Poetry by Toni

[Deleted]

DUST



I’ve existed since creation;

it’s I who lay a world’s foundation.

For out of dying stars, I live

though fragmented and diminutive.

Through me planets and stars will come

And, I through them, ad-infinitum.



From going to and from going forth

And passing by the sides of the north;

through dark nebulas I have trod

and have even seen the face of God.

I’ve heard The Word; I’ve seen The Lamb

I was there when God created Man.



Yet men try to mitigate my worth

because I’m just the “dust of the earth”.

They tread on me; they spit and stomp.

and dress in clothes of flaming pomp.

With strong, persuasive words they speak

uniting mighty men against the weak.



Yet before the earth ever was

I was part of stars and part of suns.

I’ve been spread throughout the heavens

by cosmic storms and stellar winds.

I’ve traversed the darkest points of space

in search for my primal starting place.



Who are you who lifts himself on high?

Are you more marvelous than I?

I became the zodiacal light:

the pallid glow that fills the night.

You who war against the nations

Did you form the Pillars of Creation?



Go! Don your crown, and wield your bow.

Command the nations where to go.

It was me from whom you were made,

and to me you’ll return someday.

Because when all is said and done

Men still die, but the dust lives on.

[Jolly]

Very good!

[Jolly]

Pixel People


Harnessed lightning flashes, pixels come to life,
Ghostly illusions of never-met friends, and foes.
Candid and passionate discussions of everyday strife,
That sometimes reveal more than one wants to know.

Words that flow on a fiber spider’s thin web,
Bouncing through the ether, with thoughts in tow.
And just like the tide with its flow and its ebb,
The pixel people wash in, and then away they go.

Were they ever here? Could they be real?
They must be, for their written thoughts remain
Etched in a corner of my conscience, and feel
Like the loss a friend, ne'er to be seen again.

[Deleted]

@toni,I had to read your poem out loud, and Nick was the happy recipient. Such an imaginative - and true! - observation!

Jolly, you bring us from the beginning to electronics... and yet which is more real? The dust from which we are made, or the ephemeral passing of thoughts through fiber optics?

[Jolly]

Jolly, you bring us from the beginning to electronics... and yet which is more real? The dust from which we are made, or the ephemeral passing of thoughts through fiber optics?

I think you have the makings of a nice ThD dissertation or a bang-up SF novel, there.

[Jolly]

Doggerel?


Sometimes in the wee hours of the dark,
I lie and grieve in the corners of my heart.
It’s silly, pets are not people, not persons.
Yet, lying here, the pain seems to worsen
Until it fills up the room.

A dog is a man’s best friend, it’s said.
They have no soul, gone when dead.
So why do I look for her in every corner,
And why does my soul seem to mourn her?
It’s an unfillable hole.

So one does what one always will do,
Go on walking through a miasmic stew,
Until you wake to the morn of a day,
When things are brighter, thoughts less gray.
And the sun peeks through.

Good-bye old friend. May Godspeed,
Wherever old dogs go when they leave.
Maybe we’ll meet on a distant shore,
To renew our friendship once more.
At least that’s what I hope.

[Deleted]

Aug 27, 2017 12:43:49 GMT @toni said:

DUST



I’ve existed since creation;

it’s I who lay a world’s foundation.

For out of dying stars, I live

though fragmented and diminutive.

Through me planets and stars will come

And, I through them, ad-infinitum.



From going to and from going forth

And passing by the sides of the north;

through dark nebulas I have trod

and have even seen the face of God.

I’ve heard The Word; I’ve seen The Lamb

I was there when God created Man.



Yet men try to mitigate my worth

because I’m just the “dust of the earth”.

They tread on me; they spit and stomp.

and dress in clothes of flaming pomp.

With strong, persuasive words they speak

uniting mighty men against the weak.



Yet before the earth ever was

I was part of stars and part of suns.

I’ve been spread throughout the heavens

by cosmic storms and stellar winds.

I’ve traversed the darkest points of space

in search for my primal starting place.



Who are you who lifts himself on high?

Are you more marvelous than I?

I became the zodiacal light:

the pallid glow that fills the night.

You who war against the nations

Did you form the Pillars of Creation?



Go! Don your crown, and wield your bow.

Command the nations where to go.

It was me from whom you were made,

and to me you’ll return someday.

Because when all is said and done

Men still die, but the dust lives on.

Beautiful and thoughtful! A good piece of writing flows and turns the wheels of the mind. Your poem reminded me of these verses.

"And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin:

 And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."-Matthew 6:28-29, Holy Bible, King James Version (KJV)

Mt. of Beatitudes beside the Sea of Galilee, Israel

[Deleted]

Thank you It took way too long to work on it and the longer I work on a poem the more I end up hating it. Lol. I wasn't completely satisfied with this one, but probably because I had been working on it for too long. I'll post some more of my work in the future.

Jolly , I very much enjoyed Pixel People--you wrote that? It's awesome!

[Deleted]

Aug 27, 2017 23:00:30 GMT @toni said:

Thank you It took way too long to work on it and the longer I work on a poem the more I end up hating it. Lol. I wasn't completely satisfied with this one, but probably because I had been working on it for too long. I'll post some more of my work in the future.

Jolly , I very much enjoyed Pixel People--you wrote that? It's awesome!

Good writers, I think, are seldom completely satisfied with their writing.

“Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster and fling him to the public.”― Sir Winston S. Churchill

[Jolly]

Aug 27, 2017 23:00:30 GMT @toni said:

Thank you It took way too long to work on it and the longer I work on a poem the more I end up hating it. Lol. I wasn't completely satisfied with this one, but probably because I had been working on it for too long. I'll post some more of my work in the future.

Jolly , I very much enjoyed Pixel People--you wrote that? It's awesome!

A few years ago.

A dear friend and I were having a bit of poetry one-upsmanship. I got whupped, badly. 

I'm more of a really bad story teller than a really bad poet.

[Deleted]

Aug 28, 2017 1:40:11 GMT Jolly said:

Aug 27, 2017 23:00:30 GMT @toni said:

Thank you It took way too long to work on it and the longer I work on a poem the more I end up hating it. Lol. I wasn't completely satisfied with this one, but probably because I had been working on it for too long. I'll post some more of my work in the future.

Jolly , I very much enjoyed Pixel People--you wrote that? It's awesome!

A few years ago.

A dear friend and I were having a bit of poetry one-upsmanship. I got whupped, badly. 

I'm more of a really bad story teller than a really bad poet.

I thought Pixel People was really good. With your second poem, Doggerel?, it is easy to see you really loved that dog.

[Jolly]

Aug 27, 2017 23:17:21 GMT @headlesshorseman said:

Aug 27, 2017 23:00:30 GMT @toni said:

Thank you It took way too long to work on it and the longer I work on a poem the more I end up hating it. Lol. I wasn't completely satisfied with this one, but probably because I had been working on it for too long. I'll post some more of my work in the future.

Jolly , I very much enjoyed Pixel People--you wrote that? It's awesome!

Good writers, I think, are seldom completely satisfied with their writing.

“Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster and fling him to the public.”― Sir Winston S. Churchill

I've always wanted to write a novel, but I just don't have it in me. A best-selling author once told me you write a novel until you just can't stand to look at it anymore and then it's just about finished.

True story...Guys, I'm the worst grammarian God ever put on this earth. I couldn't tell you a dangling participle from a Toyota water pump.

Imagine my surprise, when after screening at the little private college I attended (Go Cats!), they put me in Freshman Honors English. Jesus, Mary and Joseph in Tinseltown! Somebody was smoking left-handed cigarettes and the weed was mighty. But after they explained I'd get six hours of credit for a three hour class, I lit up like a slot machine that just rolled three cherries.

The class consisted of eight people out of an incoming freshman class of 300 and was taught by the head of the English department. Geez, this guy was good. Looked like a leprechaun and could jump flat-footed from the floor onto his classroom desk and deliver full Shakespeare sonnets and soliloquies from memory. Was a master of British lit, had studied at Oxford and could really write.

A typical assignment for the week would be to turn in an original essay to his secretary on Monday morning, length determined upon assignment. We could write on any subject we chose, in whatever style we wanted. We would then spend the rest of our week tearing each other's work apart while he held court and determined grades. I never made an A on anything I ever did in that class. I was tickled spitless just to make an occasional B. Upon passing with a Gentleman's C for the semester, I was ecstatic! (Flashback...He'd drop you a letter grade for using an exclamation point. Good writers don't need them.)

I can still hear him saying, "Dammit, Jolly. Can't you shorten this up? Why can't you be brief and concise? By nature, I prefer brevity". (Didn't know until years later that last sentence was a famous quote. Some English scholar, me. Excuse me, some English scholar, I.)

So now, if I try to write something of any length, somewhere around 500-1000 words in, I get the heebie-jeebies, cold sweats and flashbacks to my days suffering through the Inquisition.

Just can't do it.

[Jolly]

Aug 28, 2017 2:00:57 GMT @headlesshorseman said:

Aug 28, 2017 1:40:11 GMT Jolly said:

A few years ago.

A dear friend and I were having a bit of poetry one-upsmanship. I got whupped, badly. 

I'm more of a really bad story teller than a really bad poet.

I thought Pixel People was really good. With your second poem, Doggerel?, it is easy to see you really loved that dog.

Dog's name was Dixie. She died thirteen years ago and I think of her everyday. I like some dogs more than I like some people.

Knocked that one together on the fly this afternoon...As I said, I'm really baaad...

[Deleted]

Aug 28, 2017 2:01:54 GMT Jolly said:

Aug 27, 2017 23:17:21 GMT @headlesshorseman said:

Good writers, I think, are seldom completely satisfied with their writing.

“Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster and fling him to the public.”― Sir Winston S. Churchill

I've always wanted to write a novel, but I just don't have it in me. A best-selling author once told me you write a novel until you just can't stand to look at it anymore and then it's just about finished.

Well, that's basically what Churchill wrote.

True story...Guys, I'm the worst grammarian God ever put on this earth. I couldn't tell you a dangling participle from a Toyota water pump.

Imagine my surprise, when after screening at the little private college I attended (Go Cats!), they put me in Freshman Honors English. Jesus, Mary and Joseph in Tinseltown! Somebody was smoking left-handed cigarettes and the weed was mighty. But after they explained I'd get six hours of credit for a three hour class, I lit up like a slot machine that just rolled three cherries.

The class consisted of eight people out of an incoming freshman class of 300 and was taught by the head of the English department. Geez, this guy was good. Looked like a leprechaun and could jump flat-footed from the floor onto his classroom desk and deliver full Shakespeare sonnets and soliloquies from memory. Was a master of British lit, had studied at Oxford and could really write.

A typical assignment for the week would be to turn in an original essay to his secretary on Monday morning, length determined upon assignment. We could write on any subject we chose, in whatever style we wanted. We would then spend the rest of our week tearing each other's work apart while he held court and determined grades. I never made an A on anything I ever did in that class. I was tickled spitless just to make an occasional B. Upon passing with a Gentleman's C for the semester, I was ecstatic! (Flashback...He'd drop you a letter grade for using an exclamation point. Good writers don't need them.)

I don't know! Good writers also don't ignore the tools and resources available to them, even if the device in question is the lowly and often overused (on the internet anyway) exclamation point.  

I can still hear him saying, "Dammit, Jolly. Can't you shorten this up? Why can't you be brief and concise? By nature, I prefer brevity". (Didn't know until years later that last sentence was a famous quote. Some English scholar, me. Excuse me, some English scholar, I.)

I had once had an English professor who told me that brevity (concise writing) is usually best. 

I think he may have been thinking of the following line from William Shakespeare's play, Hamlet, in the second act, where Polonius says, “Since brevity is the soul of wit / And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief…”

So now, if I try to write something of any length, somewhere around 500-1000 words in, I get the heebie-jeebies, cold sweats and flashbacks to my days suffering through the Inquisition.

Just can't do it.

For me, just getting started, as in putting down the first sentence, is usually the most difficult part of any writing. Once I start, I'm fine.

[joebill]

I wrote a novel not long after I heard that Louis La Amore died, just to see if I could pull off a Western. About half way through, my wife insisted that she was gong to edit it and send it in to the Southwest Writer's conferance contest. I was just having fun, creating a universe where everybody had to do and say what I wanted, but she was taking it seriously, so why should I argue?

It finished up at 90,000 words, we let friends and family read it to much biased aplause, she sent it in. Got a call sometime later that it had been selected as a finalist...she was on the phone talking to the gal, and I figured it was a con and asked how many entered the contest....they said about 50 in it's division, which started me to takiing it seriously.

Anyhow, it won the western and historical division, much to the burning anger of at least one of the compeditors who had taken a year off from her job as an english lit teacher to finish her novel about a Mexican Dynasty. Surprised me, too, and the judge was an editor from Berkely books, who said she would make an offer on it if I would shorten it to the length of a Louie Lamore, which I declined. Not like they are going to pay a first time author enough to change his life, anyway, so it is still laying there, waiting for one of the kids or somebody to get it ready for print at Lightning source and into Kindle Books format. I had my fun from it.

I DID, also write a love poem to my wife a few years ago, in the shower, when we only had a single bathroom and had to use it at the same time. I habitually get up first, start in the shower, would hear her come in.....

It went;

"OH, my dearest darling
Companion to my heart
I did not know that thou were nigh
'Till I heard thee softly fart."

Nothing like honoring what talent one has by taking it seriously, working hard, doing something worthwhile... .....Joe