CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a great ending to this series of poems! I look forward to reading whatever ones you post next. 
Hope you are having a nice night.
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Poems
- Thread starter ChrisGibson
- Start date
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Without irony, I look forward to it too, cause it's definitely going to get weirder. Thanks for enjoying and supporting my madness
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
birthday
this could be the first day,
the day when you are finally born and know he loves you
know you love yourself
and where, not being all about everything
that let you down
you come around and are filled with fire for the whole world
everything in our sight has been worthless
and until this day
we have been birthless
until this day
and then the light came
this could be the first day,
the day when you are finally born and know he loves you
know you love yourself
and where, not being all about everything
that let you down
you come around and are filled with fire for the whole world
everything in our sight has been worthless
and until this day
we have been birthless
until this day
and then the light came
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Interesting poem about birthdays! Great work as usual!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
It's the closest thing I could come up to for a birthday for you.
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
It was a great read, thanks!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
It was an ok read. But you're welcome
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
on leaving the castle
1.
We set out with the hounds that night
With the black one and the grey one and the red eared one,
we set out through the blanketing snow and jingle bells
and if we make any noise it will be laughter,
and the sky was the color of lavender, the color en snow is in it,
and here and there a snatch of song, in late allantide
We gather together, we gather together, to ask your blessing
to ask the lord’s blessing
We turned our back on the east door and then on west door
and faced the north,
we turned our back on old allantide and set our faces for the new.
The earth is old, the mother is old, everything that’s happening
has happened before, it all turns toward the freezing end,
and in the end is the beginning,
The virgin comes after the crone and not the other way around
The maiden puts on her snow blossom crown,
with sneezes and coughs,
we all are off
There are three purple candles and one pink that light the way
to where we’re I’m going, and there is a journey in the snow
with shepherds and soldiers and wisemen
We’ve started already, on a desperate journey, and though we’ve sung
though we hum, we hope when we get there the cradle is not empty.
The prophet says, the prophet says in those days they learned to cry out
to the lord, and I never knew how to cry out, there was no language
for my longing until now
What do you long for, he asks.
At last, we shout out: “everything.”
Why did my heart leap at the too soon falling of snow on the ground,
at he chill of the wind and the wren in he bush?
The green that comes up again, is withered and dim.
only a few days ago came the prophetic whiteness, cold
freezing the green leaves on the tree, a foretelling of badger
and rabbit and bear, the wild things of the wood,
ready to welcome You in.
1.
We set out with the hounds that night
With the black one and the grey one and the red eared one,
we set out through the blanketing snow and jingle bells
and if we make any noise it will be laughter,
and the sky was the color of lavender, the color en snow is in it,
and here and there a snatch of song, in late allantide
We gather together, we gather together, to ask your blessing
to ask the lord’s blessing
We turned our back on the east door and then on west door
and faced the north,
we turned our back on old allantide and set our faces for the new.
The earth is old, the mother is old, everything that’s happening
has happened before, it all turns toward the freezing end,
and in the end is the beginning,
The virgin comes after the crone and not the other way around
The maiden puts on her snow blossom crown,
with sneezes and coughs,
we all are off
There are three purple candles and one pink that light the way
to where we’re I’m going, and there is a journey in the snow
with shepherds and soldiers and wisemen
We’ve started already, on a desperate journey, and though we’ve sung
though we hum, we hope when we get there the cradle is not empty.
The prophet says, the prophet says in those days they learned to cry out
to the lord, and I never knew how to cry out, there was no language
for my longing until now
What do you long for, he asks.
At last, we shout out: “everything.”
Why did my heart leap at the too soon falling of snow on the ground,
at he chill of the wind and the wren in he bush?
The green that comes up again, is withered and dim.
only a few days ago came the prophetic whiteness, cold
freezing the green leaves on the tree, a foretelling of badger
and rabbit and bear, the wild things of the wood,
ready to welcome You in.
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Great poem! I especially liked how rich the descriptions of colours were. It helped me to picture what the poem was talking about even more.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Wow, thanks a lot. I really appreciate that. If it's not too much, did it make you think of anything? Poems are fairly open and everyone has different ideas. I'm curious what yours are?
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
I guess I just found that the descriptions helped me to visualise what was being described better. That's about all the ideas I had. Sorry if that answer is too brief but thats what my ideas were about this poem.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
It's not easy to talk about poems.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
on leaving the castle
ii.
Sometimes I am lonely, but I never look back to the blue hot water
or the golden sand, and I don’t much long now for the sea hut.
There the water is grey and all the spells we said to bind the branches
tight are to no effect.
The water goes from grey to white and he sand is covered in silence.
In your prison cell, I hope you’re well, but I can’t let that bind me
if you won’t tell me.
I can’t send a million words down into a hole for a man who
has nothing to say.
I need the Yule day.
I need what is at the end of this path, and so, despite the grey,
I keep my journey
Sing a new song. Sing a song of cinnamon, and sing it of the scent of pine,
sing a song of mulled wine.
It doesn’t always have to be about sadness and doom,
here in the darkening room you can sing a song of torchlight,
hold up the bright candle. The war, the armegeddon, is subtler than
you think,
and happens on the brink of everything, over the pine needle dust
under the branches thrust like antlers slowly make the uneasy choice
toward joy.
Stack the eaves and heap the leaves
remember even right here you would not be if not for the joy
that brought you here before.
Do not stretch your mind, do not leap ahead of time trying to guess
what will happen, staving yourself from fears of shadows that
will never come,
foxes trot and birds will fly,
ride your wolf while rabbits run
ii.
Sometimes I am lonely, but I never look back to the blue hot water
or the golden sand, and I don’t much long now for the sea hut.
There the water is grey and all the spells we said to bind the branches
tight are to no effect.
The water goes from grey to white and he sand is covered in silence.
In your prison cell, I hope you’re well, but I can’t let that bind me
if you won’t tell me.
I can’t send a million words down into a hole for a man who
has nothing to say.
I need the Yule day.
I need what is at the end of this path, and so, despite the grey,
I keep my journey
Sing a new song. Sing a song of cinnamon, and sing it of the scent of pine,
sing a song of mulled wine.
It doesn’t always have to be about sadness and doom,
here in the darkening room you can sing a song of torchlight,
hold up the bright candle. The war, the armegeddon, is subtler than
you think,
and happens on the brink of everything, over the pine needle dust
under the branches thrust like antlers slowly make the uneasy choice
toward joy.
Stack the eaves and heap the leaves
remember even right here you would not be if not for the joy
that brought you here before.
Do not stretch your mind, do not leap ahead of time trying to guess
what will happen, staving yourself from fears of shadows that
will never come,
foxes trot and birds will fly,
ride your wolf while rabbits run
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Another great poem! This series good so far! Hope you are having a nice weekend!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Thank you! I hope you are too.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
on leaving the castle
iii
I didn’t go, I didn’ t go into the normal world today.
Don’t bother me, don’t bother me,
sometimes there’s nothing good to say
Is am still half asleep
the morning is all mist, clouds and grey water,
This is the day of tender dampness that says, stop moving and stay in ,stay in,
and I am piecing together again bits of a dream, half true, mostly made up,
two moons in the sky, and me every man’s love
I didn’t go, I didn’ t go into the normal world today.
Don’t bother me I’m still looking for the golden riddle
a myth is a dream and a hymn a scream to god,
so don’t go making sense of them
I have the strength for this hand, this bell and the wand made of bone
to guide me on this eyes half closing way.
All about me, huddling, are the animals,
blessed in their friendship and holy in their symbol,
the geese, the three rabbits, the three cats, the hounds,
turning on the wheel around,
this is the shape of the world and
we have turned our back on sand and sun
We have left the wave
The holy beasts are gathered now
Waiting in the cave
The little one is coming
But who will come to save?
iii
I didn’t go, I didn’ t go into the normal world today.
Don’t bother me, don’t bother me,
sometimes there’s nothing good to say
Is am still half asleep
the morning is all mist, clouds and grey water,
This is the day of tender dampness that says, stop moving and stay in ,stay in,
and I am piecing together again bits of a dream, half true, mostly made up,
two moons in the sky, and me every man’s love
I didn’t go, I didn’ t go into the normal world today.
Don’t bother me I’m still looking for the golden riddle
a myth is a dream and a hymn a scream to god,
so don’t go making sense of them
I have the strength for this hand, this bell and the wand made of bone
to guide me on this eyes half closing way.
All about me, huddling, are the animals,
blessed in their friendship and holy in their symbol,
the geese, the three rabbits, the three cats, the hounds,
turning on the wheel around,
this is the shape of the world and
we have turned our back on sand and sun
We have left the wave
The holy beasts are gathered now
Waiting in the cave
The little one is coming
But who will come to save?
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Great poem and a great continuation! Keep it up!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Thank you, Matt
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
on leaving the castle
iv.
She climbs down into this cave with a lantern in her hand, wreath topped with candles ringing her head and whispers into this darkness “No matter how dark it might seem, the light is always present, one way or another.”
I will close my eyes and squint till stars come, take it on faith, take it on faith. This is the weariest darkest time of year, bears sleep, turtles sleep, fish in the deep they go to sleep, but not us, through this approaching grey, like vampires and zombies we keep the dreadful vigil, awake long past the time we should have turned our backs, and despite so much, we raise our songs of thanksgiving.
My friend went to bed
and woke up to her mother
dead
She put the turkey in the oven and tried to get
on with thanksgiving
and I am afraid of what might happen,
and you are past fear because all’s been taken away,
run out of cliché things to say,
with no glasses left for clinging,
pewter mugs turned to plastic mugs,
we remember it’s Thanksgiving.
And I am so blessed, and there is something fucked up in me
that feels if I admit my blessings,
someone above will take them away,
I have been loved so much,
and I love as I fear Thanksgiving day
feeling forgotten cause you’ve forgotten those who loved
accepted like a prince’s due all that we’ve done,
come
give thanks upon this day
Though the walls are metal, and though the sky is grey,
you are loved with passion
And it’s thanksgiving day
Pilgrims sailed across the sea, remember the old story,
Squanto brought the beans and squash, English pilgrims
never washed
The pilgrims made America, blood they spilled,
all the Indians are in jail or killed.
The ship that came will come again, leave your dark land,
and climb right in,
in with the vagrants, in with the dolls, to our new land,
God save us all
iv.
She climbs down into this cave with a lantern in her hand, wreath topped with candles ringing her head and whispers into this darkness “No matter how dark it might seem, the light is always present, one way or another.”
I will close my eyes and squint till stars come, take it on faith, take it on faith. This is the weariest darkest time of year, bears sleep, turtles sleep, fish in the deep they go to sleep, but not us, through this approaching grey, like vampires and zombies we keep the dreadful vigil, awake long past the time we should have turned our backs, and despite so much, we raise our songs of thanksgiving.
My friend went to bed
and woke up to her mother
dead
She put the turkey in the oven and tried to get
on with thanksgiving
and I am afraid of what might happen,
and you are past fear because all’s been taken away,
run out of cliché things to say,
with no glasses left for clinging,
pewter mugs turned to plastic mugs,
we remember it’s Thanksgiving.
And I am so blessed, and there is something fucked up in me
that feels if I admit my blessings,
someone above will take them away,
I have been loved so much,
and I love as I fear Thanksgiving day
feeling forgotten cause you’ve forgotten those who loved
accepted like a prince’s due all that we’ve done,
come
give thanks upon this day
Though the walls are metal, and though the sky is grey,
you are loved with passion
And it’s thanksgiving day
Pilgrims sailed across the sea, remember the old story,
Squanto brought the beans and squash, English pilgrims
never washed
The pilgrims made America, blood they spilled,
all the Indians are in jail or killed.
The ship that came will come again, leave your dark land,
and climb right in,
in with the vagrants, in with the dolls, to our new land,
God save us all
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a well written poem. You don't often hear American's talk about Thanksgiving that way living in Australia so that was interesting to me.
