September 18th, 2010
6:07 pm
Does anyone feel like a little bit of composition?
It's been forever, but I miss the "opening line" game.

If anyone wants to play, take the opening line, write a poem in any style that tickles your fancy, and then post your poem or a link to your poem in the comments section of this post.

In this post, the opening line is "I want to steal your breath."

Current Mood: creative
Sunday, October 30th, 2005
3:18 am
Late Night Ramblings
She lives on as an idea,
An image stamped on a coin
Her fingertips stretched to Heaven
Her body bound to Earth

Her heart is the ocean
Full of salt tears and breaking
On the unfeeling sand
In a steady rhythm of grief

Her howl is lost on the wind
It is the wind
Blowing across an endless desert
A cry falling on deafened ears

He feels her pain; hw knows
Her heart aches and breaks
Because he is out there somewhere
Finding himself, but lost to her

He hears her in an echo
He feels her when he examines a rock
He sees her in forest and stream
She lives on in his dreams

But he is unable to move
He does not know how to reach her
She is all and nothing
To embrace her is to embrace the water

She longs for him, yet
At the same time, blocks his touch
She pines for love, yet
She remains afraid to recieve it

She fears hurt; it comes so easily
He fears pain; it happens so fast
They both fear being wrong
Both fear their desire is just a dream

So they see each other through the mirror
A dream, yet not a dream
She is real; he is too
But they cannot reach each other

But, but, but...
When he embraces himself, his arms are around her
When she caresses her cheek, it is his hand
Cold comfort, but comfort still

The lovers' bodies long to touch
After the whispers of a sweet dream
They've seen each other at last
But can dreams be made real?

He catches a glimpse of her on a crowded street
A flash of dark gold hair, and she is gone
His dark eyes are burned on her memory
Was their meeting real, or just a dream?

She clutches the bedcovers fitfully
A sob tears out of her throat
To be so close, yet so far away
To awaken all alone!

And he lays in his bed, sleepless
Loving the dream of her
Yet missing the reality of her arms, her bed
The touch of her warm lips against his

And so the lovers are ketp apart by fate
Living on in each others' hearts
They may have never met, or they may be known
And long for the someday when they can be one again

Current Mood: melancholy
Monday, September 5th, 2005
2:45 pm
Opinions Needed
I'm beginning to think that we should allow anyone to post...at least, until we have a solid core of people who post regularly. (I've been bad about that lately, and I'm sorry.)

What do you think?
Monday, August 1st, 2005
1:31 pm
Friday, July 29th, 2005
11:46 am
An Ironic Poem
Okay, here's something I started writing back in Monterey in 1999, but didn't get around to starting over and actually finishing until... I think like a year or so ago, maybe.... Would've liked to have posted it in the old Poetry Room, so I might a well put it here....

An Ironic Poem

Fuck poetry.

Poetry is bullshit.
Go get your own God-damned emotions.
I don't want to make my pain sound pretty;
it shouldn't rhyme, or "flow."
I cannot feel in meter,
nor in free verse emote.

Life just isn't lyrical.
Neither is it digital.
It's analog, and all too rough-
not just around the edges.
It makes no sense,
it's so unfair-
(I spit that word,
"unfair": a curse).
It makes no effort to conform
to any art or order;
it's messy and inelegant,
it holds no rhyme or reason.
It cuts, but when it does,
it uses not a surgeon's skill,
and neither, one's precision;
but hacks away-
a jagged, rusty blade-
as wielded by a madman.

A poem is a lovely thing,
and hence it is too lofty;
too gracious an endeavour, sadly,
for a world which hurts this badly.
Aesthetics are my last concern,
when my heart's been torn to pieces;
my torment I will not compose
in a style which blithely pleases.
Thursday, July 28th, 2005
1:04 am
Just to get things rolling...
My Rosebud-Pink Girl

Goodnight, my little rosebud-pink girl
Angels sing you to sleep tonight
Angels rock you in their arms
Heaven is one long sweet dream

I lay here on Earth, alone
Crying bitter tears for you, my love
I know you are in Heaven and happy
Whole and perfect, dancing in clouds

Your perfect little fingers and toes
My fingers still remember caressing them
My lips kissing your little jaw and cheek
Over and over--a last kiss goodnight

You never got to see the sunrise
Or smell a fresh picked violet
You never got to pet Sisko
Or take a ride on Shade's back

But I know you're waiting for me
My perfect little rosebud-pink girl
With dark eyes, your father's nose
And a sweet, serene smile

The world wasn't worthy of you
And maybe we weren't worthy either
But you have strengthened our friendship
You have given us a common goal

I don't know what God has planned
But my heart is aching still
For my perfect little rosebud-pink girl
Sleeping sweet and safe in Heaven...

(C)RLO 5/1/05

In loving memory of Naomi...three months and counting, little one...

Current Mood: tired
Tuesday, July 26th, 2005
11:05 pm
This group was created in memory of The Poetry Room at www.the-park.com. All poets and poetry lovers are welcome here!

Constructive criticism is welcome; destructive criticism (flaming or trolling), however, is not. Mild teasing is okay, as long as the intent is affectionate.

As always, this group is a work in progress. Please bear with me as I get it all put together.


Current Mood: accomplished
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