top of page

Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.-Edgar Allan Poe

Poetry is when emotion has found its thought and thought has found words--Robert Frost

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance--Carl Sandburg

I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry--John Cage

You will find poetry nowhere unless you bring some of it with you--Joseph Joubert

Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toe nails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own. ~Dylan Thomas

An Odd Combination of Thoughts That Can't Be Shared and Thoughts That Are Being Shared: Two Revised Poems

joybragi84
Feb 162 min read

A Rock in the Woods Near Moccasin Spring
A Rock in the Woods Near Moccasin Spring

Well, I had to take the flashdrive to work with me on Wednesday, but I got a couple of poems revised this week. Both were posted around April 14 of last year. They are now in the UNNAMED BOOK. I figure it will take about a month or two to get all of the poems revised, but somebody needs to start thinking of a good name. I would rather my readers name the book than do it myself. C'mon, readers, I need to hear some ideas.


Here is the first poem. ENJOY!

Some Thoughts Cannot Be Shared

 

You’d swear the ancient gods endure

In mighty Thunder’s rumble.

You’d think I’d have a prayer to say,

But I will hardly mumble.

 

My piety is displayed in

A cool seditious smile.

A wall of rain dissolved the myths

I’ve doubted all the while.

 

Yet if I hear the idols gripe,

I know their moans will burn.

I’ll feel the heat of morphing creeds

The moment when they turn.

 

I’ll stand undaunted in the dark,

Because I’m not that weak.

The wind may blow, the rain may beat,

But they won’t make me speak.

 

Were my uncertain faith to fail

Or if I were to die,

You’d find no prayers have crossed my lips.

I guess you’d wonder why.


And here is the second poem. I've got nothing else to say. Maybe, it will snow this week, and I can do a lot of catching up on writing.


A Guy in Love Who Will Not Take a Hint

 

My sweet, I beg your pardon.

Will you join me in our garden

To clear it of a stubborn patch of weeds?

The bleeding heart that’s there

Is not too good to share,

But its own sun and space is what it needs.

 

My dear, I know your itchin’

For me to leave your kitchen

While you prepare the sustenance I eat.

I’ve not been overlooking

The blandness of your cooking,

But for a starving man, it can’t be beat.

 

Dear heart, I think it’s sweet

How you want to be discreet

And keep our love a secret from your friend,

But I can’t get a handle

Why you deem our love a scandal

Or why it seems a “means” before the “end.”

 

My love, no more excuses,

Your reasons seem like ruses,

And I think you are unfairly cruel.

Still, yet I must confess

My judgment is a mess

‘Cause love has got me feelin’ like a fool.


Later.

Comments

I find that I cannot exist without Poetry--without eternal poetry--half the day will not do--the whole of it--I began with a little, but habit has made me a Leviathan.-John Keats

We do not quite say that the new is more valuable because it fits in; but its fitting in is a test of its value.-T. S. Eliot

A man may praise and praise, but no one recollects but that which pleases.-George Gordon, Lord Byron

The great beauty of poetry is that it makes everything in every place interesting.-John Keats

Our faulty elder poets sacrificed the passion and passionate flow of poetry to the subtleties of intellect and to the stars of wit; the moderns to the glare and glitter of a perpetual, yet broken and heterogeneous imagery, or rather to an amphibious something, made up, half of image, and half of abstract meaning. The one sacrificed the heart to the head; the other both heart and head to point and drapery.-S. T. Coleridge

The purpose of rhythm, it has always seemed to me, is to prolong the moment of contemplation, the moment when we are both asleep and awake, which is the one moment of creation.-W. B. Yeats

Drop Me a Line, Let Me Know What You Think

Thanks for submitting!

© 2023 by Train of Thoughts. Proudly created with Wix.com

bottom of page