Originals!

[awediot]

There are clearly some writers here whose forte does not stop at gentle debate, disseminating raw information, or wordplay when all someone wants is a hug... Are your creative talents lost to the more pressing subjects on this forum? Then this thread is for you...

PLEASE, share a poem, song lyrics, quip, anecdote or post a picture, favorite photo or bit of art that you like, That you DID... No topic, no demand, anything to improve on, explain or defend... just your clever, tender heart. Old or New, a few words or that novella you been wanting feedback on... Maybe give a little history... Anything goes, just make it Original...

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I'm no poet and I know it. I have some ramblings I may post later if they can get lost among their betters... For now, this is a pic of an odd display I made when I was making/selling jewelry (small pieces hanging in the "windows"). The nude guy on the left is a pin thats about an inch and a half tall...

Please post something here and assuage my sense of ego gone wild!

[dewdrop_world]

I'll bite... I'm a composer by training and keep some excerpts of my work on my web site.

http://www.dewdrop-world.net

The "sounds" page contains the music, some older, some more recent.

Zerbie liked it!

James

[Joe Brummer]

I offer a video of myself playing a song I wrote for an ex-boyfriend......It is sad and happy all at the same time:


http://www.joebrummer.com/Four%20Walls.htm

Warning: It won't work with Firefox for some reason......

[Mia14]

I'm a very artistic person, so here I'll go and try to show some little pieces of my work...

I love drawing, writing, painting, pastels, photography, and whatever arts and crafts I can get my hands into.

I have a lot of my older stuff online at www.eve14.deviantart.com

Most of my newer stuff isnt on a website and probably won't be... it's better that way.

*edited: website added*

[Sharieab]

I've been writing a lot since my girlfriend left. I also take photos too... The show one is of my friend Kristy Lee playing (my favourite I took of her) The other one is one of my favourites I took in Peidmont park. And this is one of my favourite poems I've written as of late.

It's called Sick to the Bone.

I'm watching this show...
The one with Tracy on
Yea, the one you called my girlfriend...
So she's hot... I can't help it.

I finally gave in and accepted it.
I'm sick
sick to the bone.

I'm trying to pack up my room
two years and now I'm off again
Well just across the street
but still one more move

I found a picture of us
from last year
You look so different

You have always been beautiful
How to convince you of that?

I love you so much
I wish I could explain in english
what I believe
But I'm still not sure you would believe it.

I'm sick to the bone.
And I've lost my fight
I'm just not sure how much more I can take

I know God will only give me
as much as I can take
I must be stronger
than I believe.

I'm sick to the bone
All I want to do is be in your arms
But all I have is this sweatshirt.
But even that I'm grateful for.

I'm packing up these memories.
Maybe that'll be helpful in my sleep
Lost of the feeling of you there.

11 weeks.
I can hold on
to the tenderness of your touch
The tenderness of your voice

Maybe then we can talk more
about your feelings and your beliefs
I still am not sure where I stand.
I think I stand in your arms
I hope I stand in your arms

I'll stop now because
my memories are rushing back
Your hands are settling in
your voice is filling my head
Your beauty shining in.

I'm sick to the bone
and packing up these memories
I love you more than you'll ever know
my beautiful gift of God.
----------------------------------------
Ok so I was looking on thru my poems and also wanted to share this one...
It's called Longing.

I'm afraid of life with out you.
All I wanted was you
I need you here... I just need you
I need to know everything is ok

I want you at my bed side when I awake from these problems
I need to know that you'll always love me.
I need to be able to read your thoughts from here

I miss you so much
I've never felt this much.
So much love, so much longing
so much to miss, so much I don't even know it all

I long for your smile, your touch, your voice, your Laugh
your warm embrace...
your arms... I need them.
I'm trying so hard to hold on...
I held as tight as I could.

But your arms aren't here now
And I can't hold on now

No one compares to you
I never loved this much
this hard
this long

I keep crying,
even though I know you don't want me to
I can't help it...
I've tried so hard.

I guess this is the down side of love
I thought I loved so right
I thought I knew so much

I just need you so...

And now I go
back in search of the forsaken rest
in a bed that feels so lonely with out you

I'm working on thinking about other things
but you keep coming back into my heart,
my brain
my longing.
____________________

Ok I'm done now... This was a great idea.

Here is my blog page if you want to read any more
blog.myspace.com/simona_marie

[Dash]

Man!! Look what I've been missing! Couple days away....sheesh! It's gonna take me forever to catch up.

Awesome, ya'll!!!!

[keltic63]

here's a piece I did for the anniversary of 9-11 and the memorial service as part of our worship at FCC that day. It is hardware wire, cotton rags, and lights shining from inside the towers. We actually kept it on display for about a month.

[Mia14]

Who knew we were all so talented?

[suzer1013]

This is a poem I wrote after my partner and I took a trip where we stopped over in Winchester, Virginia, to see Patsy Cline's grave. We took some pictures, and a couple came out with images in them (no joke - - I generally don't believe in such things). So this is about one of those pictures, and some other stuff that it brought up....



Winchester Virginia

Faces peering from the mist
of remembrance
whispering their secrets of love and loss
of lives cut short
and lives lived long
of joy and heartbreak, love and loathing
sweet laughter, sorrowful tears
singing their songs in the wind
in the winging of birds
in the leaves rustling in the graveyard.

A snapshot of a second in time
a second of wonder and fear.
Who were these faces in the mist
the man with the mustache
the girl with a ponytail
the woman with curls gracefully framing her face
her eyes closed
in prayer,
in sadness,
in sleep?

Captured in the world
like a momentary moonbeam
drifting neither here nor there,
cruelly fooled by the Heavens.
They murmur their secrets
sweet songs of the hereafter
of the shadowy places in our hearts.
They can see us fully, our souls bared
our follies and foibles
our loves and losses
our enchantment, our vitality.

Naming the names
a bell tolls
and the day of All Saints has arrived
Spirits surround us in hushed anticipation
Will they remember me?
Tears fall and the child without a father
wordlessly cries out in pain and sadness
and stands before us in the agony
of understanding
of realization
that she no longer sees his face looking back at her.

A snapshot in a graveyard
A moment in the mist
love songs whispered in our ears
Love your life
Love each other
Love yourself
Dance, leap, run and fly
For your time here is short
We know, we have lived
And now we watch
Silently
Wishing
Hoping
for Peace.

[suzer1013]

This one's pretty self-explanatory, I guess....

Susan


Tsunami Poem


Sand swirls and tiny grains

resettle themselves

on the ocean floor.

Ripped so suddenly

from their previous home,

a place of calm and sun

of children’s tiny toes

splashing, dancing in the surf.



A pair of sunglasses drift

and come to rest

gently in the silt

next to a pair of flip flops

a small yellow shovel

and a blue bucket

recently used to make sand castles,

castles with flecks of wet gypsum glittering in the sun

now reclaimed by the hungry sea

now sinking to the ocean floor

a new map redrawn for the ages.



The body of a small boy

floats toward the shore,

seeking to join its mother

who could not hold tightly enough

to save him from the gaping jaws

that ripped him from the sunny seashore

and swept him toward his place in heaven

to live there now with his sister

and father, and aunt and uncle,

with whom he romped only hours before,

in the warm welcoming sand.



His mother waits collapsed in grief,

racked with hunger, fear and thirst,

as the waves now gentle

lift battered bodies

one by one to the shore.

It is as if the Great Mother Sea,

out of which we once crawled

and breathed our first harsh breath,

now gives birth to stillborn children

washing them to shore by the hundreds

by the thousands,

to be greeted by the sirens and the wailing

and the horror that remains.

[Jennifer5]

I was shocked when I saw what everyone put... you really are all talented. I tried to upload some pictures but there all to big so I couldn't... sorry. Good job on your work everyone

[keltic63]

I wanted to show someone this thread (for the pic of my towers) and had the hardest time finding it. Hope you don't mind, I'm bumping it up. If you've done anything recently, feel free to add.

[Daniel]

I started 'writing' this icon several years ago- of the angel Gabriel- more than I want to admit actually! It's not finished. I hope to get back to it eventually. The iconographer I studied with is of the Byzantine School.

When I was making it, I had the most wonderful dream about falling into the halo. Being blessed by and part of the halo. I woke up with the most calm and peaceful feeling- which seemed to fill my heart and mind- all space really. A good memory thought on this day, the anniversary of 9/11.

[zimnah]

Here's something I was writing, but couldn't find an appropriate venue. It came about after a friend invited me to go to Mosque with her for Friday services.

A Mile in His Moccasins

I gazed at my reflection, barely recognizing myself. My blue and beige patterned skirt fell gently to my ankles, flowing around them as I walked. My blue turtleneck shirt warmed my neck, and the long sleeves peeked out from under the equally long sleeves of my off white tunic made from Egyptian cotton. The light tan of my headscarf complimented my outfit, pinned securely under my chin. My husband said I looked just like the women he’d seen in a Bahrainian marketplace. I looked in the mirror, and a Muslim stared back. But it was still me.
At the mosque that night, I surprisingly didn’t feel uncomfortable. I have to wonder why the sensation was so surprising. Though I’d been assured, I still subconsciously expected resentment to my presence. That, I know now, is a further sign of my ignorance.
“Allah hu akhbar, Allah hu akhbar:” We were called to worship. The carpet in the sanctuary was deep and luxurious. There was a brown screen set up near the back, and men and women entered through their own designated doors. I left my shoes outside the door, and slipped in behind my sponsor. She went immediately behind the screen, and bowed in prayer. She had motioned to a chair positioned so that I could observe the men and the women praying, but I didn’t want to sit there. I observed stiffly for a few moments, standing when the supplicants stood, and sitting when they bowed. It became quite clear that the supplicants were truly devoted to G-d. The prayers were simple but eloquent, and offered silently.
“G-d is great. G-d is one” were the words I understood in Arabic, and I felt the calling. G-d is indeed Great.
After the devotion, I settled myself comfortably on the floor. My Muslim sponsor sat nearby, braced against the post, and the Imam sat across from us, his legs crossed over the imaginary line between the men’s and the women’s section. He leaned slightly against the screen divider for a moment, but leaned forward on his hands as we spoke. He drew pictures in the carpet, begging my understanding of his mother’s senseless death, all for wont of an efficient way around The Wall to adequate medical care. I flinched as though stabbed; my people had done this.
To be a Jew in Jerusalem is to be truly spiritually free, but at a terrible cost. Is freedom of the spirit worth the imprisonment of innocent lives? Is this what G-d promised our ancestors? We will never know until we follow the advice of some of our other ancestors: we must walk in another’s moccasins before we can decide our own fate, much less even comment upon the lives of our neighbors.

[Dash]

In the garden where the olive leaned,
a white stag hung its head.
The ancient stars slumped silently
with the heavy groan he shed.
An autumn sigh
turned the leaves…
Oh why?

Awareness of its silver shame
broke the moonflower’s heart,
and backwardly it slipped its petals
into the hopeless dark.
The swollen sky
looked awfully down…
and cried.

Where the Stag lay and beat it’s crown
the wounded…mortaled…earth
prayed itself a barren death
upon such ruined worth.

And when the horn first cracked
the soil was shocked to stone;
and grasses fled like sudden ash
their mausoleumed bones.

And when those antlers broke…alas…
the pavement shattered into blades.
carved with iron’s mis-sharpened form
and darkened with its shade.

Still yet amid dumbfounded trees
an unlikely song pursued
the garden’s passing health
and casually refused
the call to fly
from sorrow’s face
and die.

The bitter king raised mirthless eye
to bid this joy, “Be still.”
But that which cowed the white sea wave
and hooked upon its will
the thrashing whale…
did not
the nightingale.

“Why should you mock your lord?…
Why sing, and not obey?”
Still the bird ignored a pain
that wintered the glade away.
A doleful cry
washed o’er the stones…
“Oh why?”

“Would you have all our joy to cease?”
the sad stream wept within
the sharded ground. She touched his face
and all her freshness then

was changed into one salty tear
which fled at once away.
(Her source forevermore was made
where his dear body lay.)

Such grief overbore the angry stones
and carved them smooth once more.
As still, the cheerful song recalled
its joy within the sore
and closing eye
of one who yet
must die.

Somewhere within the stream the song
was mingled with the salt;
And deep within the broken ground
its music filled the fault.

Where the bloom had shaken off
a seed hung shining now.
And in the trees—just there, and here—
buds winked along the bough.

When last arising, the uncrowned stag
went bravely out to kiss his friend,
he heard the nightingale sing
of love…and love again.

[Jennifer5]

I've just been skipping around on this thread... but Dash I love that poem, is it yours? It's amazing

[Dash]

Originally Posted by Jennifer5

I've just been skipping around on this thread... but Dash I love that poem, is it yours? It's amazing

Yup... It followed the last fatal betrayal I experienced at the hands of a friend. Ugh!

[keltic63]

I did these mosaics for a church denominational meeting last June. I just got the film developed yesterday

[Jennifer5]

Those are amazing Keltic!

[Dash]

They're beautiful Keltic! and so FUN!