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  5. Prose and Longer Poetic Works

    1. The Prose Forum

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  6. Reading

    1. A Poem I Read Today

      Read a poem you like recently? Share it!

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  • Topics

  • Posts

    • reflections-leaves on the branches of the mind,clock hands catch glass leaves, seasons balance on each others shoulders. The wind is like a tattooists needle shaping clouds.   The wind dances with it's stiff partner the rain. Words fall on the ears of those newly born. A needle trying to pass through it's own eye, to surmise who will catch the fruit from the tree when it is fully grown. 
    • Like that opening Tink. Makes me want to write about potatoes!
    • Van Gogh's Basket of Potatoes

      A woven basket, 
      well worn
      and filled to overflowing
      with potatoes freshly
      dug from dark dirt,
      hung somberly
      on the gallery wall.

      My finger tips
      cake with dust.
      The grit of the earth
      pricks my nose
      and smudges my soul.

      Amongst brilliant
      paintings of windmills
      and sunflowers
      this subdued, simplicity,
      pared to its base,
      guides my brush.
               ~~Judi Van Gorder                                                                                               Vincent Van Gogh's Basket of Potatoes
    • Royal Wedding

      The Royals did it right on Saturday,
      they pulled out all the stops and threw a bash
      Romance was joyfully on display, 
      two lovers wed in grace and true panache
      with future plans to serve a global cache.
      A modern couple's passions on view,
      infusing staid traditions, old with new.
                                    ~~Judi Van Gorder
       
         
       
    • Prompt for May 19 : In celebration of the Royal Wedding tomorrow, write a poem in the Romance genre.
    • Thank you Tinker,Poets of the past . I often wonder how many times they hoped their poems would be remembered and understood and were appreciated.   Oh i just can't think straight tonight.   confused and making mistakes.   later tink
    • A poet speaks from the grave,  Nice.    I especially like, "Our hearts gave out defiantly."   

      ~~Tink
    • A Day in the Life of a Boy; fictional or non-fictional reading, It is well written.  I choose the term epic, for this reads like a sad, open diary of a young person’s unfortunate life. A life that is established strictly by survival instinct.This child has not been privy to awakening from a clean, warm bed; nor is his style of dress one that would take several wasted moments, choosing only the best his wardrobe had to offer, before leaving home for an undisclosed period of time. This child probably never experienced the privilege of an air conditioned house; being able to choose a warm breakfast, or just a day old donut and cool glass of cold milk, before leaving his dwelling... More that I read, I realize that all mankind worldwide...is not created equal. Being created equal is not by choice of an individual, instead it’s because of indiscretion of a ruling factor that dictates without remorse. The 5 basic senses (sight, hearing, taste, smell, and touch) are diluted from birth. A child of this nature is not given to the fullest extent, an education to understand what he or she, is worthy or capable of.  A Ruling Factor fears education. If this burning thought ever flickers strong in the eyes of the underprivileged, there will be changes. Change comes at a costly price. For the educated, the price is well worth it. YarnSpinner
       
    • I like your take, Judi. Well, except for the sailors in pantaloons; I guess I just don't care for the the look. But yes, here (close to where I live) would have been one of those stops, those docks you mention, where the ships would have landed enroute to their ultimate destinations. Thank you for the close read and kind remarks. Tony
    • Poets of the past expressed their finest thoughts from hearts vast depth to grasp the future with request, remember us as now we rest.     The words we wrote now speak to you,test them out and know their true. Our hearts gave out defiantly. We sought to write, thus span eternity.   .
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