Daily Poem

Gosh what made me think this was a good idea? Hard to get on every day.

Here is a poem by my Second Life friend Lycanthia Wolfhunter, better known for her macabre and funny short stories.



Connection error.

Oh my cyber lover.
We met upon the data bus
one dark and rainy night.
We went back to my pad,
and you removed your mac.
We performed illegal operations
on the software of my bed.
But, when I booted up
my love, my ram,
your hardware crashed.
You were and unable to insert your floppy,
your male to female connector was Microsoft.

By Lycanthia.

Daily Poetry diary 

As I've had this blogsite for ages and never done anything with it, I have a backlog of poetry.  sometimes poetry is given to me, sometimes I compose something. Poetry is all around us. I don't pretend to be any good, but I like what I do as well as lots of what comes to me from other sources.

Here is another from the movement workshop. This time it is my poem on another mover's image/move. 

A leafy early morning room.

In a leafy green glow

The resting time of soft scented drowse.

It's all so big.

The world is big.

I want to shout it, be it, leap and hold it.

My being, vibrant with the breath and shout of it.  

Only there, in that moment,

Fluttering leaf-green and glowing with life.

They don't know this of me,

That I can hold the whole world there,

The joyous green shout of it

In my heart and belly and throat.

Folded in, lightly held,

Feeding me before my breakfast. 

Cath Blackfeather 

Daily Poetry Diary

Here is a poem I composed at a dance/movement workshop. We were working from movement and found-objects in our immediate surroundings. Each object would evoke a memory and association from which we danced. The poetry came from that.  

A Rusty Metal Pillar by the Sea. 

Opening. 

Shedding my particles into the surround,

Basking in the sunlight, 

Salt entering my swelling metal and stripping me.

I flake into my surround and grow and crumble.

It will all change back and become anew.

I sing and know my strength

Swaying I stand solid.

The spray cascades over me.

I insist on changing,

Rust bubbling under paint 

Bursting the confines 

And becoming what it will.

You can't keep me the same.

Your en-shelling paint is weeping

The stains of me breaking free.

 

Cath Blackfeather