BC’n ya asked:

He yanked open
The refrigerator door.

Standing tall on his little feet,
Looking about for something to eat.

He said, Mom.
She said, Yes.
He said, I know how to spell A-1.
She said, How?
He said, A-1.
She said, You’re such a smart big boy.

And with that
He closed the door
Roamed about
Looking for more.

He found the camera
And said, Mom
She said, Yes
He said, Where’s the cheese button?

Faust asked:

What cruel fate, madness!
Twining seductively about the human soul,
sinister to the ears, so hark!
A story told, of long, long ago,
of two brothers, estranged.

Emperors of men, husbands of wives,
fathers of children, priests of wisdom, passed.
Two ***** born unto the world,
and upon their brows, marks,
one of serenity, and the other – of downfall.

Puzzled were the sages, the magi and wise men.
Who were these babes, that they bore the mark of heavenly make?
One, with the air of wisdom, of pride,
the other – fallen from some future grace,
to live shamed, disgraced.

And so the seers spoke as one:
“When Utopia is grasped,
tragedy befalls those in search
of further want.”

As one, these brothers aged,
through the times as a single soul,
wise beyond their years.
One was named Arubus,
the other, Hectarin.

The professors wondered aloud,
“Who are these boys,
that they speak prophecy?
Do they not know Hell,
and the treachery therein?

And the boys knew not of Hell,
but of war and teachings,
chess and strategy,
compassion and pleasure,
poetry and philosophy.

Of Arubus, he was fair!
His youth blossomed,
as he ascended to that of a man,
and he grew tall, and was handsome.
The ladies swooned, and the strength of Hercules rested in his palms.

Oft would be the time,
when he would venture out from his father’s kingdom,
and topple the trees of the valley,
and bore them back upon his golden shoulders,
and the people would ring out with rejoicing, praising him -

a god amongst men.
Intellect rested humbly upon his bronze brow,
and his regality was borne with grace,
so that no wretch could look on him,
and resent.

Arubus was praised, he was the first to be born
from his mother’s birth throes – the first expelled from the womb,
but oft the people would whisper, that Hectarin – in a sudden seizure
of immense jealosy – seized upon his brother’s ankle,
and followed on his shadow, not to be outdone.

And so of Hectarin, the land would wonder,
“Who is this man, that he burst forth
on his brother’s will for life?
Is he a devil, perhaps? He is indeed quick of wit,
and sly with his cloven tongue.”

For Hectarin loved with all his heart
the people in his father’s keep,
yet the people loved Hectarin not,
but rather held him in their deepest respects, warily.
And Hectarin knew of this, and grew resentful of Arubus.

And his soul grew darkened,
and the light of his face, once golden as the gates of Olympus,
paled, and in his eyes shone a fey light.
Yet his love for his father’s hand remained unabated,
and fixated he remained, desperate for a favorable hand.
_________________________________

Thoughts?
Consider this final stanza the last installment for this part of the story:

No such hand came, and Hectarin despaired,
for he was still – though aged to that of a fine man -
in need of some praise from the seed which gave him breath.
And with a cry he proclaimed,
“Who is loving you, that you give me none in return?”

Antony C asked:

Colors are like people
There’s more than meets the eye
No two are quite the same
It’s own rhythm each lives by

Red a blazing fire
Or Juicy apples in July
Mobs on overcast days
A newborn babe’s first cry

Orange a spark of hope
A simple act of gratitude
The fresh scent of peeled fruit
Fish with a gleeful attitude

Yellow is the sun’s energy
The happiness of two friend
Warmth a smile always brings
Daffodils in summer winds

Green is life born anew
A tree so proud and tall
A young deer grazing peacefully
Soft rain finishing it’s fall

Blue is a gurgling stream
Birds soaring in a cloudless sky
The peace endless oceans bring
A tear that will not dry

Purple an ultraviolet light
Twinkling stars where bats fly
A bruise from a clumsy stumble
Violets swaying under a gorgeous sky

Our differences may seem grand
Yet we’re all important in life’s game
For what would a rainbow be
If each color were the same?

somebody on earth asked:

can someone like help me interpret these poems?

In Hardwood Groves

The same leaves over and over again!
They fall from giving shade above
To make one texture of faded brown
And fit the earth like a leather glove.

Before the leaves can mount again
To fill the trees with another shade,
They must go down past things coming up.
They must go down into the dark decayed.

They must be pierced by flowers and put
Beneath the feet of dancing flowers.
However it is in some other world
I know that this is way in ours.

Revelation

We make ourselves a place apart
Behind light words that tease and flout,
But oh, the agitated hear
Till someone really find us out.

‘Tis pity if the case require
(Or so we say) that in the end
We speak the literal to inspire
The understanding of a friend.

But so with all, from ***** that play
At hid-and-seek to God afar,
So all who hide too well away
Must speak and tell us where they are.

Stars

How countlessly they congregate
O’er our tumultuous snow,
Which flows in shapes as tall as trees
When wintry winds do blow!–

As if with keeness for our fate,
Our faltering few steps on
To white rest, and a place of rest
Invisible at dawn,–

And yet with neither love nor hate,
Those starts like some snow-white
Minerva’s snow-white marble eyes
Without the gift of sight.

A Peck of Gold

Dust always blowing about the town,
Except when sea-fog laid it down,
And I was one of the children told
Some of the blowing dust was gold.

All the dust the wind blew high
Appeared like god in the sunset sky,
But I was one of the children told
Some of the dust was really gold.

Such was life in the Golden Gate:
Gold dusted all we drank and ate,
And I was one of the children told,
‘We all must eat our peck of gold.’

Riders

The surest thing there is is we are riders,
And though none too successful at it, guiders,
Through everything presented, land and tide
And now the very air, of what we ride.

What is this talked-of mystery of birth
But being mounted ******** on the earth?
We can just see the infant up astride,
His small fist buried in the bushy hide.

There is our wildest mount–a headless horse.
But though it runs unbridled off its course,
And all our blandishments would seem defied,
We have ideas yet that we haven’t tried.

Dee S asked:

Mountains
I dream of the mountains
And with my mind’s eye I see
The sky etched in snow.
It falls so gently, so softly
And strikes the hills with a sigh
Like a newborn babe’s.
The trees stand tall and proud
Throwing faint shadows upon
The silk-like ice which flows across the land.
Animals creep in and out
Of the wooded areas like shy, careful ghosts
And the mountain sleeps until the spring.

jenny asked:

Thanks to Neon, I feel it is quite improved, and now says what I wanted it to say.

My Father Danced

In nineteen and thirteen
my Father met my Mother
at a dance hall called
“Happy Jack’s”
My Father danced me
in his arms when I was a babe,
I learned to walk
he danced me on top his feet,
just as he did my sisters,three
before he danced with me,
When I grew tall he danced me ’round
many ball room floors,
Once I over heard a woman say,
“look at that short sugar daddy,
with that tall young pretty girl!”
we laughed and spun around.
My Father danced me as a bride
to “I’ll See You In My Dreams”
My Father danced my daughter
in his arms and on top his feet.
And then at eighty two,
his head upon death’s pillow,
I whispered, “Do you know that I love you”
he answered, “Yes I know,
you told me on the dance floor
a long, long time ago”