If I do that, will you feel like a whore? / If I do that, are you going to want more? / If I do that, do I gain higher place? / If I do that…
. Vehicular works / Architecture / Transitional Industrial Utopian Series / Abstract / Beautiful Humans / Wearable Art / Cards For All Occasions / . / / . / You can also listen to PLV’s music / . / Please take a look at the wonderful work of / Suzanne German /
How to write poetry on Red Bubble / Great tips for new players
How to write poetry on Red Bubble / Great tips for new players
Surgery of a soul In need of repair. / Tiny little instruments used with such care. / A spirit mechanic with a look of despair.
Words that come to you when looking into the mirror / . / . Vehicular works / Architecture / Transitional Industrial Utopian Series / Abstract / Beautiful Humans / Wearable Art / Cards For All Occasions / . / / . / You can also listen to PLV’s music / . / Please take a look at the wonderful work of / LittleHelen / /
My eyes without you are forlorn, / I bequeath you with all that I am.
Written for the love of my life, Anna. / We very recently got engaged and are in the process of planning our wedding. / Yes, we are at that stage where we tell each other “I love you” eight thousand times a day (four million bubblers gag in horror! LOL!!) / This little poem is her surprise for the day! :D / .. / More of PLV’s Vehicular works / Other PLV Architecture / PLV’s Abstract Creations / My Beautiful Humans / PLV’s Wearable Art / Cards For All Occasions / / You can also listen to PLV’s music Please check out the fabulous written work by the extremely talented Danny
I want to write you a love song / but I find it easier / to talk dirty and rough / because I’m so much more used to / playing a role / and a…
I have a mix of poems I’ve been writing offline, both hard, soft, clean and dirty… This is one of the softer ones, it began without rhyme and then somehow kind of stumbled into a pattern of rhyming, I may revise and edit it some time, but for now, this is all there is.
asking questions about / things i never knew / giving answers / to things i thought i did
For Ushna. / Written 19 June 2009.
today i wrote you / a poem / and in it i whispered / a solitary secret / meant for you alone
today i wrote you poem… / Written 21 June 2009.
unseen father / i trace your jaw / as my fingers run across / my skin / i am made / in your image
it’s father’s day… / Written 21 June 2009.
There’s a certain responsibility that comes when writing out your thoughts
A rather rough piece. Just some thoughts I had the other day. / It’s interesting how the more I write, the more I realize how powerful words are and the more careful I am about what I write. I’m not saying I “hold back” but I’ve realized that words have a “quiet” power and there’s a certain responsibility that goes with that. / It’s up to you how you use that power.
stale memory lives again / the music lives within / my mind
A two-minute write. An experiment in writing: flow and feeling. And contrast. 20 July 2009.
my words fall onto paper / and dance briefly / celebrating the birth / of a poem
the birth of a poem… / 16 august 2009.
“He didn’t have clean underwear on”
ummmm, urrrr, black comedy? / I do believe I have just given up caring anymore. / Favourite this and I will comment on your work…honest….nah, you’re right, I won’t.
If I could live in a world without voice; / without need of exhuming / this dusty, monarch’s voice / from this damn / inverted throat – I…
A poem I just wrote about how my only true expression comes from my pen, and never, ever from my mouth: and how I wish I could speak only through my pen.
I write what blows forth / with the heaving wind; / through the trees that speak – / from the open fields / off the vast blue sea… I write…
just another poem (in diminished hexaverse form) on writing; and how I do not choose what I write… I simply write what comes.
Pick yourself up and keep going, / When life throws the biggest curves.
Inspirational poetry for those suffering….
Slicing through my midnight train / they come, / eluding time and aim; / where memory stiff – / a bleeding frame – / from which to hang / my dr…
I wrote this in trying to convey the way of The Midnight Poetry Syphoning Process; the crossing dreamtime/ethereal barriers us human’s trying to be have; diving into the ocean of stars to bring to page that which teases…but doesn’t really wish to be caught. / It’s like that sometimes, for me. Those sneaky word-strings that hum into my ear in the middle of the night…sometimes they want to be caught…other times I feel like they are just sirens. / Pan is my muse. And as Golom would say, “Pan is tricksy!” / But boy do i love him anyway!
i’m lost as to what / words want from the likes of me. / i’m just not that good. / clearly, there’s been some mistake; / why choose a ghost t…
Tanka sequence on why I bother continuing to write poetry when there are others who can convey the great secrets so much better than I.
poetry… these are the records / our engineers left behind / the secret god words / strung with stars on subtle threads / sewn into p…
My life poured on this gruesome page again / Talentless vultures wait to pick my bones
Poets Suffer by Sally Omar / MCN:CSCKP-XWN8Y-DK1K5 Copyright Notice / © 2005-2009 Helen M. Bascom / All rights reserved. None of the materials provided on this web page may be used, reproduced or transmitted, in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or the use of any information storage and retrieval system, downloading, printing, or linking without permission in writing from Helen M. Bascom. Removal of electronic copyright information, digital fingerprints, or embedded watermarks on any image is strictly prohibited. To request permission to use any material on this page, to link to any image, and for further inquiries, contact Ms. Bascom by email. CLICK HERE to submit your request.
pulling understanding / from the faces of the minds / and the eyes / of the seers / who’ve passed breathing them in… knowing…
I wrote this last year about reading to writing to knowing the poets heart; dead, alive, makes no matter, when they are read, felt, understood, they are as alive as the reader; sharing an intimate moment as if the poet and reader were in the same room; a quiet, beautiful love affair of words and souls. / At least, this is what I feel when reading the great poetry.
The Devil’s in the writing / reading between lines
You can’t keep a good devil down Meter 7/5/11 / MCN:CCUKR-26831-ENYVK Copyright Notice / © 2005-2009 Helen M. Bascom / All rights reserved. None of the materials provided on this web page may be used, reproduced or transmitted, in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or the use of any information storage and retrieval system, downloading, printing, or linking without permission in writing from Helen M. Bascom. Removal of electronic copyright information, digital fingerprints, or embedded watermarks on any image is strictly prohibited. To request permission to use any material on this page, to link to any image, and for further inquiries, contact Ms. Bascom by email. CLICK HERE to submit your request.
Roots / blinding their twists / to vapors / binding their home / to roots / winding themselves / to death. It wasn’t always this way… / d…
This poem came about after reading from Heidegger’s, Poetry, Language, Thought. / There is a section titled: Poetically Man Dwells, which is taken from a poem by: Holderlin with the same title. / Basically, Heidegger is saying that man is born a poetic creature – with a full house; seeing the world poetically, living his own life, a natural poet – words to page or not. / But upon growing, living, ”...our dwelling is harassed by work (for another), made insecure by the hunt for gain and success, bewitched by the entertainment and recreation industry.” etc… there is much more I could quote, but, basically he is saying that in today’s world, there is not much room left in one’s house for living as we were intended… / ”...poetry does not fly above and surmount the earth in order to escape it, and hover over it…poetry is what first brings man onto the earth, making him belong to it, and thus brings him into the dwelling.” / Thank goodness for RedBubble, where so many still find time to fill up their houses.
I watched, fascinated, as the massive snake / made its way from the roof / down the wall in front of me. / I held a long stick in my hand, t…
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