By: M. J. Duggan
In the ultra earth-shine a reflection
Summer’s host rides with the ills of silence,
a hunched weeping muse collects her tears
like the frequent pebbles that span a beach.
In the dead fields of weathered corn
she rests well under dapple skies of canvas,
in prayer she weeps for songs of hope
from the Gods and ghosts that glisten the night.
The evening hoaxer rustles laggardly
in the illusory eye of her sleep,
the wise musings of nomadic wildlife
guardians to the languisher of dreams.
The night carried the idle day away
she could hear the day slowly dwindling
the resurrected whispers of his words
enchanting the woodlands with his return.
M. J. Duggan
Poetry of MJ Duggan
TAKEN FROM ‘UNDERWORLD’ ( a collection of sixteen poems)
Daily Quote: Nothing I say can explain to you Divine Love
Yet all of creation cannot seem to stop talking about it.
- Rumi
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Posted by V. Mahfood - 2011
By: Robert Anderson
she plays that soft insisting reverie
and oh, i listen from my very core
beneath the skies that cry out as they pour
to breathe the beauty that calls out to me
with heart and soul for what my dreams may be
and as she read my heart before she blew
she felt the tip of her fingers imbue
to breathe the beauty that calls out to me
but when the flute is weary will she see
that i have always sensed a deeper bond
before the sweetest kiss to days beyond
to breathe the beauty that calls out to me?
she plays that soft insisting reverie
to breathe the beauty that calls out to me
Robert Anderson
Author notes:
Euterpe: Called the "Giver of delight", when later poets assigned roles to each of the Muses, she was the muse of music. In late Classical times she was named muse of lyric poetry and depicted holding a flute.
The "Echo Sonnet": http://www.thepoetsgarret.com/2009Challenge/form16.html
Daily Quote: We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails.
- Bertha Calloway (attributed)
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Posted by V. Mahfood - 2010
By: Ian Thorpe
We shall meet in cool and torchlit courtyards,
the silent precincts of night's sweet embrace
and bathe there in gentle fountains where clear
sparkling waters cleanse past's tainted trace.
A couch waits, draped with fine silks and linens,
dates and almonds rest upon a silver tray.
Before us a feast of new beginnings,
each choice placed like a jewel in the display.
Scents of jasmine and musk intoxicate us,
the stars anoint the bed where we will lie.
Your eyes are like the gates of seven heavens,
four basilisks stand ready to defy
mortality - and all time's hungry hunters
who would pursue us to this den of peace;
bring their pious rules here to confront us
and spoil the pleasure we have in our feast.
Your body like a slice of moonlight
falls softly on this torn and battered frame,
opens to me, lets our beings unite
to best the gods at fate, their chosen game.
The gentle night will hide and protect you
but when cruel dawn calls, bidding you depart
I will beg Cronos halt the sun and let you
forever be the houri of my heart.
Ian Thorpe
Authorsden.com
Daily Quote:
For women the best aphrodisiacs are words. The G-spot is in the ears. He who looks for it below there is wasting his time.
~Isabel Allende
Linguist Corner-ITALIAN : ballare: to dance / verb.
-Example sentence: Tutti ballavano e battevano le mani a tempo di musica.
Translation: Everybody danced and clapped their hands to the music.
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Coffee Table Poetry's GUEST BOOK is a division of Coffee Table Poetry for Tea Drinkers, and is updated often. The easiest way to enjoy the selections from talented fellow poets is to select E-mail or RSS Reader. Also, come follow us on Twitter.
Posted by V. Mahfood - 2010
By: Pierce Hacking
Captive in a maze of his own making,
He thought the world was his for the taking.
A master of crafts, but marred by great pain.
All attempts to escape were made in vain.
Until he was inspired by the wings,
Wings of birds that he could fashion from strings.
He used feathers, strings and wax to fashion,
Unaware gods wouldn’t show compassion.
He and his son flew out of the great maze.
Where his son’s wings would melt in a great blaze.
Icarus flew high up into the sun.
His father was helpless to save his son.
The guilt of a death that should not have been,
Ate at the helpless father from within.
Pierce Hacking
Catharsis of Pierce
Daily Quote: He enjoys true leisure who has time to improve his soul's estate.
~Henry David Thoreau
Linguist Corner-Italian: appoggiare: to lean / verb.
Example:
Hanno appoggiato bene la scala al muro? Sembra così traballante!
Translation: Did they lean the ladder firmly against the wall? It looks so unstable!
Enjoy these other unique locations:
Coffee Table Poetry's GUEST BOOK is a division of Coffee Table Poetry for Tea Drinkers, and is updated often. The easiest way to enjoy the selections from talented fellow poets is to select E-mail or RSS Reader. Also, come follow us on Twitter.
Posted by V. Mahfood - 2010
