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bignosedcopperking

I will share my writings with this forum

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My brother had a baby girl last night, Valeria Victoria. I mean, he didn't, his wife did. However, I got the idea for this poem a couple days before when it finally hit me that Summer is here, my beloved Summer, which is something special up here in Toronto, for those of you who live in California. Then while writing this short simple poem, I had my new niece in mind. Don't ask how beautiful she is because I still need to meet her. But we all know she's going to be a goddess.

Summer, you're here!

Oh, I've missed you, Summer,

Waiting all my life it seems.

This past winter was the best so far,

Borne and hardly suffered,

Coz of your warmth inside of me,

Your spirit waiting to break free.

The spring has past and you advent.

You feel so normal just beginning.

I vow to make the most of you.

--------------

Now this poem is better. Perhaps my niece can use it on her future wedding day. Or maybe she'll be a writer herself.

TODAY'S LINE

Today, today

I want to reach the final line.

I want to reach the end.

I want the sun's close caress,

As I stand here on the crest,

Far horizon of my youth.

Today, today

I want to ride the final line.

Take me to my highest joy.

Let me drive you for a trip.

Take me to your engine room.

Let your throttle heed my will.

Today, today

I want to near the final line

But never get too close.

I want to feel the killing thrill

But never my flatline,

Coz your ecstasy can kill.

Today, today

I want to write the final line

That will make you come so close.

I want the climax to seem real,

And take you to a better world,

By my tale complete.

Today, today

I want to say the final line

That will make you trust in me.

I'll say you're tied to every word,

But mostly to "eternity",

Symbol of my life with you.

-----------

Jose Gainza.

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Your Eyes—By Jose Gainza.

So you struck me at first sight

As the most precious thing in sight.

But one day later I saw some “angel,”

And the next day I saw its “god.”

Then in my dreams I saw you, angel.

And you grew into my god:

There you were Narcissus right

And your beauty I could not fight.

But in the morning I saw “Apollo”

But his morals I could not swallow.

I had a great and grand epiphany

And I saw you as my single destiny.

There, inside my stubborn mind,

Was the sparkling of your eyes,

And the secret I must find:

Thus the brightening of my skies.

For in those baby browns I see your shades.

And in that cutting brow I see your blades.

In those blushing cheeks I see your whisper.

And by that praising smile I am your Mister.

I found that there is more than just a pretty face—

That your eyes can say more than that sweet face,

Though those eyes entail the speeches of your features,

And they speak as no other face before,

Like none out of all those pretty creatures;

Eyes that reveal a lifetime’s struggling lore,

That your strength reduced to just a trace,

Though by it your ruthlessness you still can lace.

A life of knowledge grasped with such great ease

But the pain by men and envy that still does tease.

Your pupils large I want to see

Drunk not on wine but drunk on me—

See those irises of greed like fertile soil

Where grows my fair reflection,

Thus to make my cold-like spirit boil,

In the cauldron of your hard affection.

To witness eyes held tight in ecstasy,

To see them scorn at me in your fury,

And squinting to see me far away,

And see them seriously in thought’s array.

Thus I want to reach your depths and through your face.

Yes, I want to brush that doll-like face.

I want to penetrate within your eyes

To know when you are feeling hungry—

And know when your day is gone asleep it lies—

And see them wake before me still hungry,

And feel them strike my soul like a knight’s mace,

Or feel them redden forcefully my face,

And by them hear the proclamation, “You are mine”—

I answer biting into your flesh for which I pine.

I just, re-reading it, got a short but helpful ending:

For which I pine

For which I pine:

...Your eyes ...

And all of yoouuuuuuu ...

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I know What I Want

I want this city filled with freedom true,

Its song sung from the tower tops,

Its echo carried to me by the breeze.

I want men to produce fearless, with ease.

I want men to ascend and not atone.

I want men to unite yet stand alone.

And I want you.

I want to know the truth to set me free,

Its force to break the chains of faith and doubt;

That the path I walk and each step is right.

I want my logic to lay bare the sight

Of a joy that’s found in this work, in life,

On an earth to make home despite its strife.

And I want you.

I want my body clean that I’ve made for you,

And my body healed that I’ve made for me,

And the strength to endure your blessed charm.

I want the coolness to accept when your words harm.

I want to harness the energy of your spirit.

I want to live in the universe of your spirit.

And I want you.

I want to remain loyal to my soul,

To possess and enrich something mine,

To own and exhibit the beauty of me,

Of a man who merely wishes to be free.

I want the sun to wake us with its luster

From our rooftop bed the stage of our rapture.

And I want you.

I want the harmony of your precious face,

And those ocean eyes to add me to their innocence,

And the lankiness of you to devour,

And the themes you admit to devour.

I want this dream to transform into existence.

I want my love to submit to your persistence.

And I want you.

Jose Gainza

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SUN AND SOURCE—By Jose Gainza

I, blue without you,

I blew without joy

The breath of my soul.

I was quenching like coal.

My soul without you

Is ailing so blue.

O, Medic, come!

Medicate my beats,

Revive my spirit’s skin,

Make my survival win,

Bring a cheering drum—

Hither come …

At last, my nurse!

Make past the hate

Of death’s choking grip,

Will exhausting sip-by-sip,

By the poison curse,

From my beloved’s purse!

Hand delved for love—

In my hand it would stay.

Hand would love denominate—

And even suffocate

For the love of love …

Or love’s rejecting shove.

The risk I took!

With a frisk, a look,

Down into love’s coy bank,

Sunk with not a modicum of prank.

My hand hit hook!

Love took—love took …

All consciousness

And my far off goals

Love pulled suddenly inside,

An effect I would not chide.

There was my happiness—

My happiness! Happiness.

This ocean I swam.

Its potion was drunk

With the thirst of my life.

I grew gills fighting strife.

I did not give a damn

If I burst through some dam.

Speeding with skill,

Pleading for more,

Of my god from Atlantis,

Of his love from Atlantis.

For it I could kill.

But Atlanta did kill.

“What?” you do say?

Thus why I lie

Here looking at your eyes,

Gasping ‘til I “dies”.

It’s so nice you don’t pray—

Will I depart away?

Sure, I won’t speak …

Hm-hm … hm-hm …

Hm-hm, hm-hm, hm-hm …

Hm-hm, hm-hm, hm-hm …

Hm-hm, hum hum,

Hum hum, hum hum.

Can I go on? …

I ran through love’s soul.

I pledged a deed with Zeus

(We even slaughtered a goose!)

And he let me go on

And I “done” what I “done”.

I sang sweet praises,

I rang the lyres.

I gulped from every draught.

I well learned the drinking craft.

I sang with goblet raises

Until god’s passion drank my blazes.

Perhaps his throat

Perhaps I burnt.

Love, he took me in his chambers

To sentence, ban me from his members.

O, how hard a smote!

My life away he wrote …

Ocean gone.

Potion damn locked

Within his lordly bag,

Exposing me without a rag.

I was banished with nothing on,

My love: god’s pawn.

And so I’m blue

On land a fish,

Dying in the scorching sun,

Red thoughts blue away they run …

Because of you …

(No, nurse, not you!)

"Why kiss me so?

Dying, I can’t love--

These are my thoughts for I can’t speak--

Breath is filling in one rapid streak:

In my spirit lungs you blow

The breath of love—I glow …"

My hue’s not blue—

I blush so pink

Because you kiss so real …

Fulfillment, O, you pledge to deal?

Just us: two?

Do I love you?

You’re PUNCTUAL,

Smart, quick, strong, fair;

You see that there is much of me to want,

You dare our love to flaunt,

You want me actual,

You LIKE me tropical …

I need no sleep!

I feed awake with you,

From round to round with you,

The contest that will fuse us two,

Leaving loving bruises blue.

Love’s too vast.

Mythic love shall not

Delude one from love’s true seat,

Nor from the span of that sun’s heat:

In rays among us fairly cast,

Though, burn us they can do quite fast.

But if we quench

And cut the heat,

With showers work to dominate,

A dancing harvest we shall cultivate.

Intemperance we’ll clench:

The creators’ hands shall wrench.

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IT AND CRUELTY

Suddenly

A weight is gone; it floats away onto the floor,

As I ascend this lift that you have given me.

All these years how you have built this creed of yours, this craft,

All these years how you have come so far

With this abode that your present.

And all the furnishings therein are there to taunt,

As until today they used to haunt:

There, the kingdom of your beauty bed.

There, the only sovereign is your image glass.

There, your body stands alone in welcome,

Before this sad invading soul that’s fighting shock.

The cruelty stops, it seems to stop because of you,

Like from that laugh of yours that waves inside of me—

That seems to drench into my core.

To that smile of yours that speaks so loud,

And knows so much,

That bore it all alone,

While juggling balls of pleasure and solace,

I say good day before the dancing sun that is your soul.

And to that voice and sight that dare to will those things that shake my earth,

And make a man like me reproach himself for thinking wrong,

I say straight and proud, I say Amen.

I take I don’t want to be cruel anymore.

I take it now I want to raise men to your height,

Now that I have met you for the first time—

Once again.

I spent my days and years lashing at them,

Striking at them, spitting sometimes at their feet,

And now perhaps I’ll share a little embrace with some,

Though some will still annoy me, and annoy you still perhaps.

You have distracted me from being cruel; you know it well—

Freed me from doling on men at least in that only way,

For their only use it seemed.

I have spied that you treat them differently than I:

You show that bit more concern for them than I,

Though they can’t see of how much you are aware.

You give them a chance, it seems to me.

You let them hurt you.

And you take their blows,

You take their threats, and secret lies—

You give them strength,

On you.

And this is where you have come to distract me—

It’s as if they never reach the core of you:

Into your wise, wise sphere.

They with their cruelty,

And you with that ready stare,

Do not contradict this realm that we endure.

How do you dare stand there ready for me?

Have you even been waiting all this time!

How cocky and cruel!

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It would have been Ayn Rand's 101st birthday today. I wrote this poem today in tribute of her life. My first ever about her explicitly.

COPYRIGHT © 2006. JOSE GAINZA. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

AYN RAND 101

By Jose Gainza

I felt one day the gift that you could bring.

I fell one day from the cloud that I was in,

As you struck me like a lightning bolted sting,

Plucked me from the fog that blocked my sin.

I was raindrops, tear drops, tears of joy …

I grew wings, floated, fluttered back to earth,

To find the promise of your love and not a ploy,

For the force bubbling in me where is mirth.

There was the promise of a healthy happiness,

There, the esteem, though hiding, of my mind,

And liberty was the beacon to my bliss,

And gold became a product of my reasoned selfishness.

I do know why I love you like I do—

I do know why and it’s true.

I do know why you thrill me like you do—

I do know why and you too.

Yes, you love me to the range that I’m a man,

Though, you left our world in nineteen eighty-two.

Yes, you graced us with a gift of worldly span

For every able minded will to learn it too.

In Howard Roark bestowed was your “religion”,

Despite a world that would surely call you Sin:

The independence of a man to his good vision,

And integrity to create the world that you can win.

With Dominique you alienated heaven,

A realm on earth where mirth is felt alone;

A work of self-esteem branding earthly heaven;

A joy persists despite her melancholy drone.

I do know why I love you like I do—

I do know why and it’s true.

I do know why you thrill me like you do—

I do know why and you too.

It was the promise of Francisco very soon,

Those early pages of a boy, a prodigy,

The money-maker and the boy with silver spoon,

Who caught me to your rebirth poetry.

“Atlas Shrugged changed my life,” so often said.

The promise-wish of sages past with Galt became fulfilled:

A perfect moral man made real—though not dead.

Thus the John Galt line is mine; this be my guild.

I saw a world where happiness is real.

I knew for sure how needed is the mind;

I felt the innocence to feel a self-love real;

I learned money was the best way to be greedy but so kind.

I do know why I love you like I do—

I do know why and it’s true.

I do know why you thrill me like you do—

I do know why and you too.

Though now you lay still in your plotted ground,

One aspect of your spirit I will always keep

In my mind, as a function, guiding me around:

The gem of “plot” to plunge into the thrilling deep.

I know of causes of some ocean voyages.

I know the fountainhead of dwellings tall.

To lose Roxanne I know the vital series.

I know the reason why New York was lost to all.

I know conflict at the core of man’s excitement.

I know how cool it is to watch the stakes grow high.

To clash opposing values is a magnet-merriment,

And to bang inside of men is an explosion in the sky.

I do know why I love you like I do—

I do know why and it’s true.

I do know why you thrill me like you do—

I do know why and you too.

Even more than the fact that we exist,

Of value is to me is how you think.

To think and know men freely must persist,

Straight ahead and not falling from the brink.

I need not pray for a model far away,

Too far, even further than Plato’s silly dream

To know the things before me that can’t stay

Coz they stay but only by a common seam.

And by contrast to near like things

Our concepts glow with a solid essence,

As they are chained to earth by single things,

And open the universe to common sense.

I do know why I love you like I do—

I do know why and it’s true.

I do know why you thrill me like you do—

I do know why and you too.

Of course, I would like to wish Ayn Rand a happy birthday, and draw some attention to this poem I wrote for her 101st birthday, and say that the stylistic inspiration for the poem was a song sung by Frank Sinatra called I Don't Know Why I Love You Like I Do.

Jose.

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Her Hurricane In Me

For Fifteen years I’ve yearned to enter Puerto Rico

To brush my cheeks along her earth and sands,

To taste her water and her potent nectar,

To have her salt taste linger in my throat,

And to lick my lips as a gesture of my need.

I’ve hungered for her food and for her spirit.

I’ve wondered for her art and for her song.

I’ve dreamed of her adulation and her touch.

I’ve raised the giant in me to step onto her shore.

And yet she bars my way.

Her guards are standing on her shore.

Her guns are ready to unleash on me.

Her ears ignore my sacred song.

Her eyes forbid my blessed beauty.

Her tongue is ready to rebuke me or to kill me with her silence.

Her finger’s set to point me back to sea.

Her jails will neither house me for my crime of love for her.

And so I strategize to be the best that I can be,

To grow this giant that I am into a god,

To gather up my strength and make it more,

To realize an artwork that will quench her breath,

To turn into a hurricane of poesy and love,

And to ravage like no isle has ever known.

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THE ETERNAL RECURRENCE OF YOUR ROARING THUNDER

By Jose Gainza

You thunder in me, you thunder in me, you thunder in me …

My heart pounds and pounds, it pounds and pounds!

You thunder in words, you thunder in words—you thunder my breast, thunder my breast.

You slow down my voice, you raise the volume, you expand my lungs,

As you pound in me, O pound in me.

I see it’s like glass in me, smashing in me, shattering free.

I hear the hard brass in me, trembling free,

My metal in me electrically shuddering, ringing in me, like bells in me.

I hear you as horns in me blowing free, boisterously blowing your song through me.

My heart pounds and pounds, it pounds and pounds!

I hear you as drums in me, pounding free.

I see you as leather in me bearing the hammer

Hammering me, hammering in me …

My heart pounds and pounds, it pounds and pounds!

I feel you as water in me, flowing through me; you are the falls on me,

Crashing through me, pounding the boulders inside of me.

You are the showers in me machine gunning me,

Drenching my clothes and my flesh.

I feel you as wind in me shooting through me,

The launch when my earth wants to sing,

Wants to bare its simple pain to it all in me.

I hear you howling in me, screeching in me.

I hear your sirens and beckoning reach,

Pounding in me, O pounding in me.

My heart pounds and pounds, it pounds and pounds!

I hear you as words in me, as seeds in me, growing, growling, and echoing free—

Calling my soul to envision, and my eyes to enlighten

The truth I resist when you pound in me, O pound in me.

I hide from the storm that you are, you as pounding in me,

The thunder of you and the trembling in me,

The wisdom of you that still lingers in me,

But it thunders in me.

The vision you spoke of, the freedom of we, the freedom of you and the freedom of I,

The freedom of men who know of the storm that persists midst our light;

And who know of the system that will recall the sun,

And who know of the promise like I promised to you.

I persist while producing the vision but bearing the storm

Of your dying shadow and fainting echo, yet persisting memory.

Yet I’m producing a vision to end your storm …

My heart pounds in me, it pounds and pounds!

Still you thunder in me, you pound and pound and pound …

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R.EST AND R.ELAXATION-by Jose Gainza.

It may seem to you my twenties were smothered away without you;

That I approaching thirty did fail to keep that happy promise.

I promised work, and gold, and love, and bliss.

I promised wealth, my art, and mindful playtimes with you.

Did I offend you with that happy promise of mine—

The inner potential that was screaming to break free?

But you tore my peace away and renounced me for your liberty,

Once you bestowed me with a fleeting joy that seemed to forever shine.

My eight year theme became that nagging sorrow and regret.

And now I approach this era of my first white serenity,

And all the blackness of my past dissolves into this purity,

And this child evolves into a man who courts his merit.

The fear is now a soaring eagle dominating heights.

And now my earth sees its innocence in the eyes of the moon.

I accept the promise of this fourth decade that came too soon.

Yet I know I must have sinned coz of all my inner fights.

For how could a boy with so much inside waste all those years!

What disease made him weep in silence all those hours without end!

Why could he not fulfill the vacancy without his dearest, rarest friend!

Why did he tolerate the sickness amidst the errors of his kin and peers?

He shut his eyes to the horror of the story that has been Man,

And the terror of the doom that haunts our doorstep,

And the frustration that comes with each of our futile step,

And the sadness from that thing that did lose you, my best man.

It is bad and I accept my pain, my rage, and my tears.

It is bad but I have purged away my fears and need.

Today I stand alone and bear their laughter and their creed.

Yet it was good to live beside you those too short years.

Walking by your side I glimpsed at all that was THE golden city.

And included in that realm was that walking by your side.

And included in that realm was the vision of our pride.

And that is what I lost … and your pretty face too pretty.

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To Generalissimo J.E. Franco and Liberty

By Jose Gainza

The happy cry of longing that erupts within my chest.

The battle cry of protest damning burdens without Right.

The vision of my country that is free to do its best.

The vision of a garden where our sacred men unite.

The splendor of our orchard we will grow with blessed fruit.

Our thought to change our earth and strengthen body.

Our choices and convictions to endure our joy pursuit.

The expression of our interest and our duty.

The embracing of our freedom and our promise.

And the kissing-pinching of a wealth we will procure.

And the dancing ‘round the malice we dismiss.

Here’s our treasure chest of Justice we have promised to ensure.

With a treasury of goodwill we are arming our proud men.

By the training of conviction we are marching to our glory.

Shedding sweat, toil, and blood, we are cheering on our men …

We are standing there among them enduring the same story.

We are fighting for our freedom.

We are risking all our lots.

We are leaving our beloveds.

We are changing family.

We are wounding and re-wounding.

We may lose our very lives.

But we march on with Conviction,

Yes, we march on amidst the smoke,

We march on past the stench of war,

We march on past the graves.

We march on past our brothers,

And we march amongst them too.

We’d save our would-be brothers if they didn’t hunt us too.

But we kill the tyrant’s longing.

We kill our freedom-takers.

We defend our ancient rights.

We ensure man’s paradise.

On this quest you bravely joined me,

You have heard my distant call.

You have come to set me free to set you free.

You dare join me in this coming steady brawl.

You have understood my aim devotedly.

You have grasped the sacred method of my way.

You have known that this is what it means to Be.

You know now; thinking thus you can’t delay.

As an artist you have been you own creator.

You’ve grown white-envy for this earth and how she wills.

You have sworn to move her too, be her creator.

To have her serve you; serve by your own will.

And so you satisfy your joy and make her new.

You beautify the earth and ways of people.

You inspire men to see the freakish godly few.

Your spirit gleams golden forth, beyond the people.

We fight for this, us two.

We’ve lived alone for it so long.

We wait and wait to do our thing.

We leave the folks and make our earth alone.

We leave the folks to remake our sacred forms.

You’ve done it there; I’ve done it here.

Now you join me on this enterprise with love.

And for that we fight our war—

To remake our world anew our way!

I do welcome you my mate.

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Recollecting a Facet of Utter Wanting

By Jose Gainza

… Your slender feet up creaking steps—your stretching calves cause ankles blushing.

Your shoeless feet have socks too short—your legs have pants too high …

You sit outstretched on cushioned chair and plot your legs too nigh …

Your cherry joints of hand extend towards salty delight:

Giant olives sucked by lips divine do sound of tender kissing!

So my heart pursues a frenzy … my teeth sink into lip … my stomach growling …

I look across to hold your face in sight and see you cocky smiling.

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Recollecting a Facet of Utter Wanting

By Jose Gainza

… Your slender feet up creaking steps—your stretching calves cause ankles blushing.

Your shoeless feet have socks too short—your legs have pants too high …

You sit outstretched on cushioned chair and plot your legs too nigh …

Your cherry joints of hand extend towards salty delight:

Giant olives sucked by lips divine do sound of tender kissing!

So my heart pursues a frenzy … my teeth sink into lip … my stomach growling …

I look across to hold your face in sight and see you cocky smiling.

[i missed a line; my apologies]

Recollecting a Facet of Utter Wanting

By Jose Gainza

… Your slender feet up creaking steps—your stretching calves cause ankles blushing.

Your shoeless feet have socks too short—your legs have pants too high …

You sit outstretched on cushioned chair and plot your legs too nigh …

Your cherry joints of hand extend towards salty delight:

Giant olives sucked by lips divine do sound of tender kissing!

So my heart pursues a frenzy … my teeth sink into lip … my stomach growling …

I breathe and freeze in place and close my eyes to overcome my plight ...

I look across to hold your face in sight and see you cocky smiling.

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A SUDDEN SENTIMENT

This is existence!

This is what my strongest feeling says:

That to be with you is life—

That what this mirth and fear embodied in aching, are saying,

Is that you and I together now are the meaning of life!

Together we are the triumph of what is possible to human ability—

The testament to how magnanimous the earth is to men’s dreams—

The end to which all our choices and actions have thus embarked—

The confirmation of our beneficent power of choice, seizer of this Utopia—

This choice the constant condition of eternal happiness:

This greatest payment, this union of our worthy selves!

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A SUDDEN SENTIMENT

This is existence!

This is what my strongest feeling says:

That to be with you is life—

That what this mirth and fear embodied in aching, are saying,

Is that you and I together now are the meaning of life!

Together we are the triumph of what is possible to human ability—

The testament to how magnanimous the earth is to men’s dreams—

The end to which all our choices and actions have thus embarked—

The confirmation of our beneficent power of choice, seizer of this Utopia—

This choice the constant condition of eternal happiness:

This greatest payment, this union of our worthy selves!

This is so unmusical, abstract and prosaic, it cannot pass as poetry. It expresses no Sentiment (sudden or otherwise) at all.

Maybe something like:

Is this existence? This peaceful/turbulent weather?

This sighing/singing of total feeling?

This flying/ringing of all my body?

The ecstatic aching of you and I together

Is trade of choice and joy of seeking,

The stinging clasp that lifts so lofty.

Existence is this: the burning, liquid kissing

Expressing there is not much missing

When we are wholly ourselves, and solely.

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I think it's incorrect to say that this poem posesses "no Sentiment." It is an ecstatic address to a treasured partner, on recognition of what they mean to each other. "Prosaic" is correct, in that it would benefit from developing a rhythmic structure, although the commonest connotation -- that it is somehow commonplace or boring -- is, I think, unjust.

Blank verse can be powerful, rhyme may not be necessary, but rhythm is essential to poetry. It gives it a pulse, a forward movement that could turn what I see as some very powerful expression into a moment of ecstasy. The lack of rhythmic structure short-circuits intent here. It's as if you start a powerful wave and then it hits a wall before it's reached its crest and scatters all its force, to be replaced by another wave, likewise cut off before reaching its fullness. Rhythm is there to be used, BNCK. I'd recommend seeing if you can apply that discipline to your theme and words. I do not agree, by a long shot that this expresses nothing, only that you haven't worked it, developed it. As the raw material, it's a good start.

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I think it's incorrect to say that this poem posesses "no Sentiment." It is an ecstatic address to a treasured partner, on recognition of what they mean to each other. "Prosaic" is correct, in that it would benefit from developing a rhythmic structure, although the commonest connotation -- that it is somehow commonplace or boring -- is, I think, unjust.

Blank verse can be powerful, rhyme may not be necessary, but rhythm is essential to poetry. It gives it a pulse, a forward movement that could turn what I see as some very powerful expression into a moment of ecstasy. The lack of rhythmic structure short-circuits intent here. It's as if you start a powerful wave and then it hits a wall before it's reached its crest and scatters all its force, to be replaced by another wave, likewise cut off before reaching its fullness. Rhythm is there to be used, BNCK. I'd recommend seeing if you can apply that discipline to your theme and words. I do not agree, by a long shot that this expresses nothing, only that you haven't worked it, developed it. As the raw material, it's a good start.

Alann, I agree that the prose statement "possesses" sentiment. I only said that it does not "express" it. True, a poem does not need rhyme.

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I've been busy and so haven't had the time to check these comments out. I'm surprised and glad that you have chosen to speak about my "poem". Um, In the last year or so I've hardly been able to write rhyming poems, and not much poetry.

Yes, I would like to develop this poem further. Yes, give the right rhyme and rhythm. However, there are moments when I have an idea, a thought, which could be the essence of a poem, and so I write it down, I speak it slowly, tasting each word, but I would love to be able to do something more with them.

I like reading Whitman--ALOUD. Just to hear the words, each word, and there is a rhythm in him. And so I have occassion where I just need to write down the thought.

The thought is very good in the "poem" above. It is one of my best thoughts on love so far. It came to me in a moment and I just had to write it down. The thought was good, and so I shared it.

Again, thanks for your comments.

Jose.

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A SUDDEN SENTIMENT

This is existence!

This is what my strongest feeling says:

That to be with you is life—

That what this mirth and fear embodied in aching, are saying,

Is that you and I together now are the meaning of life!

Together we are the triumph of what is possible to human ability—

The testament to how magnanimous the earth is to men’s dreams—

The end to which all our choices and actions have thus embarked—

The confirmation of our beneficent power of choice, seizer of this Utopia—

This choice the constant condition of eternal happiness:

This greatest payment, this union of our worthy selves!

This is so unmusical, abstract and prosaic, it cannot pass as poetry. It expresses no Sentiment (sudden or otherwise) at all.

Maybe something like:

Is this existence? This peaceful/turbulent weather?

This sighing/singing of total feeling?

This flying/ringing of all my body?

The ecstatic aching of you and I together

Is trade of choice and joy of seeking,

The stinging clasp that lifts so lofty.

Existence is this: the burning, liquid kissing

Expressing there is not much missing

When we are wholly ourselves, and solely.

Brian, thank you very much for this! That was great! Can I share this on my facebook, and name you as the writer, because I have included this poem on my wall, and would love to share a better expression the thought I wanted to express. Please!

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A SUDDEN SENTIMENT

This is existence!

This is what my strongest feeling says:

That to be with you is life—

That what this mirth and fear embodied in aching, are saying,

Is that you and I together now are the meaning of life!

Together we are the triumph of what is possible to human ability—

The testament to how magnanimous the earth is to men’s dreams—

The end to which all our choices and actions have thus embarked—

The confirmation of our beneficent power of choice, seizer of this Utopia—

This choice the constant condition of eternal happiness:

This greatest payment, this union of our worthy selves!

This is so unmusical, abstract and prosaic, it cannot pass as poetry. It expresses no Sentiment (sudden or otherwise) at all.

Maybe something like:

Is this existence? This peaceful/turbulent weather?

This sighing/singing of total feeling?

This flying/ringing of all my body?

The ecstatic aching of you and I together

Is trade of choice and joy of seeking,

The stinging clasp that lifts so lofty.

Existence is this: the burning, liquid kissing

Expressing there is not much missing

When we are wholly ourselves, and solely.

Brian, thank you very much for this! That was great! Can I share this on my facebook, and name you as the writer, because I have included this poem on my wall, and would love to share a better expression the thought I wanted to express. Please!

"This sighing/singing of total feeling?

This flying/ringing of all my body?"

I believe that you would include both words that are separated by the slash; it is not a choice for me or anyone, we do not have to choose either/or. I've never seen that before, it's a good technique. There is a seeming contradiction in my thought, but if one understands what I mean there really isn't. The way you do it is very eloquent. Thanks!

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Brian, did I do a better job in the following poem?

"THE ETERNAL RECURRENCE OF YOUR ROARING THUNDER

By Jose Gainza

You thunder in me, you thunder in me, you thunder in me …

My heart pounds and pounds, it pounds and pounds!

You thunder in words, you thunder in words—you thunder my breast, thunder my breast.

You slow down my voice, you raise the volume, you expand my lungs,

As you pound in me, O pound in me.

I see it’s like glass in me, smashing in me, shattering free.

I hear the hard brass in me, trembling free,

My metal in me electrically shuddering, ringing in me, like bells in me.

I hear you as horns in me blowing free, boisterously blowing your song through me.

My heart pounds and pounds, it pounds and pounds!

I hear you as drums in me, pounding free.

I see you as leather in me bearing the hammer

Hammering me, hammering in me …

My heart pounds and pounds, it pounds and pounds!

I feel you as water in me, flowing through me; you are the falls on me,

Crashing through me, pounding the boulders inside of me.

You are the showers in me machine gunning me,

Drenching my clothes and my flesh.

I feel you as wind in me shooting through me,

The launch when my earth wants to sing,

Wants to bare its simple pain to it all in me.

I hear you howling in me, screeching in me.

I hear your sirens and beckoning reach,

Pounding in me, O pounding in me.

My heart pounds and pounds, it pounds and pounds!

I hear you as words in me, as seeds in me, growing, growling, and echoing free—

Calling my soul to envision, and my eyes to enlighten

The truth I resist when you pound in me, O pound in me.

I hide from the storm that you are, you as pounding in me,

The thunder of you and the trembling in me,

The wisdom of you that still lingers in me,

But it thunders in me.

The vision you spoke of, the freedom of we, the freedom of you and the freedom of I,

The freedom of men who know of the storm that persists midst our light;

And who know of the system that will recall the sun,

And who know of the promise like I promised to you.

I persist while producing the vision but bearing the storm

Of your dying shadow and fainting echo, yet persisting memory.

Yet I’m producing a vision to end your storm …

My heart pounds in me, it pounds and pounds!

Still you thunder in me, you pound and pound and pound …"

--Or is this too blank and modern? Really, I would love to know.

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[My latest poem. I have rhymed again. I am proud of this poem].

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Before Your Labor Day

By Jose Gainza

As the rays of dawn race to brush your face,

While your eyes are shut softly on my pillow,

The scent of rind will awaken your embrace,

Shine a smile on me that has no touch of sorrow.

This orange skin caresses cheeks this new born morn,

Ere I peel the fruit in our fragrant, windowed room.

Of tears of joy and gasps of mirth you warn,

As I feed you slices sweet; your feast assume.

The trickling dew upon your chin I kiss away,

And soon the circle of my lips will circle yours,

And the duvet cloud embracing you I'll throw away,

And lift you in my arms through bathroom doors,

Lay you in my tub to bathe away our night,

And resist your call to join you with all might.

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Brian, did I do a better job in the following poem?

"THE ETERNAL RECURRENCE OF YOUR ROARING THUNDER

By Jose Gainza

You thunder in me, you thunder in me, you thunder in me …

My heart pounds and pounds, it pounds and pounds!

You thunder in words, you thunder in words—you thunder my breast, thunder my breast.

You slow down my voice, you raise the volume, you expand my lungs,

As you pound in me, O pound in me.

I see it’s like glass in me, smashing in me, shattering free.

I hear the hard brass in me, trembling free,

My metal in me electrically shuddering, ringing in me, like bells in me.

I hear you as horns in me blowing free, boisterously blowing your song through me.

My heart pounds and pounds, it pounds and pounds!

I hear you as drums in me, pounding free.

I see you as leather in me bearing the hammer

Hammering me, hammering in me …

My heart pounds and pounds, it pounds and pounds!

I feel you as water in me, flowing through me; you are the falls on me,

Crashing through me, pounding the boulders inside of me.

You are the showers in me machine gunning me,

Drenching my clothes and my flesh.

I feel you as wind in me shooting through me,

The launch when my earth wants to sing,

Wants to bare its simple pain to it all in me.

I hear you howling in me, screeching in me.

I hear your sirens and beckoning reach,

Pounding in me, O pounding in me.

My heart pounds and pounds, it pounds and pounds!

I hear you as words in me, as seeds in me, growing, growling, and echoing free—

Calling my soul to envision, and my eyes to enlighten

The truth I resist when you pound in me, O pound in me.

I hide from the storm that you are, you as pounding in me,

The thunder of you and the trembling in me,

The wisdom of you that still lingers in me,

But it thunders in me.

The vision you spoke of, the freedom of we, the freedom of you and the freedom of I,

The freedom of men who know of the storm that persists midst our light;

And who know of the system that will recall the sun,

And who know of the promise like I promised to you.

I persist while producing the vision but bearing the storm

Of your dying shadow and fainting echo, yet persisting memory.

Yet I’m producing a vision to end your storm …

My heart pounds in me, it pounds and pounds!

Still you thunder in me, you pound and pound and pound …"

--Or is this too blank and modern? Really, I would love to know.

At last! You have gotten away from prose. This is powerful, with great energy.

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[My latest poem. I have rhymed again. I am proud of this poem].

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Before Your Labor Day

By Jose Gainza

As the rays of dawn race to brush your face,

While your eyes are shut softly on my pillow,

The scent of rind will awaken your embrace,

Shine a smile on me that has no touch of sorrow.

This orange skin caresses cheeks this new born morn,

Ere I peel the fruit in our fragrant, windowed room.

Of tears of joy and gasps of mirth you warn,

As I feed you slices sweet; your feast assume.

The trickling dew upon your chin I kiss away,

And soon the circle of my lips will circle yours,

And the duvet cloud embracing you I'll throw away,

And lift you in my arms through bathroom doors,

Lay you in my tub to bathe away our night,

And resist your call to join you with all might.

A beautiful poem, Jose. Very vivid and alive and sweetly musical. You should be proud.

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