poem

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poem

Postby akoyeh » Fri Nov 30, 2018 9:24 am

.
It chanced upon a winter's night,
Safe, sheltered from the weather,
The table was spread for only one
But four men dined together.

There sat the man I meant to be,
Glory spurned and booted,
And close beside him, to the right,
The man I am reputed.

The man I think myself to be
A seat was occupying.
Nearby, the man I really am
Who to hold his own was trying.

Beneath one roof we sat.
None called his fellow brother.
No sign of recognition passed,
for they knew not one another.


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Re: poem

Postby yancovitch » Sun Dec 02, 2018 5:49 pm

very nice...did you write it?
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Re: poem

Postby akoyeh » Mon Dec 03, 2018 9:46 am

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Not my writing. Had received that little gem from a philosopher/teacher over 40 years ago. Have kept it on top of my lessons throughout the decades.

Here's one of mine, a different type of sonnet that rhymes down both left and right margins with equal syllables per line, iambic pentameter, written after an especially difficult and challenging shift while working as a certified nursing assistant in 1990...



Teamwork

When someone gives
More than required
For work that's mired
Then teamwork lives.

It's not a thing
Of selfishness.
Love gives it's best;
Let's good will ring.

So view yourself
An aide to choose
This duty, that

To see ourself
In other's shoes
Is where it's at.






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Re: poem

Postby yancovitch » Tue Dec 04, 2018 10:32 am

nice and right......
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Re: poem

Postby akoyeh » Wed Dec 05, 2018 8:10 pm

.
Thank you. More: Here's some prose of mine written 25 years ago. Am thinking it's among my finest of the hundreds written. Let's see if it takes you there...





Near Closing Time


One thirty-five
a.m.
I wait.
Will she come back
as
with a smile and the wink of an eye
she said she would?


One thirty-six
a.m.
It seems not
but still I am the sentinel,
keeping watch,
waiting...
... waiting...
Oh, that mystical smile of hers.


One thirty seven
a.m.
Seems hope against hope,
possibilities fading
with the sweep of the minute hand.


One thirty seven
a.m.
My head hurts,
heart is empty,
wishing it yet to be...
........ maybe...




A test?
Not.
I think not,
for I see no games,
no deceit,
but what do I know?
Very little.
Very, very little.

See how I am?


How am I?



One forty two
a.m.
and hurting a bit
but
that is my cross...




How am I?







alone















It's harder to share writing like that than to walk downtown with no clothes on, for people see inside of you. Takes guts, am here to tell ye.

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Re: poem

Postby yancovitch » Thu Dec 06, 2018 9:32 pm

thanks.........yea leaving one so vulnerable.......maybe that's the sign of a successful artist or whatever....to go on honestly exposing one's inner self, whether being accepted or ridiculed....and still go on, striving for perfection....
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Re: poem

Postby akoyeh » Sat Dec 08, 2018 1:30 pm

yancovitch wrote:thanks.........yea leaving one so vulnerable.......maybe that's the sign of a successful artist or whatever....
to go on honestly exposing one's inner self, whether being accepted or ridiculed....and still go on, striving for perfection....


Indeed, a tortured soul here now. Artist, writer, activist when the need presents itself. Takes one to know one. Had magnified your avatar weeks ago to see that incredibly detailed and fitted ship your building. You are a fellow artist. Pleasure in getting to know you a little, Yan. This one's for you, another of my created style of sonnet, written decades ago for a dear elder friend of mine, Danel Abrahams...




Friends

A friend is one who stands by you
No matter what your trial may be.
So steady and so strong, they see
The darkest days you know clear through.

They'll always be there night and day
To comfort and console your need.
Through thick and thin a friend will seed
Well thoughts to help you find your way.

Much warmth and comfort good friends hold.
They're there to listen when you bare
Your heart to speak your highest goal.

Such priceless worth that can't be sold:
Care, hope, and love that true friends share,
For understanding warms the soul.












Image

Danel
5.5" x 7.625"
Acrylic on panel




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Re: poem

Postby akoyeh » Mon Dec 10, 2018 2:54 pm

.


Emptinessness
-or-
The Quality of the Condition of Being Empty


Everything that I say must be cute,
for people are listening and
I am somebody.

She says that I am as does he as do they,
and all know how important "they" are,
so I must really be something!

I'll raise you as you praise me
for we are above and special and aware,
and aware that we are special.

Pity the lowly, don't despise them,
for they are poor and we are great
and as they appreciate us
we can bestow some creative charm upon them
and bless them with our
wit and grace.




All watch wherever I go,
so
I must never let down those who look up to me
or fall off of the pedestal where
I've placed myself.


By the way, where did everybody go?
I wasn't finished!








best one I ever wrote





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Re: poem

Postby akoyeh » Tue Dec 11, 2018 11:31 pm

.
The above was written totally from memory, though it seemed that I'd
left out a tidbit or two. Was correct in that ommision. Here's the full meal deal...






Emptinessness
-or-
The Quality of the Condition of Being Empty



Everything that I say must be cute,
for people are listening and
I am somebody.

She says that I am as does he as do they,
and all know how important "they" are,
so I must really be something!
And so are you
and you
and we, being three, are stronger still.

I'll raise you as you praise me
for we are above and special and aware,
and aware that we are special.

Pity the lowly, don't despise them,
for they are poor and we are great
and as they appreciate us
we can bestow some creative charm upon them
and bless them with our
wit and grace.




All watch wherever I go,
so
I must never let down those who look up to me
or fall off of the pedestal where
I've placed myself.


By the way, where did everybody go?
I wasn't finished!









...and yes: it's the best one I ever wrote





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Re: poem

Postby akoyeh » Tue Dec 11, 2018 11:46 pm

akoyeh wrote:.
A Shakespearean style of sonnet of mine written 27 years ago...





Straw Hat



This old straw hat
I've owned for years
Has shaded that
And this; my ears.

From stains of sweat
To tattered crown,
It's often wet
Or dingy brown.

Some character
It's gained o'er time,
From split and tear
To dingy grime.

I like it best
Of all the rest.








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