LET US WRITE A POEM TOGETHER

1. 0

   \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

   No rules this time ...... rhyming or not....
   as many lines as you like...
   
   
        The afternoon sun
        Inspires the poet in me
        In my garden a beautiful butterfly
        Sits quiely on my prize rose....

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2. 81

   dohn121posted 14 years ago

   And imitates
   My fluttering heart
   Beating its wings
   Into nothingness

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3. 0

   \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

   I watch the beautiful creature
     For some time
     The colours so vivid
     Will i reach for my paints
     And try to capture the colours
     Of your wings........

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4. 81

   dohn121posted 14 years ago

   Beautiful and vibrant
   With hues and pastels
   I paint a pretty picture:
   I see you smiling!

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5. 0

   \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

   Smiling because of the delicacy of the artwork
     The concentration in your face
     The butterfly knowing it is being watched...
     Seemingly poses for you
     A masterful work is about to begin
     A picture
     A poem
     An insight
     Pleasing to behold
     Let's watch it all unfold...........

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6. 60

   Cris Aposted 14 years ago

   or is that a frown my dearest?
   like a leaf from a twig unclasped?
   fooled by the kiss of the wind again
   what are colors for if they fade?

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7. 0

   \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

   These colours must not fade,
     A smile is always a smile...
     Unless the beholder
     Does see more than she......
   
     The picture is taking on
     New dimensions,
     With the addition
     Of just that something
     Extra special
   
     Ah yes it certainly
     Is a smile
     A feeling of brilliance
     Creativity at it's best
     The wind can not change it..

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8. 60

   Cris Aposted 14 years ago

   but alas! the beholder is but a slave to his eyes
   and colors no matter how sad do not make a sound
   not an echo, not a drumming, not even a murmur
   so take thine eyes and give me hands so i can see

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9. 81

   dohn121posted 14 years ago

   For the moment they are eternal;
   They live and last ever-long
   They endure when others fail
   They right all other wrongs
   
   For even a moment is my eternity,
   To live and love this serenity,
   This picture perfect portrait,
   From the heart's master laureate.

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10. 81

    manlypoetrymanposted 14 years ago

    That Sun was a strange mix of many colors..mixed with grey...
    I looked for some reason behind the colors of each ray...
    and found...whereas...I could've just seen the grey in dismay...
    I focused on that which brought color...to this otherwise dull day.

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11. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    No sound needed
      The stillness of the butterfly
      The silence of the wind
      The coming together of wonderful things
      Of new beginnings..
    
      The picture, how is it coming along?

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    1. 81

       dohn121posted 14 years agoin reply to this

       It's gorgeous so far

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12. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    So far so good...
    But alas the butterfly takes to flight
    The artist produces,
    A photograph...........
    Of the winged creature
    Enabling the smiles to continue....
    The paint becoming even more vivid
    Upon the wings
    Of the one now free
    The rain starts to fall
    The music begins
    Reaching a crochendo
    The pianist,
    Takes a bow,
    As the rose
    Beautiful now, petals open
    the raindrop running slowly down each petal
    dripping relentlessly
    On the un watered soil
    She now dares to peep, for one second at his picture....

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    1. 60

       I*n*v*i*c*t*u*sposted 14 years agoin reply to this

       This is Awesome..wish I had the words to continue it...

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13. 65

    hubby7posted 14 years ago

    I hate to utter that often used common phrase: "You go girl--and boys!" The poetry is flowing slowly and softly like a river moving naturally downstream.

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14. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    The picture is not of a butterfly,
      But of a branch of the tree
      A womans tearful face
      Within the bark of this tree.
      The butterfly flies back
      Sits on the shoulder of the artist
      As if  to admire his creativity
      The girl walks away
      Puzzled by what she sees
      The artist, takes a sip of wine
      Continues with his picture
      She listens now to the river
      Takes out a brush
      And just as the vain girl
      Bathsheba once did
      Brushes her long golden hair
      Whilst fixing her gaze in the mirror
      Which she holds in her left hand
      The artist silently watches.....

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15. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    anyone add anything please

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16. 60

    Lisa HWposted 14 years ago

    Her heart, with longing for the skies;
    and the sadness reflected in her eyes,
    she woefully comes to realize,
    that freedom is for butterflies.
    
    For vanity heavies a longing soul,
    and human hearts must pay a toll.
    While on air floats the butterfly
    against the vast expanse of sky.

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17. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    for she will never be truly free,
    for she pines for the man#
    That once set her free
    Now he has gone once again
    He has escaped from the shore
    She feels she will never see
       loves dream any more.......
    
    And the artist
    He watches
    He feels her heavy heart
    He paints a sweet picture
    Of the lover and a dart

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18. 60

    I*n*v*i*c*t*u*sposted 14 years ago

    he struck her heart with dart so fierce
    in plain day after a rivet of fear
    she wonders why he tests
    and continues to play
    there is a bond in soul
    unconditional love is feared
    shall the artist ever see the strength
    within, the dark of nights so cold
    she... everlasting warmth to hold

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19. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    The artists eye is very keen
    He moves not an inch from this romantic scene
    Watches her now, he takes the finest of brushes
    To capture her feelings......
    
    He sips his wine, and head held to one side
    Admires the strength of the forlorn maiden
    Captures it in his work
    Joined once more by the butterfly
    Truly a day to remember
    He packs away his paints, his brushes too
    The maiden retires for the evening
    Tomorrow he will finish his piece
    He feels it may be one of his best works of art
    For she inspires....... How she inspires.

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20. 0

    cosetteposted 14 years ago

    and there within the still of night
    when the butterflies are asleep in bed
    the only light candlelight and moonlight
    the forlorn maiden rests her head
    
    and prays to angels who ignore her calls
    and wishes on stars that twinkle for none
    and wonders why he won't break down her walls
    and she wilts like a flower in the morning Sun.
    
    (sorry to seem so melancholy - that's what came out of my keyboard

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    1. 0

       \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years agoin reply to this

       don't be sorry it is wonderful thanks for your contribution

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21. 0

    cosetteposted 14 years ago

    thanks. cute avatar!

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22. 60

    I*n*v*i*c*t*u*sposted 14 years ago

    sun is here
    fresh blooms always near
    
    as heart the heat of sun
    where one finds stillness in one
    
    though two may fair
    love as thin as air
    
    the two
    enfold in one
    
    blessed moon and sun
    soul assurance has come

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23. 60

    Lisa HWposted 14 years ago

    For Spring and sun and hope, you see,
    do not behave as fleetingly,
    as fluttering butterflies dancing by
    against the Spring and Summer sky.
    
    Instead they hide in shadows gray;
    forgotten by the mournful heart.
    and like fluttering butterflies out to play,
    will reappear another day.

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24. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    each day they re appear
    for an hour or so together.....
    different places
    different stages
    different corners of the world
    They find a way
    To come out and play
    To communicate
    Under the heat of the sun
    In front of everyone
    Watched by the fluttering butterfly
    The silent eye
    Maybe we are being watched you and I
    Find a way
    Name the day
    And gently lovingly flutter this way
    Butterfly, of so  many vivid colours
    I beg of you

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25. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    The artist now starts his day
    He wonders will the butterfly
    join him today
    His easel placed firlmy on the ground
    He sips his wine and looks around
    She sees him from afar
    Fixes her gaze on the solitary star
    Upon his canvas
    It's not in the sky
    Has he spotted her from the corner of his eye
    Choosing the colours
    He sets up for the day
    Looks up to the sky
    The sky looks grey
    His many brushes he lays in a row
    At last this artist is ready to go.........

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26. 0

    wordscribe41posted 14 years ago

    upon autumn's crisp carpet he's treading,
    under the safety of a few over-ripe leaves.
    What was once his guard from
    sunshine and heat
    lies stale and lifeless underneath
    the artist's tired feet.
    Together they were his omnipresent umbrella.
    He could position himself in such a way,
    that nothing could get through,
    not the heat from the day,
    nor the rain from the sky.
    Perhaps he know what that first
    drop fell upon his eye,
    of cold rain, not warm,
    like security mimicking harm...
    I cannot help but find it curious
    that leaves once held higher than me
    lost their strength by a wind perhaps furious
    or maybe it was only a regular autumn breeze....

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    1. 0

       \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years agoin reply to this

       sorry about all that lets carry on the poem from here

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27. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    absolutely beautiful, you dried my tears.,..... why oh why do we go in the forums...... you are a poet please keep writing and a friend

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    1. 0

       wordscribe41posted 14 years agoin reply to this

       Thank you, Brenda.  Right back at you.  So sorry about what transpired on the other thread.  Yikes.  I really am so sorry to hear about your sister.  It breaks my heart to hear such stories.  What a great Aunt you are!  Will you be my Auntie in Ireland?

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28. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    of course i will..... can you believe it i think he has quietened down a bit now...... drink is such a curse isn't it??????? 
    
    ,Maddison has gone home now as she is going to college, she may come to live with me when she finishes her two year college course in catering.

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    1. 0

       wordscribe41posted 14 years agoin reply to this

       A truly hideous curse for some, no doubt.  I miss absolutely nothing about it.  Love being sober and experiencing everything in the world, no regrets, no hangovers, no feeling utterly trapped and alone.  'Tis an awful way to live.  You did a good job with him, though.

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       1. 0

          \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years agoin reply to this

          it is so sad i feel for people with this problem, i could never be an alcoholic, drink just sends me to sleep or makes me sick...... it is a bit of a curse, and the only illness that tells people they have not got it.... I am just listening to John Martyn he has the most beautiful voice...... went to see him in concert 3 times each time he was drunk and abusive.  It seems to be the sensitive men that sometimes get caught up with this problem...... i will have to tell you about my dad one day that is anothere story altogether

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29. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    The artist the girl
    The moon shining on the sand
    Butterflys sleeping
    You and I hand in hand

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30. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    Walking slowly enjoying the day
    Wondering what the next poet will say
    Will they see once again the butterfly's wing
    Or tell us about the bird that can sing

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31. 61

    SoftCornHippoposted 14 years ago

    all short memories
    the dawn, the day, the butterfly
    gone now
    like a wind through a branch
    
    night arrived
    where she was watching
    for the bird
    who had lost his way

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32. 60

    floeticpoetposted 14 years ago

    Merry in heart
    From the start
    A last glance at
    the past golden part
    A ray of sun
    To watch the butterflies
    fly before the day is done
    So young in mind
    They glance at the trees hoping
    to find
    Life and be pleased
    Till the end of time
    Dreaming on into a wondrous land
    Watching midnight rise while hand in
    hand
    Staring one to another in the eyes
    Leaving nothing left for the heart
    to disguise
    Their soul's paintings intertwine
    Off eachother's energy they dine
    Kissing the midnight air away
    Listening as the sun rises for
    another day

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33. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    different places different times
    Poets add a few words to these rhymes
    The butterfly hovers
    The artists paint
    A special kinda poet may arrive
    If we just wait

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34. 0

    mtsi1098posted 14 years ago

    think positive
    it's the only way to live
    you do not want your mind flowing from a cup
    and never let me hear you are giving up

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35. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    so much to live for
    too many people care....
    never give up don't you dare......

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36. 60

    I*n*v*i*c*t*u*sposted 14 years ago

    breathe easy, piece of mind
    flowing comfort , feather glide
    pace and balance
    pleasure and rest
    wine with friends
    you love the best

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37. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    you left out one thing my friend
    you made a big mistake....
    How could you ever have forgotton
    The seasoning on the steak

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38. 60

    I*n*v*i*c*t*u*sposted 14 years ago

    It's in my belly
    now like jelly
    good wine and treats I see
    with cheese and berries
    let's continue the feast

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39. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    Now that we have started no need to stop
    Eat til your sick
    drink til you drop
    Let'S have a big party
    That never will end
    I hope you are coming
    My confident my friend......

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40. 60

    floeticpoetposted 14 years ago

    Of course I am
    I've been longing for
    this night, oh where do I
    begin
    I can see the fireworks in plain
    sight
    Above the building
    In bright light
    People dancing and drinking
    the night away
    Enjoying the music they play
    Singing along
    In playful song
    The dearest butterflies that we left
    alone
    A few verses back, the poet took them home
    Closing his book
    Lying his pen to rest he takes one look
    At his work, the best
    And through his open window blinds
    He notices a party going on behind
    People dancing
    Their hearts turning true
    Flourishing through their mouths that drunk too
    much too soon
    The poet decides to join the fun
    a break from all his work that is done
    A dance here
    A drink there
    Maybe even a side of steak that is rare
    A little fun never hurt
    Just be responsible as with the liquor you
    slurp

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41. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    drunk disordely but extemly happy
    steak too rare
    but what the hell
    writing and drinking
    so many stories to tell
    stay a while don't go home yet
    let's keep on partying til the sun is set

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42. 60

    Lisa HWposted 14 years ago

    While Frank, over there,
    with the lampshade on;
    doesn't seem likely
    he'll make it 'til dawn.
    
    And I'm starting to worry
    a little 'bout Meg;
    Someone just told me
    she drank one whole keg.
    
    The table tipped over,
    thanks to Pat;
    but he'll unlikely recall
    ever doing that.
    
    It seems, too as if,
    Paul can't handle his booze;
    because it appears he's begun to snooze.
    
    I say, "What a party. I just love it."
    But Bill says to me,
    "Wanna make somethin' of it?"
    When I say I don't,
    Bill says, "Step outside",
    and I say I won't,
    "Knock it off," someone cried.

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43. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    We lost the artist
    And the butterfly
    We all got drunk
    Both you and I
    
    lets get back to serious poetry now or not

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44. 73

    Eaglekiwiposted 14 years ago

    As sure as day follows night
    And sun follows rain
    My heart will beat on
    Until the  Master DJ changes the song
    
    So sing while you can
    Write while you have hands
    And dance while your feet
    Still remember that wild hip hop beat

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45. 60

    Lisa HWposted 14 years ago

    And parties, we find
    must come to end;
    but dancing and writing
    can be like a friend -
    always close by
    from day's start
    to day end.
    
    Dancing and writing -
    what wonderful things
    that let poets ride
    on butterfly wings.

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46. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    poets writing on butterflys wings
    about all the many beautiful things
    We have all around us from morning til night
    A picture to paint....... a most wonderful sight

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47. 60

    I*n*v*i*c*t*u*sposted 14 years ago

    vivid spectrum's of the palette
    random rivers varied patterns
    painted words
    freeing madness

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    1. 0

       \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years agoin reply to this

       from heart to page
       releasing rage
       Friends unite
       Such a pleasant site/sight

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48. 60

    Lisa HWposted 14 years ago

    Thoughts of love,
    songs of laughter,
    tales of happily ever after.
    
    Words of hearts
    that have been broken,
    Thoughts 'til now
    still left unspoken.
    
    Words paint pictures -
    poet's art.
    Written from a writer's heart.

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49. 0

    \Brenda Scullyposted 14 years ago

    from heart to screen
    from screen to heart
    this poem is making a wonderful
    new start............
    thanks everyone busy weekend be back soon keep adding

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    I*n*v*i*c*t*u*sposted 14 years ago

    From where we dream
    Paint our days
    As lovers reel...dance and play
    Sweet desire
    Peaches n cream

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