The Daily Poetry Club

3 Poems

1. Tristan says:

   July 18, 2010 at 7:50 pm

   In this vacuum I hear no
   sound, yet feel a pulse.
   I am snug and warm,
   insulated by the promised
   loft of my destination.

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2. Provalone says:

   July 20, 2010 at 12:18 pm

   I choose what I hear,
   I choose what I see,
   I choose who I’m with,
   I choose what I be.

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3. D. Edgar Lamp says:

   July 25, 2010 at 12:22 pm

   A Story In Verse, Part 5: THE OCEAN

   I clung to his neck with my eyes tightly closed.
   The beat of his wings like a music composed
   A tranquil serenity there in the air,
   An island of refuge, our flight unopposed,
   As into the morning we slipped like a prayer.

   The sun on my back and the wind in my face,
   The visions of viciousness nearly erased,
   Inhaling the triumph of wide open skies
   And giddy with freedom’s intangible grace,
   I asked the great bird, “May I open my eyes?”

   “You may, but be sure that you look straight ahead,
   The Chasm of Chaos behind us is spread.”
   I blinked in the brightness of upcoming noon,
   Along the horizon a thin bluish thread,
   “The ocean,” he answered, “We’ll settle there soon.”

   “Who are you?” I questioned, “And why did you come?”
   He turned his right eye and said, “Hungry for chum,”
   With a wink and a twinkle, “But then you requested
   A ride over Chasm, and so I’ve become
   The pride of my venue—the first to be vested!”

   “And if I had run? What then?” I inquired.
   “You wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t be hired
   To carry you down to the coastal domain.
   And this is the best that we both have desired,
   To serve as we are for the king in his reign.”

   “What king?” I began, but “Hold on, Little One!
   The eagles are swarming!” And downward we spun.
   We fell like an arrow; we flew like a stone,
   And down like a falcon come down from the sun,
   We dropped like a sovereign impaled on his throne.

   Written July 16, 2010
   http://www.thedailypoem.org

   A Story In Verse, Part 6: THE FLUTE

   And there on the sand by the ocean a throne.
   No king to be found, just a humerus flute—
   Eight holes down the length of a sun-whitened bone.
   “What happened?” I asked, but the vulture stood mute,
   And bowed to the ground with a solemn salute.

   “The flute is for you, I believe.” And he turned.
   Then took several paces as if he would go.
   “Don’t go.” I protested, and so he returned.
   “Please fly me across this enormous plateau,
   This wasteland of water all gold and aglow.”

   “This far and no further is all I can come,
   But pick up the flute for I know you can play
   The woodwind, the trumpet, the string and the drum.”
   “You do?” I exclaimed, with a note of dismay.
   “We vultures have known since the king’s dying day.”

   “Who murdered the king and left me this bone?
   And who was this king, and when did he rule?
   And why do you leave me to face this alone?
   You carried me over all kindly, but cruel.
   I won’t be your puppet, your cat’s paw, your tool.”

   “Your grandfather’s father was king of this land.
   Your grandfather’s mother escaped to the dunes
   The story is old but is now near at hand.
   You’ll learn what you need if you play the old tunes
   And open the eyes of the long sleeping runes.”

   I lifted the flute from the great royal chair
   And blew a soft tune through its marrow-less space,
   My fingers ascending the pure tonal stair,
   Arriving in memory, a time and a place,
   When love was the look on my grandfather’s face.

   Written July 17, 2010
   http://www.thedailypoem.org

   A Story In Verse, Part 7: GRANDFATHER

   “Garuda, my son, there’s a cloud on your face,
   A mist in your eye, and a pause in your pace;
   We’ve miles to travel before the day’s through.”
   “It must be my sole, and if not it’s my lace.”
   I said as I sat to examine my shoe.

   “Indeed it’s your soul, but it’s not of your shoe,
   It’s something you stand on that’s deeper than you.”
   Then stooping he lifted me up on his back,
   Maneuvered the path to the far final view,
   And pointing he said, “Here’s our plan of attack.”

   “Its west to the river and down to the ford,
   Then back toward the canyon last week we explored,
   And up the long gulley, and down the short side
   Then quick cross the dunes to our rest and reward—
   A honeydew melon for us to divide!”

   He carried me down to the river and on,
   I slumped on his back with a sigh and a yawn,
   And drifted away in a deep easy sleep.
   He brought me my half of the melon at dawn,
   And cuddled me up in a little boy heap.

   “I know you remember them, faint as a dream,
   And sometimes you wake in the night with a scream,
   The sadness sweeps in like a wind off the sand;
   A mystery, a phantom, a dark evil scheme
   To take what you love from the palm of your hand.

   I love you, Garuda, my grandson, my boy;
   You bring me my daily allowance of joy.
   I too lost the ones that for me were most dear,
   To those whose desire was but to destroy,
   To reap us in bondage from seeds of our fear.”

   Written July 18, 2010
   http://www.thedailypoem.org

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