• Welcome to BookAndReader!

    We LOVE books and hope you'll join us in sharing your favorites and experiences along with your love of reading with our community. Registering for our site is free and easy, just CLICK HERE!

    Already a member and forgot your password? Click here.

A Few Of Stiggy Says (poetry)

Poppy1 said:
Ah, but there is a huge difference between 'This is what I think the poet means,' and 'This is what the poet means'. :)
Click to expand...

it's really all about suspending belief. for i fool myself into believing it mean's different things at different times...


well, this is what i do to get those layers of meaning. i take an idea, assign it a vessel (metaphor), and i begin bringing up the mental images and thoughts it gives me. then i write it down.

when i write this way, since it's not the actual meanings but a comparison of likenesses, those vessels share things in common with others of the same nature. hints why i leave the meaning mostly untold.
 
Meadow337 said:
I think that difference is where the experience of the reader differs from formal analysis. Formal analysis states categorically 'this is the interpretation', 'this is how you must read it', 'this is what you must think about it'. It doesn't just limit the meaning of the poem, it limits how you should experience it as well.

The reader interacts with the words and each reader has their own interaction and much discussion can flow from each saying 'this is what I felt' as long as no-one turns around and says 'what you felt is wrong'. One of the pleasures of poetry is that each person comes away with a different (sometimes subtly) experience.
Click to expand...

Can't argue with that :) It often amuses me (and I'm NOT talking about Stiggy's poetry here, because I know it is very multi-layered) just how much depth is found in some of the art forms. It reaches very pretentious levels where you have people saying things like 'I feel the juxtaposition of the yellow dot on the green triangle denotes an inner struggle between the conscious and sub-conscious', and other such nonsense :rolleyes:
 
stigmaticman said:
well, i decided to write a poem that no-one can debate... lol

so here we are, the poem of the century...
_____________________________



The Storm

As the sky rolls on,
today's weather changes,
Mother Earth says 'hello'
the wind blows, hot and wet.....
Click to expand...

I missed the poem and the interesting (also stormy?) discussion because I was offline for a couple of days.

I enjoyed The Storm very much because I read it while listening to the sounds of a heavy downpour. The first rain of the monsoons arrived today.

And now:

After the Storm

Sheets of leisurely rain
Drape my window.
I watch phantoms swaying in my garden.
 
here's one i wrote a while back...
______________________


The Silent Sound of Dreams

With a silent sound
Dreams travel my mind,
Locked away in meanings
That never really come around.

The vastness of space
Held with a distant vision,
Unlocked in a prism
That once held me transfixed.

Many sided fates
Point their crooked fingers,
Still, I look from within the mirror
At a statue of my visage.

Nothing, I say, nothing,
Can bring me to admit
What it is I keep glimpsing
Hidden in my life-full eyes.

A ghost in the heavens,
Speaks of a lost utopia,
Of which my mind
Cannot even grip.

Though, I try to grasp
Meaning in a distant land,
My only memory of love
Drowns everything else out.

How is it I find myself
Put together in a glass bottle,
Like a ship that hasn't sailed
To the horizons of its dreams?

Nothing brings me a tear,
When things so near to hope,
Are a wellspring swelling in my heart
Like an ocean lulled by the moon.

Yet, sleepily I dream,
And that dream builds itself
Out of the many movements
Of a soul fixed upon its being.

The place in which I find myself,
Is one of an endless existence.
 
here's another one...
i feel it goes well with the last couple.
______________


The World Next to Me

Sometimes, when I’m lying in bed,
I visit a world perfect and serene

I don’t know if it’s the sheer beauty
That draws me into its depths,
The way the friendly light beckons me
To let it in through the doors of my eyes,
The vibrant colors that lift me up,
Or the deep tones I seem to sink in to

Or if it’s the nuance of movement
That keeps me enthralled,
As my gaze tosses about the sea,
And holds my eyes intent
On the world inside that lives

The frenetic bouncing bubbles,
Each with its own jovial personality,
The busy surface, and gentle currents, of the water
That bends and directs the light,
And the two little lives who swim about,
That by their demeanor, I can tell
This place is nothing short of paradise

Perhaps it’s the peace I’ve found
In witnessing such divine harmony;
From the busy bubbles and frolicking fish
That keep this world from stagnating,
To the stones with such a surreal calm
That I turn to them for wisdom and understanding

And as I lay, watching this little world turn,
I see why God chose to put me right where I’m at
 
stigmaticman said:
here's one i wrote a while back...
______________________


The Silent Sound of Dreams

With a silent sound
Dreams travel my mind,
Locked away in meanings
That never really come around.

The vastness of space
Held with a distant vision,
Unlocked in a prism
That once held me transfixed.

Many sided fates
Point their crooked fingers,
Still, I look from within the mirror
At a statue of my visage.

Nothing, I say, nothing,
Can bring me to admit
What it is I keep glimpsing
Hidden in my life-full eyes.

A ghost in the heavens,
Speaks of a lost utopia,
Of which my mind
Cannot even grip.

Though, I try to grasp
Meaning in a distant land,
My only memory of love
Drowns everything else out.

How is it I find myself
Put together in a glass bottle,
Like a ship that hasn't sailed
To the horizons of its dreams?

Nothing brings me a tear,
When things so near to hope,
Are a wellspring swelling in my heart
Like an ocean lulled by the moon.

Yet, sleepily I dream,
And that dream builds itself
Out of the many movements
Of a soul fixed upon its being.

The place in which I find myself,
Is one of an endless existence.
Click to expand...

This is one of my most favourite poems. I can read it over and over and get lost every time in the poignantly beautiful lines. It lulls me like 'an ocean lulled by the moon' .
 
stigmaticman said:
here's one i wrote a while back...
______________________


The Silent Sound of Dreams

With a silent sound
Dreams travel my mind,
Locked away in meanings
That never really come around.
... ... ...
The place in which I find myself,
Is one of an endless existence.
Click to expand...

As usual, brilliant.
'Dreams travel my mind' is clever. It gives the picture of (your) mind being the world dreams inhabit. Dreams travel through my mind, in my mind, would not have served so well.
What follows is thoughts and feelings, 'many sided fates point their fingers' and 'hope a wellspring in the heart', all diverse and yet connected, because dreams are seldom seamless.

Favorite lines?

How is it I find myself
Put together in a glass bottle,
Like a ship that hasn't sailed
To the horizons of its dreams?
 
Thank you very much. The form was a good fit too, it was a body of quatrains, with an ending couplet that rhymes with the penultimate stanza to wrap it up, because throughout the poem, it carries a varied rhyme pattern that freed up its cadence. (I didn't want to have a set rhyme scheme, because I believe it gave the poem a unique cadence of unforced set-rhyming, giving it a dreamy feeling)

Next, I present a 'corona sequence' that was written in the vein of a Shakespearean sonnet. Sonnet sequences are usually just a group of sonnets that go together in theme or spirit. The variant of sonnet sequence I use here is called the 'corona.' What makes a corona unique is that the first line of the first stanza, ends on the last line of the very last stanza (though I've only chosen two interlinking sonnets.) All connected stanzas in the body of the 'corona sequence' must share their last lines of the previous poem, with the first lines in the following sonnet (since mine is only two sonnets, this only happens right in the middle, so it might not be picked up on.)

Without further ado, I present you 'The Low Valleys of a Somber Heart."
.......................................................................................


The Low Valleys of a Somber Heart

From the low valleys of a somber heart,
Worries settle in like the morning mists,
And hang around until they at last part,
Then hide away till they come back again.
Days come and go, and so do all the feelings,
Yet, each time they seem to return still stronger,
‘Is there anything to even believe in?’
We ask, when the cold nights seem to grow longer.
‘Why do I have to go through this?’ we say,
When all the pain returns again in strength,
And for our souls, Hell has opened its gates,
To bring us down to live amidst the flames,
And the hurt slowly burns the human heart.
We all face heartache, especially loss…

We all face heartache, especially loss,
When our world begins to fall down around us,
And everything seems to be as if hopeless,
And our very longings all but wound us.
Let a lesson be learned from suffering,
It teaches of transcending our own woes,
It brings you to that silent place of peace,
Where you don’t want to suffer any more.
At such a time, our hearts begin to open,
And we give in to hope that pulls us closer.
Great solace is found in that exact moment,
Where our fears fade away for lack of substance,
And all our worries are but mists that part
From the low valleys of a somber heart.

(end)
 
on a lighter note...



The Rouge

I am the fleeting glimpse,
a thief in the night,
the one who comes to steal,
when I'm fighting to survive,
I am the rouge mouse.


The Little Lions

Fierce little creatures,
Who buzz about roaring,
Stalking for flowers,
Yet quick to make threat,
But usually just go about their business.
 
And here's one in the fashion of a 'rondeau redouble'
_______________________


The Little Archer’s Mischief

Love's arrows strike unannounced,
In such a mysterious way,
Though many know not how,
They don't forget the day.

So many have fallen prey
To the little archer's pounce,
For they speak the truth, when they say,
'Love's arrows strike unannounced.'

They streak through the air without a sound,
And nobody knows from whence they came,
For the moment Love strikes, comes about,
In such a mysterious way.

His arrows have been known to slay,
When, but for a moment, you let your guard down,
For Love may come most any day,
Though many know not how.

But, most people will tell you how,
'Life is never quite the same,'
And in their accounts,
They don't forget the day
Love's arrows strike.
 
Here, I wrote another pantoum, only I want to point something special out. In the world of pantoum, it is totally acceptable to alter the lines a little when you repeat them. The rule of thumb is that it doesn't change the line's overall meaning. See if you can spot the little changes, but notice how the line stays pretty much the same. I just wanted to assure you that it can be done.

________________________


Paradigm

There is a whole other world,
Beyond the realm of individual thought,
Where we feel connected,
Instead of separate entities.

Beyond the realm of individual thought,
We become one in the same,
Instead of separate entities,
For we share mentalities.

We become one in the same,
And as we meld together,
We share mentalities,
And our minds transmute.

And as we meld together,
Where we feel connected,
Our minds translate,
To a whole other world.
 
stigmaticman said:
In the world of pantoum, it is totally acceptable to alter the lines a little when you repeat them.
Click to expand...



First, about Paradigm. What is there to say? A great sentiment, beautifully expressed. You are obviously gifted. And knowledgeble about your craft.

I am just breathing a little easier because "in the world of pantoum, it is totally acceptable to alter lines a little while repeating." :)
 
lol, yeah it sure helps. And thanks for the compliments, I do say I'm getting better. But I've only been writing for a couple years. Your words are a testament. May the form be with you, too.;)

Here's another poem, only I just wrote it. Hot off the press. Just four sixains without forcing meter.
___________________________



May's Flowers

'T is but a picture perfect scene,
To witness the gathering of May's flowers,
As they lie amongst themselves,
And are altogether beautiful in numbers.
Their personalities come out In their sonorous colors,
And they way they quietly sit and chat with us.

They stand there, in the Sun, basking
In the warm light, and yet, I can attest,
That their beauty calls to all wanderers
Who travel by, who lay their eye
Upon their lovely person, as they beckon
To a place inside the beholder.

They are one of nature's many loves,
The little natives are very romantic,
For whenever I stumble by one, per chance,
I have a splendid time saying 'hello,'
Since I can't help but carry a light heart,
When I make May's flowers my friends.

It is but a brief little fling,
As my conversation with them is short lived,
But I would rather be nowhere else,
For the time spent is precious, and
I'll never forget some of their faces, since
Many of May's flowers have stolen my heart.
 
Ode to the Tear

O' the tears, sorrow has but loosed, to fall,
From eyes that burn, with fury of their passing,
While upon cheeks they soak, with each and all,
That wet the face, while slowly gathering,
To but be wiped, and cleared, by shaky hands,
When their presence becomes too much for asking,
And grate upon tender eyelids like sand.

Someplace inside has been awoken yet,
And the still beating heart senses such hurt,
Touched by the feelings one cannot forget,
Brought on by thoughts that beckon of their worth,
While they reopen wounds of past indwelling,
Bringing the pains to surface, and with force,
As they resonate with the present calling.

The tears, while being shed, fall from inside,
They pour from pains that, to us, feel so close,
Still nothing stops the heart where it yet lies,
But to choose not to follow where it goes,
And let the storm pass over in due season,
To wait it out, ‘til we no longer hold,
Onto the heartache which we held for reasons.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top