22-04-2023 06:31 PM
22-04-2023 06:31 PM
22-04-2023 07:55 PM
22-04-2023 07:55 PM
@StuF I have read a lot of poetry and like it. Its good. I am pretty sure Jacques and Hams and others would also resonate ... but leave it to you if you want to tag them.
22-04-2023 07:59 PM
22-04-2023 07:59 PM
23-04-2023 12:44 AM
23-04-2023 12:44 AM
Love it @StuF It takes courage for a fella to put his heart on the wet butchers block..
and thankyou so much for tagging me here.
The elusive nature of true love is what makes it such a coveted prize
I nearly missed your poem. I need to pay attention at the wheel.
tonys mb1
23-04-2023 01:10 AM
23-04-2023 01:10 AM
Hey there @Sophia1 @StuF How come it took me this long to find this little island .
May I ask 2 questions please . Who started this thread.
I have an old scatter gun with some words jammed down both barrels. Can I pull the trigger here one
rainy day.
Seams like a place where words can be, let of the leash... thankyou tonys mb 1
23-04-2023 10:27 AM
23-04-2023 10:27 AM
Hey @tonys
I guess I started this thread, but it would be wonderful for others to contribute if you wish! It is indeed an off leash park 🙂
23-04-2023 01:45 PM
23-04-2023 01:45 PM
Thankyou @StuF for letting me stroll in your park..
My book keeper knits, but her face is far away. . . .
K N I T T I N G
Brumbies ran wild in her hills far behind
Trains crossing plains places they'll never find.
Click clack of needles old chair where she sits
Voices in dreams hold her hands as she knits.
The styles that's trapped in the worn vinyl tracks,
Friends never called when she fell through the cracks,
of the floorboards to cellars so dark that you're blind
As you weave your last threads in the webs of your mind.
Paperbacks laughing by rippling brooks
courted librarians for more than their looks
For snapping sound dull thud of dusty dead books
for not we knew queens could fall victim to rooks
Come the last days of the hour glass sands
Bleeds on her knees face melts in her hands.
The quilts that we weaved for our love ones to see
whispering were we all we could be
The waiting of woman and rhythms of knitting
was love we bestowed on them true love befitting
The years that they silently distantly gaze
For silhouette riders in a red sunset haze
From places where lovers entwined in the threads
Now doodle on note pads in cold empty beds
There are no more brumbies just fire swept hills
Nor train tracks through the ashes of the eyes window sills
Neath cinnamon ceilings in white coats they fuss
Slashing the seats on the bar windowed bus.
Will dreams spun of silk cradle fruits on her truss
will love we once gave find its home back in us.
tonys moonbase 1
there just love.. this life , and us.. May all else waste in the shadows..
@Sophia1 @Oaktree @greenpea @LeChuck @Appleblossom @Thyme @Owlunar n all
Also Juddi Very best wishes to all..
The styles that trapped
23-04-2023 01:50 PM
23-04-2023 01:52 PM
23-04-2023 01:58 PM
23-04-2023 01:58 PM
@tonys what a beautiful yet melancholy poemxx
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