Output list





Yutka's (yutka on UKA) UKArchive
207 Archived submissions found.
Title
Scarcity of time (posted on: 18-04-16)
Cuncta fluunt, everything is in a state of flux

We are suffering from scarcity of time. Once we perished from lack of food Now we perish from lack of time in the rush hours of today. Consumption swallows our time, when out buying the goods on offer to maintain and replace whatever we want. Once able to compare quality, we succumb to suggestions, fall for illusions. Demands on time affects those around us. Children in their own rooms are playing forever the clickety-clack video games of solitude, and replace friends with robots. Our old are affected. loneliness is taking over. No one will listen or speak anymore. The disease is now spreading.
Archived comments for Scarcity of time
sweetwater on 18-04-2016
Scarcity of time
Great poem, I agree with you completely, I find it somewhat ironic that shopping online is supposed to save us time,when the products are usually substandard and you waste time returning them!
In the future ( not too far ahead sadly ) the adults who are children now will have absolutely no social skills whatsoever. Sue.


Author's Reply:
Thanks, Sue. You are right. Will they still read books I wonder? That is, when the electricity stops one day and kills the kindle....


Losing the blue boy (posted on: 19-02-16)
when I was small I talked to my invisible friend for hours and played with him, when time stood still...

When I was four I made a pact with my invisible friend to always staying close. Whatever happened. Later in life we travelled to Sicily and Greece, me and him, and talked of the things you cannot see. We swam in the sea, walked up mountains and held tight at night I smelled his aroma of cinnamon and cloves, learned his secrets by picking up notes, which gusts of wind blew out of nowhere and lifted them up and letting them float through the air and onto my lap. In the kitchen I saw him mirrored in spoons, take bites of the bread, sip tea out of the blue china cup while leaving those brown rings of eternity. I saw him in mirrors in the hall, in the distance, rushing towards me or leaving through the wall. When I was with my lover he insisted to sleep between us and cried when I cried. We got drunk together, laughed together and hugged, when the sun rose like a fireball and the clouds came sailing down and one day he stepped on them and was lifted up and swept away. At times I remember and talk to him still, but then my voice gets blurred and has nowhere to go.
Archived comments for Losing the blue boy
sweetwater on 20-02-2016
Losing the blue boy
Well I don't know what to say! I was so drawn into this that it has left me speechless. It's absolutely superb. I love stories or poems that have the power to transport me to magical places, and this does it perfectly. Sue x

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Sue, for your comments. It is so nice if someone likes what you are writing...
It was just a ditty story, memories of my daughter, who told me from young on that she came from the Pleiades, that her companion was a blue boy and to this day is talking of him...:)

Mikeverdi on 25-02-2016
Losing the blue boy
I have always enjoyed reading your work, this is no exception.
If I may offer some critique, I would prune out some of the words that add nothing to the story. I know I have said this before....Sorry 😊
I would be happy to help if your not too offended.
Mike

Author's Reply:


From memory (posted on: 04-12-15)
(i plow your lips, again and again..)

The basket chairs seem woven from golden wheat. Large fields flow around your eyes. Fresh corn tastes autumn. I plow your lips again and again, until I find the soil I am looking for. I retrieve all nourishment, carry us back to the surface, where our fertile faces meet the sun and words sprout light-green out of the corners of our mouths. The evening, so very softly, is fishing for water lilies. I stir my night boat to your lips, anchor my dark pupils by your eyes and rock in the netting of smile. Good-night arms flooded in freckles greet flickering tides. In my ears rushes the day away. Behind the wild peacocks' roost I pin letters from memories onto sky-blue door frames.
Archived comments for From memory

No comments archives found!
Song for Saskia (posted on: 20-11-15)
a last song for my dying daughter

I will not think of Saskia. I'll think of Maia, my first grand daughter, born just a day ago, thousands of miles across the oceans, in a maternity ward in Chile. Its walls shaking in fright, when the shelves came off and the rattling noise seemed to go on forever, even if lasting for only a minute and half. I'll think of her tiny face and her eyes shut, safe in the arms of her mother, but unaware of this frightening new world she has entered. But then I think of Saskia as she is still with us, but asleep and getting colder and colder. I think of the music playing around her, the monks' chanting and the other angelic voices I have chosen for her, and am amazed at the sheer number of flowers filling every corner of her room with lily scent . Watching the flickering candles around her I think of all the people coming to help, her carers, and I want to thank them. But then again, there is nothing but her, and I look at her ivory body, lying face-up in her fairy tale bed surrounded by glass, especially made for her, so she would not hurt herself when suffering fits and would not fall out. I think of Sleeping Beauty and that her face looks so very peaceful now, and I can still touch her, even if she feels cold like stone. I don't want to let go and I will not think of what could have been. I'll think of other people. I'll say to one mum, isn't it wonderful her daughter is looking much better since she's been given an electric wheelchair, and it's a shame that she has no sense of directions, but after all, she is so very much loved. And I'll kneel down by the boy in the corner, lost in the neon-light confusion. I'll stroke the tiny baby girl in the metal crib born without eyes and I'll only use soft sounds for not frightening her, for I am told that she responds to the noises around. And I'm frightened too I'll think of the kindness of the carers, and the humanity of the Dutch doctors, who let my daughter ebb away, as there is no hope anymore. And I'll think of buying chocolates for the staff tomorrow, when it's over. And I won't think of the silent man beside me. If his tears spill into mine, I'll melt, evaporate. How can you change fate? How to avoid a vaccination given to all babies at 12 months never expecting or counting the odds? And the terrifying cancer at the end? That's why I can't stop thinking of all the ifs and whys. I'll think about the vicar, the blessing on her forehead and when he said, ''Saskia ...go in peace.'' But, looking at her now, I only can think of her stillness, no more screams, when the pain invaded and only the morphine could stop it for a short while, and then the need for more and more, stronger and stronger doses to let her sleepforever. I think of my baby daughter, still a child at 30, when the teary-eyed nurse brushes her black curls, and I am bathing her body in warm water, as if to defrost her, and I fasten a silver necklace around her neck, with a pendant showing the different names of God in Hebrew. I tenderly dress her in a white dress embroidered with tiny pink roses and I do what I always had wanted to do for her and never could do before, because of her constant erratic movements: I put makeup on her lovely sleeping face, carefully smooth out the blue eye liner on her closed lids and brush mascara onto her long black eye lashes. And I think of Saskia, how she is now, in this moment of time that burns down into my mind like a never fading photograph, I give her my very last kisses and I stroke her with my fingertips, so softly, round and round, painting her with my love. And I feel a big hand come down over mine, very gently. There is an unbroken silence now and in silence we wait. Then we lay her body in the wooden casket, together with her soft toys and letters from her sisters and brother and a prayer written by me to send her off to eternity, so very quietly, as my shouting heart cannot wake her anymore.
Archived comments for Song for Saskia
Slovitt on 20-11-2015
Song for Saskia
Yutka: you do what you can do, and love them, until the end. Swep

Author's Reply:


Strings in space (posted on: 31-07-15)
.. has changed to silence...

Still eyes are overgrown and more, Hearts have expanded high in flame. Out went whatever was the core of storms in tired heads, became the glow of stars. What once was thought, expressed by light and shadow now and everything once learned and taught has changed to silence and is caught by strings which harmonies allow.
Archived comments for Strings in space
Nomenklatura on 31-07-2015
Strings in space
Lovely. A synaesthetic experience.
Regards
Ewan

Author's Reply:

dylan on 01-08-2015
Strings in space
Very evocative.
I aways think thst A/B rhyming is the most difficult form to accomplish-you do it effortlessly here.
Orrabest,

D.

Author's Reply:

sweetwater on 01-08-2015
Strings in space
A beautiful flowing, musical poem. Loved reading this, have read it three times already. Sue 🙂

Author's Reply:


Water slows the troubled heart (posted on: 31-07-15)
...water cleanses all though...

Water slows the troubled heart Hidden the midnight moon Lost in a veil of darkness Travelling through the cities of time, In silence and blue that does not exist The rain calms all thought West winds carry it further and further Throughout the valleys of loneliness Oceans soothe the troubled mind Open to the starry sky Found in its sparkling waves Roaming from shore to shore In a pounding surf, in a roar of release Water cleanses all thought Night winds carry it higher and higher To Orion and Sirius where we once came from.
Archived comments for Water slows the troubled heart
sweetwater on 01-08-2015
Water slows the troubled heart
Beautiful images, I love the 'west winds' and 'night winds' lines especially. Sue.

Author's Reply:


Encounter with my dead father (posted on: 17-07-15)
..and I dare not look back..

I am holding my father's hand so white And in silence we walk up the whispering track. Dark figures with helmets lie on the side. Blue shapes of hands wave to me in the night and I dare not look back. No purple blood runs from father's bones, no wound below his heart I can see, but softly a cross rises up from the stones for his soul that still lingers and moves and moans in the breeze of eternity. Oh the nearness of death, however far, from a dark head fallen to a weeping child, Since that year when the sky without a star Had decayed into darkness, where still we are In a world that's abused and defiled. Oh that quietness along the blue river's bank, When thoughts raise all those forgotten things And like phantoms they move in silent rank, Point to the sky and the earth, draw a blank And open their filigree wings; And rise into disappearing white mist And leave me alone where I stand and remain, In the midst of shadows that turn and twist And grow and decline and cease to exist When a bird calls strangely in vain.
Archived comments for Encounter with my dead father
gwirionedd on 17-07-2015
Encounter with my dead father
Very pretty, well-written poem. You've taught me a new word, 'filigree'. I never knew what that was.

Just two points:

I think it should be "in a world that's abused and defiled", in order to avoid the unnatural, old-fashioned syntax.

Also, in English you can't say "stop to exist". It must be either "stop existing" or "cease to exist".

Thus is the illogicality of the English language, I'm afraid.



Author's Reply:
Thank you for your great help. I realized how right you were! English only my second language and all the time I am learning....:)
Yutka

sweetwater on 17-07-2015
Encounter with my dead father
I would never have known English was your second language, if I hadn't read it in above comment, you write so beautifully and with great talent and style. I would not say the old English form of writing is 'unnatural' or ' Old fashioned' what can be more natural than a language formed over centuries of use? In the right context it is perfectly acceptable. Sue.

Author's Reply:

Mikeverdi on 18-07-2015
Encounter with my dead father
There are things you could change, as explained, but as Sue has said, your feeling for poetry is strong. This is beautiful.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you, I changed the poem due to suggestions. It is a heart felt poem, actually the dream I have often, always the same...
Yutka

gwirionedd on 18-07-2015
Encounter with my dead father
With respect to Sweetwater, she is wrong. It is not acceptable in the 21st century to use 16th century grammatical forms when writing poetry. It is indeed unnatural, simply because we do not speak that way anymore!

Nothing sounds worse when reading a modern poem than when the writer puts words in the wrong order just because that's what poets did 400 years ago. It sounds stupid and forced, and is the hallmark of a bad poet.

It makes the poet sound like Yoda from Star Wars.



Author's Reply:
Haha, chill out. It must have been my bad English
Yutka:(

gwirionedd on 18-07-2015
Encounter with my dead father
Your English is not bad at all, Yutka. You write it very well indeed. It is understandable for you to make grammatical mistakes sometimes because your first language is German! God knows, my German isn't perfect.

What really annoys me though, is when English native-speakers use forced language and archaic grammar. Occasionally I do it myself sometimes, and then I usually have to force myself to find an alternative rhyme or line instead.

Using bad grammar for the sake of rhyme is too easy.


Author's Reply:

ValDohren on 19-07-2015
Encounter with my dead father
A beautiful poem, and I love the rhyme scheme.
Val

Author's Reply:
Thank you for you nice comment. I use this rhyme as I like it in German poetry and introduced it into English....
Yutka:)


The Star of Bethlehem (posted on: 10-07-15)
A droubble (200 words exactly)

I always knew the nativity story well. So I took notice when MaryJane announced the name of her new boyfriend: Christos. Not Jesus, but nearly. Christos meaning in Greek ''the anointed or chosen one'' seemed apt after years of heartache for MaryJane One previous boyfriend had been a mummy's boy, the other a ganga grower, a last one was terminally ill from cancer. So that poor girl had been rather unlucky. Until the day when she wrote a letter to the Universe. In it she specified all the characteristics of her dream man and waited and, somehow, knew Christos meanwhile had spotted my painting of MaryJane online, entitled "Mary Magdalen'' and had fallen in love with her straight away. He let her know that his parents had never married and his mother had become pregnant without consummating the act, which you might take with a pinch of salt. If true, doesn't it make him holy? After 6 years he confessed his love. They married this June, the moment Jupiter and Venus merged again after 2000 years, last seen as the star of Bethlehem. They were surrounded by candles on a Greek Beach and the star was seen right above them.
Archived comments for The Star of Bethlehem
Corin on 12-07-2015
The Star of Bethlehem



On June 17th 2 BC, as seen from Babylon, Venus and Jupiter would have set 3 hours after sunset, with the two planets too close together to separate by eye, having closed considerably in the time since sunset. In fact, we now know that the disk of Venus actually passed in front of Jupiter, occulting it partially.



The problem with conjunctions as an explanation for the Star of Bethlehem though is that they are too common. The next Venus Jupiter conjunction will be in 2016. The Magi had been waiting years for the birth of the Messiah, we really need another explanation for the Star of Bethlehem - A supernova perhaps?



Dave

Author's Reply:

Corin on 12-07-2015
The Star of Bethlehem
Sorry Yutka - I was over-tired and a bit pompous when I wrote that last comment. Bending the scientific facts is good in a poem.The Star of Bethlehem is a great idea to write about. Did you see this years conjunction? I saw it but missed the closest approach of the two planets.

A (not pompous I hope but technical) comment, I was a bit confused about who is speaking in this story, the first person character or Maryjane.
It is this sentence I think:-

Christos meanwhile had spotted my artwork of MaryJane online, named “Mary Magdalen” and had fallen in love with her straight away.

Perhaps you might edit it a bit something like this:-

Christos meanwhile had spotted my (artwork)-> portrait of MaryJane online, (named)->entitled “Mary Magdalen” and had fallen in love with her straight away. Also ‘consuming’ should be ‘consumating’. (You cannot eat the sex act!-)

Maethforsbye

(See http://www.creative-poems.com/poem.php?id=284432)

Dave

Author's Reply:

deadpoet on 12-07-2015
The Star of Bethlehem
What a beautiful droubble- very well written and some exciting and touching points. I wish it were true. Perhaps it is.Nevertheless- good things happen. Nice uplifting read this morning. Thank you.

Pia xx

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much. I did some editing as Dave suggested. It is a true story .
Yutka:)


I still feel you. (posted on: 06-07-15)
...as i felt your heart tremble...

I still feel you, in the summer meadows we walked, and in thoughts that shape prayers without words. I watched you staggering, panting, exulting. You shone like a cartwheel of light in my soul. And, oh, your tired bones beneath that illusion, your shape still glowing. At first I ignored your now-body ranked with blood and fear. Blindfolded, I passed you by, but then turned back, underneath the blank and voiceless sky, as I felt your heart tremble, felt its old persistent music beyond logic, beyond hope. Your twitching feet stilled to the sound of my voice, your face fell against my shoulder with a smile lightning you up once again. I knew you and you died. It was a day without pain, though I knew pain would follow, like an old dog that will not leave. But it did not matter. That was the day I decided to be happy, thinking that happiness may be the only thing you wanted from me, the only gift I can still give you. How else could you have seen the dragonfly dancing over the garden pond, the flash of iridescent blue beneath its wings, quick as a breath, how else could you see the dragonfly dart, then hesitate above the green water as if it gave pleasure deliberately? How could you perceive the sunset falling between tall trees, that old stillness, then the vermilion leaves, startling, like a call of delight, how could you receive that golden moment when a skein of geese across an illuminated sky disappeared into the night except through me?
Archived comments for I still feel you.
Mikeverdi on 06-07-2015
I still feel you.
I like the idea of this, I think it could be improved with an edit... Less being more in this instance. This is not to say I didn't like it, I did. It's only my opinion and others may disagree, as you may. In the end it's your poetry.
In friendship
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hi Mike, Very constructive criticism thank you! I edited the poem (Less being more as you so truly knew) and hope my poem has become better. I think so.
Your friend
Yutka 😉

Slovitt on 06-07-2015
I still feel you.
the heart of your poem in of course your final stanza. think mike is right that some paring would help. would cut anything i could live without, keep whatever you need to get the reader to the close of your poem. i'm still on all poems are self-portraits. very fine.

Author's Reply:
Thank You for your comment. I headed Mike's advice to cut. Now it is hopefully a better poem.


When love and wisdom met (posted on: 06-07-15)
..her amber eyes are soft in the north west...

The night wakes me, hands me her moonlight. I dress in dreams, follow her call through the dark And crouch down by the horizon. Her amber eyes are soft in the north west, her breath filling the cold air with mist. But her wide hips 
and immense torso know how to give birth. Light
 out of nowhere, small as a thought, a desire. I had wanted 
to see this: Wake me
 no matter what. And here it is, 
the new constellation, Venus and Jupiter emerging as one in blue velvet, as though brought here from deep inside her womb.
 This is 
a heavenly birth.
 In the dead of night 
I kneel in the sand,
 watch the new starlight licking the sea nudge it to wobble,
see a miracle.
Archived comments for When love and wisdom met
Mikeverdi on 06-07-2015
When love and wisdom met
Quite beautiful, thanks for posting.
Mike

Author's Reply:
thank you dear friend. I wished I could show you the beautiful image...
Youth

sweetwater on 06-07-2015
When love and wisdom met
This is stunningly lovely, captures your vision in wonderfull images. its definately going into favourites. Sue x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue. Could you watch that incredible constellation? It was spectacular!
Youth

Slovitt on 06-07-2015
When love and wisdom met
a gloss like lovely or beautiful isn't really sufficient, though i understand when such words are employed. every poem is a self-portrait and you're a beautiful woman.

Author's Reply:
Haha, thanks Slovitt! You are very kind. 🙂

Gothicman on 08-07-2015
When love and wisdom met
A very female poem, beautifully phrased, kept tight, without going slushy. But then, you're an old master at creative dedication!
Goth

Author's Reply:
Haha, thanks goth, i feel old beyond my wise years....:)
Yutka

deadpoet on 09-07-2015
When love and wisdom met
I realised what this was about before the words came- I think this is beautiful- unfortunately I didn't see it irl. But I did see it here in your poem. Thank you



Author's Reply:
Thank you so much for your comments. So many people had no idea about that constellation.
Yutka


Crime of passion (posted on: 26-06-15)
...done is done...

I fear speaking your name might kill me. The whole world would listen to understand the untold. Done is done. No way back from the moment you told the truth, when you got up from our bed put on your worn-out shirt and tried walking away. Speaking your name lets me silence it, erase it, syllable by syllable, blow upon blow from memory, cleansing myself in the rain of scarlet snowfall.
Archived comments for Crime of passion
sweetwater on 26-06-2015
Crime of passion
lovely, very heartfelt, especially liked the very last line. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Are you sure? Lovely? It's meant blood drenching....:)
Yutka

Gothicman on 26-06-2015
Crime of passion
Yes, the last line hints at unfaithful betrayal. But, in some ways by "trying to walk away" forebodes of something more sinister, or is it just too difficult to forget metaphorically. Yes, lots can be read into it.
Fine poem.
Goth

Author's Reply:
You got it.... Lots of betrayals in this world...one just has to cope 🙂
Yutka

sweetwater on 26-06-2015
Crime of passion
Oops, totally got the wrong end of the stick on this one!! Sorry, have re read and get it now, :-)) Sue.x

Author's Reply:

Slovitt on 27-06-2015
Crime of passion
Done is done.
No way back from the moment
You told the truth

good poem. Swep

Author's Reply:
Thanks Swep. Do you talk from experience?:)
Yutka

Mikeverdi on 28-06-2015
Crime of passion
I read this first morning, I loved it then... and now even more. Apart from the hint of death....yes I have the experience.
'Done is Done' Speaking your name lets me silence it.
Mike
ps we all live in hope.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike for your comment. Yes, hope is something we can't do without....on another point, just watched a youtube video about the looming Greece tragedy that will affect us all. Hope?

Yutka


Imprisoned (posted on: 26-06-15)
.. believing God is watching you....

Take a deep breath, enjoy the light. Think of the sky, the wind, and how until the day four walls allow no space around your hands, your face and nothing any more takes place. And what you call tomorrow, then again next year, and further on and on and on, that would be like a wound that's never gone and cause you more despair and fear and pain. And that what once has been, all mad, it would infest you, a continuous threat, and make you weep, but still you live believing God is watching you, will give you evil looks right through a carved-out hole to tell you're still alive catching your soul.
Archived comments for Imprisoned
gwirionedd on 26-06-2015
Imprisoned
Almost a sonnet...

Author's Reply:
Not quite! Don't make me a better poet than I am..... 🙂
Yutka

sweetwater on 26-06-2015
Imprisoned
Wow very powerful and deep, made me think and read it several times. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Sue. It is quite a scary poem, don't think too much, it might cause you nightmares, haha 🙂
Yutka

Gothicman on 26-06-2015
Imprisoned
What a nightmarish thought, Yutka! We're emerged up to our necks watched by God's primitive CCTV system, a carved hole! Try as they might, group pressure won't drag my head under! I love the fresh, pure breeze on my face, well at least oxygen content is high and the temperature at pleasant levels! Meaning is not a premise for living, Moral is born from logic, self-deduction not instruction! No not lineal knowledge!
Your excellent poem made me hopping mad! Hahaha!
Good to see your fine work again.
Goth

Author's Reply:
Haha, nightmarish indeed... Good thought of you about god the technophile. No cracked hole but CCTV or May be even more elaborate, Mind laser? Who knows 🙂

Yutka

Mikeverdi on 28-06-2015
Imprisoned
Not read your work before, after this I'm looking forwards to more.
Mike

Author's Reply:


He is losing his strength (posted on: 07-11-14)
(He is losing)

He is losing his strength Like when leaves tumbling down, one by one, But still lifting in the soft breeze. His hearing has dimmed Like the shell on my desk, softly Still the sound of the ocean But further away, as if he stood On top of a hill, watching The sea far away, more imagining It's roar than hearing it. Is it all in the mind, the awkward moves When he comes through the door? The lack of speech When he does not say the necessary? He is losing his strength, more and more, So very slowly.
Archived comments for He is losing his strength

No comments archives found!
Babylon quotes (posted on: 22-08-14)
"You will do what we tell you to"

Summer is a cruel season, clashing between order and chaos, threatening our future across dimensions, battling religious storms and hurricane winds while the wheels of fire are raging. And earth is forgetful, our walks are peaceful in dappled sunlight. By the river the swans hiss at the puppy, yet they glide calmly and beautifully at the violet hour, the evening hour, touched by the sun's last rays. The walk over the grass is just so pleasant. The wind is rustling in the tall willow trees. They have grown fast, as they were planted only a short while ago. Unreal evenings, at home, when we return to the bright screens rudely laying bare so-called realities, at once, assaulting, unprovoked, hitting: Agony in stony places! The children! "You will do what we tell you to, because we tell you to do it". Who are you? We are trying to tear down the masks of those cloaked in disguise and hiding in the shadows. "But you do what you're told... and so will you!" The seeds of conflict sprout in fiery points: They call it advances, they call it progress. Outside the window, a blackened sky, the first stars. Clouds are rushing past, carried by the wind. like the dark half-formed thoughts that come and go: "What do you want?" we ask those in the shadows, who play their desires and longtime ambition like board games. Will the losers be winners? At the violent hour, we watch more bloodshed on our screens, see the myth of order and chaos been shattered, die with the screams of the innocents. The warmth of summer tried lulling us into apathy. There is another heat burning through time now and a glacial winter has been predicted.. Gentile or Jew, believers or infidels? Is there no end to the chain reaction, Brother against brother? After the shouting and the crying, a never arriving spring? Those who were living are no more and the dead are calling in urgency for change. Yet there a signs, a new generation standing tall in rejection. They talk differently: "We will not do what you tell us to, because we don't want to do it". Those in the shadows get beaten, they perish. But also we, who are living, are now dying Some of us must be sacrificed if all are to be saved is the battle cry of a new epiphany. Dreams and visions abound. What is reality? An altered state of consciousness is rising. Important messages reach us out of nowhere, transmitting faster and faster to vast proportions. Once the avalanche has started, it's too late for the pebbles to vote.
Archived comments for Babylon quotes
Gothicman on 23-08-2014
Babylon quotes
Hi Yutka, I'm usually like your work, but, in all honesty, I do find this one heavy going and a lot to take in. The problem is that every stanza says important things that are relevant to the whole and are well-written as well, but no pause or clear red thread of progression to follow. Perhaps breaking it up into three, three, four, three stanzas i.e. in four parts with <> between, would seem to work better for the reader. It's a shame, because it is says a lot of important things, contains a lot of important messaging. It's only the presentation that's off-putting. Gothicman

Author's Reply:
Hi Gothicman
I myself are having some doubts of how to present his poem. I am still working on it and making changes. Thank you so much for your comments, they are always appreciated. The subject is also not easy to write about, too many emotions are interrupting clear thought. By the way, have you seen the now "cult" tv series Babylon? I tried to find parallels between its message in relevance to our times now.
Regards
Yutka

Gothicman on 04-09-2014
Babylon quotes
I may have done, depends how old the series are, as up until recently I spent most of my time in Sweden, where good foreign series usually arrive a couple of years later with Swedish title names. I looked it up and Google came up with Hotel Babylon, Babylon Fields, and Babylon 5, and there might be more, so I'm not sure which one you and your poem refer to? Regards, Gothicman.

Author's Reply:

Pilgermann on 15-09-2014
Babylon quotes
This is a dense read, and there are competing themes which would be better tackled on their own. As Gothic has suggested perhaps separation between them to show the flow.



Author's Reply:
Thanks, pilgerman! Yes it is a very serious subject and it's showing the contrast between different realities , the one in safety at home and the one out there, all that suffering that is going on in our world, and also a very secretive elite who " in the shadows" is working its own agenda.... How to combine all that? I will find out one day.
Yutka


Do not shed tears (posted on: 10-01-14)
Villanelle

Do not shed tears when dreams have not come true. And don't regret those moments that are lost. Regret prevents a heart from what to do. Forget the times when doubts were seeping through And you were fearful that you could not trust. Do not shed tears when dreams have not come true. Your lover's words and promises to you, They sounded precious but came at a cost. Regret prevents a heart from what to do. You looked for happiness, for both of you And learned, too late, you had to readjust. Do not shed tears when dreams have not come true. You wanted more from him that he could do. His own guilt grew and led to deep mistrust. Regret prevents a heart from what to do. Now you have tasted sorrow and loss, too. But keep those memories of happy days. Do not shed tears when dreams have not come true. Regret prevents a heart from what to do.
Archived comments for Do not shed tears
Ionicus on 11-01-2014
Do not shed tears
An excellent villanelle.

Author's Reply:


Night garden (posted on: 10-01-14)
Sonnet

Night garden (Sonnet) Out of the darkness all that light outside seems so much brighter and somehow ablaze as the sun settles down, the colour white changes to orange, then again displays a pale green yellow, till a spell of dark engulfs the garden in a twilit gloom, before it turns to grey with a last spark of dying sun ray, only to resume a new state of existence everywhere. All birdsong stops. Dusk paints the grasses grey. Some dark-winged moths dance in the breathless air, a spider web hangs empty of its prey. Night has now fallen and a moon afloat is crossing ponds, a silent quivering boat .
Archived comments for Night garden
Elfstone on 10-01-2014
Night garden
There is much that is good here Yutka, but it seems incomplete. Perhaps the first stanza could be reworked and this sub edited?

(There is also something odd about how this page is loading -- anyone else experiencing a wide page that won't complete loading?)

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your comment. I re-edited this as it looked odd in its format. Why do you think this 1st stanza is incomplete? It is just a description of a sunset....but is it ever complete....put into words?

Elfstone on 10-01-2014
Night garden
Ahaaa! there was something odd happening! I did mention that the page wasn't loading properly and it clearly wasn't just the width of it. What I could see was:

Out of the darkness all that light outside
seems so much brighter and somehow ablaze
as the sun

displays

a pale green yellow, till a spell of dark ...

and the rest was as you have it. I also see my previous post has appeared twice (I'll delete one) so there was something very glitchy going on. Apologies - what I now see is of course a sonnet with no missing bits! Elfstone


Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 11-01-2014
Night garden
A lovely sonnet, Yutka. Glad to see you posting again.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
hi Luigi,
I know it was a long time…. writing block…may be? Glad to hear from you.


Dreams will say nothing (posted on: 25-05-12)
...even if you tore them apart....

Dreams will say nothing and I tell you so. Dreams are far stars and nothing more. If they could tell a meaning, you would know. If we should cry when love rips out a core, If we might stumble, when it falls apart, dreams would tell nothing, even if you tore them apart, searching them for a voice, winding them back or putting them on hold. Dreams would not answer, would not make a noise. There must be reasons why they cannot last. Time always swallows them, completely, whole, and then they're silenced with all memories passed. Suppose that dreams could fly and then survive in different fields and under different skies. Would dreams mean something, would they change a life? Once wind-blown dreams arrived out of nowhere, carried us for a while and let us go. They told us nothing. We are here, they there.
Archived comments for Dreams will say nothing
franciman on 25-05-2012
Dreams will say nothing
The perfect balance between wistful hope and cynical truth. it made me sad yet ironically it made me re-read so as to regain that same emotion. Yes, it is that powerful, and beautifully crafted.

Cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jim, much appreciated!

sunken on 25-05-2012
Dreams will say nothing
Hello Ms. Yutka. Good to see you on Uka again. Had this not been nibbed I'd have got my placards out. No one wants that. A very strong sub from a very strong poet. Nice work, missus.

s
u
n
k
e
n



Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunken. Good to hear from you! Yes, I'm still around...

Andrea on 25-05-2012
Dreams will say nothing
Wonderful stuff, beautifully written! Lovely to see you posting again, too.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Andrea for your kind words. I find it difficult to write as I am doing so many other things. But yes, I am glad this poem saw the light...

Ionicus on 26-05-2012
Dreams will say nothing
Nice to read your work after a longish gap. Welcome back.
Here I was, convinced by Freud that dreams have meanings and then you arrive to shatter the illusion.
Your argument is brilliantly put.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Ha ha Luigi! That's funny!
You do cheer me up (as if I needed that...) Did you find my poem gloomy?


All things are spirit (posted on: 28-11-11)
we are re-learning only now....

Wind connects to Spirit, to the Universe all that is love, whole, for as the wind blows and no one knows where it came from or where it goes, so is Spirit, force of the Universe that fills with life and brings light through all changes, in turmoil and conflict, in discovery and knowledge, side by side. We are re-learning only now, of our place under the Sun, of our kinship with the Earth and all its connections, as our ancestors knew. Hold on to the old truth all things are Spirit, given to all, to assist us in this life and our journey skywards.
Archived comments for All things are spirit
TeflonTaff on 28-11-2011
All things are spirit
Beautiful, Yutka. I hope you are right that there is more to the universe than meets the eye (or telescope). And that there is a point to existence.

Thus far in my life I've only ever experienced this higher force by taking drugs. I've heard that there are other, better ways to experience it, but I'm not sure that I have enough patience. I am not a patient man.


Author's Reply:

teifii on 28-11-2011
All things are spirit
Lovely, Yutka, a beautiful piece.

A little suggestion: I'd put the old truth in quotes to make it clearer on first reading. Actually, reading again now and trying to put the quotes, I realise that I'm not sure where the 'old truth' finishes.
Great poem anyway.
Daff

Hold on to the old truth
"all things are Spirit,
given to all,
to assist us in this life
and our journey
skywards."

Author's Reply:

barenib on 29-11-2011
All things are spirit
Any antidote to the materialistic and money-centric world of today is very welcome, especially if it's a poem! John.

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 29-11-2011
All things are spirit
Dear Yutka, a nice uplifting poem which should give me optimism but the old cynic in me tells me that
"We are re-learning only now,
of our place under the Sun,
of our kinship with the Earth"
is not a sentiment universally shared given the ongoing neglect of our planet by its inhabitants. The re-learning ought to be accelerated and given priority.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:

Kat on 05-12-2011
All things are spirit
A beautiful poem and I agree wholeheartedly with its message. Good to read your work again, Yutka.

Kat

Author's Reply:


Badoo (posted on: 22-04-11)
...will they wake up and take count...

They'd live happily in groups, chat face to face, meet in gardens and sport fields and never leave. Instead they sit till the small hours sending texts promising dream lives, devotion and togetherness, visions of turtle-doves and sunsets, roses and champagne, even wedding bells. Think of the fake pictures of their belles, mystery women who lost their grip on reality some time ago, their souls fallen apart by loneliness with sanity abandoned for blind hope. Imagine a bumpy coming-down-to-earth when they meet in the flesh, finding vixens gnaw at their bones, when they become wolves tearing ahead, shaking the bad dreams off by smashing their computers. Will they wake up and take count, disconnect from the disconnected, cross borders and come back from the future?
Archived comments for Badoo
teifii on 23-04-2011
Badoo
Not sure who 'they' are but the poem is impressive for its immages. Leaves one wanting to know more.

Author's Reply:
they are "men" going online...sorry it is not clear...! Have you heard about Badoo? Very interesting....

Beurla on 19-08-2011
Badoo
Hi Yutka,
Well, for more than a brief moment, I thought you were writing about me.
I must remember to switch that damn computer off and come back from the future.
But there again the future is all we have. It a bit like being in the one way traffic system in Oxford.
Good write, I enjoyed it.
Beurla,




Author's Reply:


Encounter (posted on: 15-04-11)
Yes, we have learned about pain...

Was it your hand made a sign or something I did not expect alerting me like sudden summer or fleeting clouds with a golden glow ~ whose suggestion was it to meet, I ask, my world traveler to suddenly feel swept off my feet that was scalding and scary in a cold and dark place. ~ You came with a book, I gave you mine in exchange for a kiss. The green grass later looked slightly greener, the blue sky bluer, the sun felt hotter. ~ Oh love, there is no blame, only daisy chains between you and me, falling blossoms of memories, the lost moments behind us gathered in a sweet chrism anointing the wounds. Yes we have learned about pain, buried the dead, cried in the dark, and slept with the lights on to keep the monsters at bay. You never stopped washing yourself clean, clean, clean and I scrubbed my heart till it bled. ~ Now, finally, things are unfolding, buds open up, spring seeks out summer ahead and we learn speaking again all those whispering words...
Archived comments for Encounter
Corin on 20-04-2011
Encounter
I don't understand why there are no other comments on this Yutka - especially as it has been nominated. Had it not been I would have done so. I am not sure entirely what it is about or what caused the wound though I can see that not spelling that out intensifies the agony being expressed and highlights the significance of whatever lead to the poem.

Enjoy the Summer.

David

Author's Reply:

Corin on 20-04-2011
Encounter
Sorry Yutka, this deserves a more expansive comment as there are so many excellent lines in it that I should have referred to above.

"that was scalding and scary
in a cold and dark place. "

"Oh love, there is no blame, only
daisy chains between you and me,
falling blossoms of memories, "

"and I scrubbed my heart till it bled. "

Reading it again my interpretation is that it is about the death of a child, though perhaps it is something completely different, but whatever it is about it it captures and expresses such overwhelming grief beautifully. How often do you hear people say that no words can express how I feel when talking about some terrible event. You have proved them all wrong here. It the job of the poet to find those words and so you must be a true poet.

David





Author's Reply:

Michel on 20-04-2011
Encounter
I find this stunning. Powerful, moving and beautiful.

Author's Reply:
thank you Michel. When words come from the heart, they leave a trail....somehow


Unperturbed (posted on: 08-04-11)
...when she leaves, he stays....

With a final drive words open and split when they sap the long winding path to the heart. She'd purge her sins and fix them in daisy chains, whereas his wild roses would fade aspiring to a kind of indifference. When she leaves, he stays with his books. Laughter from her room shuts him out. Next he sees her down below in the rain, frisky in her red dress, jumping puddles.
Archived comments for Unperturbed
pdemitchell on 11-04-2011
Unperturbed
A well contained and enjoyable short piece Yutka! Frisky in her red dress - do you think she'd lend it to me? Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:


Fukushima Power (posted on: 01-04-11)
...click the dream for loss, the ocean-currents, the abyss...

Air-borne and invisible, sky-choker, cloud-blaster, his mood unpredictable, his longevity tried and judged, he has no measure of application, but black powers feeding off his core. Hydra with many heads turns hungry and thirsty. A fall is a rise again, so his enemies' skills play nuclear roulette with the devil, click the dream for loss, the ocean-currents, the abyss, the fiery power grounds of its souterrain base. He has given it all to the people. Hydra will die when his time is up, no earlier. The heroes are flexing their muscles, lifting their arms in anticipated victory after each trial and error, after each new blast of poison but have to tackle again and again the sleeping giant's growing new head, his indomitable efforts to repulse their weak and shallow approaches.
Archived comments for Fukushima Power
teifii on 02-04-2011
Fukushima Power
Well done. I've been expecting someone to write about Fuckushima but shied away from it myself every time. I think you've done a good job. Very much like the line
play nuclear roulette with the devil,

Author's Reply:
thanks Teifi! The sad saga is going on, no end in sight....scary....


The Monster (posted on: 01-04-11)
vaporizing poison in its magic hood...

As if a monster unbolted a secret door and ripped the earth into shreds just under the ocean he has opened an abyss along the seabed, a bleeding wound of seeping slime, vaporizing poison in its magic hood. If we watch, he watches us, plots his terror in stages, water-eyed hiding and listening for the next move underneath the water his mood changes upwards and downwards, sideways to the waves scheming and cunningly he haunts by his steady rising the unexpected trail in his underground planning
Archived comments for The Monster
stormwolf on 03-04-2011
The Monster
Well done Yutka. You have personalised the horror of the mightiness of nature aroused like some mythological beast. I caught the sense of menace and also unpredictability. None of us know what's next...just a sort of dread that the monster is only resting before the next onslaught!

Alison x

Author's Reply:
thankx Alison!
yes, the monster is still out there, untamed.....we are living in dangerous times...


Letter from Sendai (posted on: 21-03-11)
(after a letter a young English woman wrote from Sendai)

Things here in Sendai are surreal. My shack is worthy of its name we all share water, food, kerosene. We sleep lined up in one room, eat by candle light and share stories . During the day we help each other clearing the mess and looking for water to drink. If we find any, we share it. There is no looting, no pushing. Front doors are left open as it is safer when earthquakes strike. This is like in the old days, say people. Quakes keep coming every 15 minutes sirens are blaring, helicopters pass overhead. We had water for a few days, Now it is here for half a day. Electricity has come on, but no gas yet. No one has washed for many days. Non-essentials are peeling away, we live on instinct, on intuition, on caring , on what is needed for survival not just for me, but for us all. Some have things left, others lost all, but we all share also the silence at night, no cars, and the star-scattered sky we cannot remember. The mountains of Sendai are clear and crisp as never before. Old men in green hats are walking the streets To check the wellbeing of neighbours. People ask strangers if they need help. I see no signs of fear, only acceptance. Someone left me water and food by the door. There was no name. I am grateful I feel in the midst of something taking part all over the world, a cosmic power falling like star dust, a big powerful wave of rebirthing that carries humility. I see this as hope. with love to you all
Archived comments for Letter from Sendai
TPILB on 21-03-2011
Letter from Sendai
What amazes me is people and the culture, compare this to Katrina, looting rape and to this date a mess. So humble and resilient, and equal in disaster.

End of the day the point I am stressing we (Western World) are pissing a huge cost towards Libya when a 50 cal would do the job, all that military might and funding could have gone to Japan and ending a critical crisis rather than making a second crisis that in turn could turn sour to the extent of homeland(s) strikes all for the price of oil.

We tend to get it wrong...


Author's Reply:
I agree totally... Yutka:)

franciman on 21-03-2011
Letter from Sendai
I love this piece. It gives the impression that the letter writer feels privileged to be part of it all; which in the circumstances is probably true. There is nothing emotive or maudlin in this a very uplifting piece.

Cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
thanks Jim. This was a true letter which I just shortened and minimalised....I am glad it made an impact, on me as on others....
Yutka:)

admin on 21-03-2011
Letter from Sendai
A wonderful piece, Yutka. I have a friend in Tokyo who sends me regular updates. I worry about him a lot. The resilience and dignity of these people is humbling...

Author's Reply:
yes, I only hope that the power plant is calming down....a nightmare scenario now on top after all the past terror...


As a last trace (posted on: 18-03-11)
the tsunami has struck....

When her top ripped across her breast, her white flesh shows one nipple exposed to the wind, black water laps her body, makes her disappear in the rising tsunami wave that pushes her under, fans her dark hair as a last trace.
Archived comments for As a last trace
TPILB on 19-03-2011
As a last trace
Vivid and morbid, much like Japanese cinema, also very black and white edge with a feel of natures lack of personality of sorts.

Author's Reply:

MAIA2011 on 20-03-2011
As a last trace
Good piece, especially the line "fans her dark hair". Felt like I was a witness watching the horrible scene.

Author's Reply:
thanks Maia. Love your name. It's my granddaughter's too!


As if he was a man (posted on: 18-03-11)
what he could not do....

As if he was a man from the past whose senses still obeyed the commands of his brain, his olfactory sense as sharp as a dog's, his eyes as a falcon's. He smelled and saw further ahead than most. He spotted an owl immobile in the nightly trees and even described the shades of its plumage, he heard the whale's song far out in the ocean and spotted his lover's tears on a stony path. What he could not do was to see cause and effect of things. He was unable to draw conclusions and lived his life filled by observation, never judging, never analyzing, never understanding...
Archived comments for As if he was a man

No comments archives found!
Report (posted on: 18-03-11)
The sun has set and snow falls...

It is the year twenty-eleven. Some are still alive but nature put the candle out in the land of the Rising Sun. My thoughts go to Iwate, Miyagi, Fukushima and Ibaraki, The sun has set and snow falls on the devastated earth covering mud islands in deadly night shades. After being shaken, flooded and its power cut the dragon still spews fire and smoke, blows poisonous clouds higher and higher, further and further away. The beast is preparing for melt down, free at last from the yoke of the living and so are thousands of bodies piled stack-high by nature's terror that, again, struck the hubris of men, and vanished into thick air.
Archived comments for Report

No comments archives found!
2012 (posted on: 14-03-11)
For he knew soon the waiting was over....

He was starting to feel a good deal safer with all the stuff hidden in those wretched years that had flown past his long hair like a jet, so much revs you'd think his brain had taken off in a flash with the magic of mushrooms. He'd been raiding his money far too long, allowing power to drip like some leaked tab to prepare for it, in an effortless way to be all mellow, a pliable doll, mild-mannered and content with the small pea of his brain. For he knew soon the waiting was over. - She had run away with him, Left all for the thrill to work the spiritual roulette. No one as sure as she of the imploding changes. Disasters helped building her confidence in certainty. Together they'd hide in the swamps, away from people, only a pack of dogs for company and the wide skies where the signs would appear in the clouds. She had known all along the world would explode, markets crash and foods run out. For years she had noticed strange lights in the night, marks on their bodies, terminals, where flight numbers were always 2012.
Archived comments for 2012
TPILB on 15-03-2011
2012
Nice dark (Or enlightened) piece and in today’s times all the more relevant. What was your inspiration? (Just like to know the drivers of thought from others, as we all see from different glasses). For me, a blend of Lost (Series) and judgment day, but a bonny & Clyde variant?

Author's Reply:


Her eyes (posted on: 11-03-11)
not for crying....

Not for crying, her eyes wide open in anger for maximum effect hazel in depth and green melting into gold. I wonder, why, at this time I cannot see her beauty nor think of it as bewitching. I do not know why I cannot speak about her words and mine, about empty days and cold nights, the slammed doors or the broken glass. What I do know, is her eyes try teaching me to listen, to strike it rich beyond the glow of gold.
Archived comments for Her eyes
Ionicus on 11-03-2011
Her eyes
Sometimes anger can transform a woman's beauty into ugliness, as the words in your poem describe. Alternatively the saying 'You are beautiful when you are angry' comes to mind. It all hinges on the state of mind at any given time. Your verses seem to suggest a certain amount of bitterness and resentment.

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 11-03-2011
Her eyes
a nice effective poem, saying a lot. I was confused by 'her eyes ... hazel in its depth' --- its ?

And I feel the last line could be improved to add more to the poem. At the moment it does not really add anything ...

nontheless a good read.

JohnG

Author's Reply:
thanks John. Great help as always. Am thinking for a better line....
Yutka:)

TPILB on 11-03-2011
Her eyes
The eyes - the window to the soul, nice work. I agree with John on the last line - it makes the sentiment clear, but just needs a tweak and it would mascara the end finely.

Author's Reply:
Hi TPILB,

hope you like the last line better....Yutka:)

TPILB on 11-03-2011
Her eyes
I do, it changed everything (:

Author's Reply:

discopants on 24-03-2011
Her eyes
A poem worthy of a few reads to appreciate it fully. As for the line 'hazel in its depth', how about simply removing the 'its' - 'hazel in depth and green...' reads OK to me!

Author's Reply:
Thank you! Good point. Like the change!


All Saints Church, Faringdon (posted on: 04-03-11)
.... learn to hear and see many silent signs...

A church that is a house that's a church. Walk in through the centuries-old door onto a pattern of tri-coloured stone. The walls have voices and eyes and stained glass angels and saints to conduct us in sacred air. Pass through its nave and its transepts and feel the density of stone pillars, learn to hear and see many silent signs. Integral are the bygone sounds of ago, praises and laments now unheard of high and low, their resonance and echoes reverberating in a space full of people with their own lives and parallel voices throughout time as the blood red robed choir below the organ stands singing all the way down to the tower and upwards.
Archived comments for All Saints Church, Faringdon
Bradene on 04-03-2011
All Saints Church, Faringdon
I liked the imagery here, it was almost if I were there seeing it for myself, I love visiting old chuches, the architecture is breathtaking in most. Well done. Valx

Author's Reply:
thanks, Val. It's a nice church, especially the cementary...I like to walk there and think of all the past people who visited. There is even a canon ball lodged in the ouside wall from Cromwell's times....


You closed the door (posted on: 25-02-11)
Villanelle

You closed the door and all the lights went dead I opened it again and saw the sun (I think by then you ran within my head) The wind collected all my dreams in red And blew them off with laughter and with fun . You closed the door and all the lights went dead. I saw you in my dream arriving late. You took me quickly, shot me with your gun - (I think by then you ran within my head) The devils and the angels let me wait Until you finished and your work was done. You closed the door and all the lights went dead I hoped you'd stay and keep the words you said But I grew old and I remember none (I think by then you ran within my head) I would have liked a lover's touch instead Someone who stayed and was not on a run. You closed the door and all the lights went dead (I think by then you ran within my head)
Archived comments for You closed the door
geordietaf on 27-02-2011
You closed the door
Pulsing rhythm which sounds as if it could be set to music.

Loved 'The wind collected all my dreams in red'

Author's Reply:

teifii on 02-03-2011
You closed the door
Yes, reads nicely. My only quibble would be here
I saw you in my dream arriving late
And took me quickly, shot me with your gun - --- the tenses don't behave properly if one is concerned for grammar. I know I'm a bit of a pedant.


Author's Reply:


The raising of Lazarus (posted on: 11-02-11)
...So He went resolved to alter nature....

Still, it was important for them all as they needed signs that screamed and shone. But He knew that Martha and Maria thought He could and saw Him great and tall. Also others saw Him as a tower: ''Lord what will you do? Give us a sign''. So He went resolved to alter nature in His aim to show His higher power. Suffering He prayed for help and guidance, asked directions to the grave and wept. When they heard Him cry, they stood and lingered, curiously then followed Him in silence. He felt walking for long distances being tested and put onto trial. Suddenly a fire surged in Him, contradicting all their differences: If alive, or dead, something unknown rising within each and any member His voice lost its timbre, sounded hoarser, when He called for them to lift the stone. One cried out the stench was very bad, for the corpse had lain for several days, but He, calmly, waved with both his hands, asked again to do what He had said. Both His hands, for moments, in the air, kept on swaying, one held in a claw, and he reckoned that at once all dead would emerge and howl out in despair and move towards Him falling into strive, would shout out in anger to be left asleep. But just one dark figure rose and walked tardily into a shadowy life.
Archived comments for The raising of Lazarus

No comments archives found!
Reincarnation (posted on: 04-02-11)
letting go of their winter of sorrow....

This is the time of year mothers are leaving us: feather light on the waft of cool spring air letting go of their winter of sorrows. They fly up and scatter into the fertile blue, their souls rejuvenating beyond our guesses
Archived comments for Reincarnation
geordietaf on 04-02-2011
Reincarnation
'Featherlight on the waft of cool spring air' A line we'd all like to have written! Well done- a whole world in 39 words.

Author's Reply:
thank you for your comments. I had to write this little poem as several mothers I knew have sadly passed away this month

Zoya on 05-02-2011
Reincarnation
Yes, A time comes when they leave us and reincarnate as something, someone, else, we do not know the existence of...
Very lyrically and poetically put, Yukta!

Author's Reply:

Elfstone on 06-02-2011
Reincarnation
Ah, but mothers can leave us a "winter of sorrows". Nevertheless this is a very good poem - not a word out of place. Elfstone.

Author's Reply:


Lost relations (posted on: 21-01-11)
....where are all those who once were close...?

Tall windswept trees bear memories. Their endless rows of stretched out boughs leave plights unknown. Lost foliage, as old voices drown the rustling and flustering of many choices... Tall bone bare trees, their fingers seize the steel gray skies. Their shadows breathe the tearful eyes of long ago. Where are all those who once were close, the face I know? I walk alone my head held low. Unspoken answers penetrate like smoke... I woke this morning with you in my ear, So crystal clear your voice, but now so high, that branches point you out towards the sky, where once sprung up your root. Patterns of life transmute, remnants from fire lost, your ashes blown by wind carried away what lived in me. But still I am one branch of many from a larger tree. Tall stand bare trees now silently in threadbare night. Yet soon they might share renewed life. Can you sustain your loss, who are no more? I am the door through which you scatter leaves. You came and went before in secrecy. Stay in the night with me till morning breaks, when light deceives, but loneliness awakens all memories.
Archived comments for Lost relations
geordietaf on 21-01-2011
Lost relations
The ache of loss is so palpable in this. Powerful stuff.

I particularly like 'Tall bone bare trees, their fingers seize
the steel gray skies.'

I can hear the wind hissing in the branches

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your comment. This poem is written in memory of my daughter who died aged 31 in 2010

franciman on 21-01-2011
Lost relations
I'm unable to write non-rhyming verse, so cannot comment on the technical aspects of this poem. As a reader though, I also loved the strong sense of loss. Great Poetry.

Cheers,

Jim

Author's Reply:
Well Jim. Thank you for your thoughts. In fact, this is a rhyming poem. When you read it aloud you will notice lots of inner rhymes.
Yutka:)

stormwolf on 21-01-2011
Lost relations
Stark imagery consistent with the theme of loss and desolatiion. Trees are so expressive aren't they?
A real feeling of emptiness and yearning. Great stuff
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Alison for your comment. I tried to put the feel of loss into my poem, after many deaths of close ones in 2010. And trees are, as you said, the very great symbol of loss (leaves), but also hope (after winter the new shoots in spring) which we humans cannot do without.
Yutka:)

Elfstone on 21-01-2011
Lost relations
There's something quite elegiac in this - one to come back to. Elf.

Author's Reply:
You are right, this poem is thought as an elegy after the loss of my daughter.

Ionicus on 21-01-2011
Lost relations
A very poignant tribute to a lost loved one. Many excellent images which express the pain suffered. Written with feeling.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
thank you, Luigi, my friend

dylan on 21-01-2011
Lost relations
It`s very poignant and the internal rhymes work well, lending it a cadence and rhythm.
I personally would perhaps not given so much away within the context of the poem-also certain lines I would have written differently.
But these are just personal preferences.
It`s a beautiful and moving poem which engages the reader on several levels.
All the best,

D.

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 22-01-2011
Lost relations
When I first read this poem, Yutka, it's meaning went far deeper than words. Subsequently, I have learned about your daughter, and I am so deeply sorry. I lost my daughter to cancer, aged 39, a couple of years ago now, and realise why this poem made such a deep and last impression on me.

Thinking of you.

Tina

Author's Reply:


The Elitist (posted on: 03-12-10)
...be quick, clever and wary....

Words fall and seal and stall, then sprout and grow into bushes and trees bearing fruit high and low with great ease, that falls and ripens in ditches and soon rots with disease. Of course, you must set up pitches, be quick, clever and wary, but you say you trust yourself with what's rubbish and know what's contrary. When you leave the High Table from which you feel banished you're feared. Yet outside your world will have vanished. Life is dripping from branches unstable and tarnished it appears.
Archived comments for The Elitist
pdemitchell on 04-12-2010
The Elitist
Namaste, Yutka - this is a fine but bit vague in places. I'm not sure what you're trying to convey but I would love to hear what inspired it before I could comment in depth. Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:

sunken on 12-12-2010
The Elitist
Good to see you posting again, Ms. Yutka. Well done on being Uka's current featured member too.

s
u
n
k
e
n

his dna shows traces of all bran

Author's Reply:


Die Langsamkeit des Sterbens Or the death of the poet Rainer Maria Rilke (posted on: 26-11-10)
Rainer Maria Rilke, one of the most famous 20th century poets in the world died in 1926 after a long illness. He was cut by a rose thorn and contracted blood poisoning. Who has not heard of this great man would be well advised to find out about him and his work translated in more than a hundred languages.

He rose aroused by white and yellow roses and went for those he saw afar, from where the broken wall that somehow death imposes in its deep-set enclosure, hugged them all. He singled out just one, buried himself in its deep heart space, overcome by sorrow of fleeting time, he tried hard to ignore. Instead he felt a shiver to the core. He hardly noticed when he cut his finger in a light gesture brushing at a thorn. A drop of blood showed on his skin for seconds. It was the moment when his death was born. He grew his death himself a talent or a tumour, as he came here to realize this world, to raise it from a numbness to awareness. And pain and sorrow were but one thing more. It took him months to die. The poison crept so very slowly conquering cell by cell, taking away his dreams and hopes in sequence, emptying his mind of light as darkness fell. He never though complained, sick in his room, while rising shadows mingled with the cold and softly, softly to his last desire he ebbed away, his stories still untold. Life merged with death slowly as colours go from red to yellow, blue to dark, then black. He was a stranger in a world of strangers where nature kept its own mystical track. Roses had climbed his life as if a trellis shedding their petals on his days foregone, until their scent no longer could be noticed, withdrawn by sleep towards an endless dawn.
Archived comments for Die Langsamkeit des Sterbens Or the death of the poet Rainer Maria Rilke
pdemitchell on 30-11-2010
Die Langsamkeit des Sterbens Or the death of the poet Rainer Maria Rilke
Bravo, Yutka, I'm surprised no one else has commented yet for the hard work you put into this. Just two minor points

he shrugged off to ignore - is poor English so maybe he tried hard to ignore or he decided to ignore etc
conquering cell for cell - should be cell after cell.

A moving tribute to Rilke and I will revisit the poems. Cheerz. mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:
thank you for being so helpful. I amended. Have hard to work to get my English up to scratch....haha

teifii on 01-12-2010
Die Langsamkeit des Sterbens Or the death of the poet Rainer Maria Rilke
Excellent tribute. Roses will always have an extra dimension now.
One comment: perhaps 'cell by cell' would scan better.
Daff

Author's Reply:
yeah, perfect! My English is c.....p! Thanks Teifi!

gwirionedd on 23-06-2015
Die Langsamkeit des Sterbens Or the death of the poet Rainer Maria Rilke
This is an excellent poem. The rhymes work really well, except in the fourth verse, where you seem to have abandoned rhyme completely. Needs a rhyme there, I think.

Are you German? Your name sounds Russian...

With regards to word order, I would suggest "He never complained though, when sick in his room" and "as slowly as colours go", but to be honest, I would get rid of "go" altogether and think of a more creative verb.

I've read some Rilke before. Didn't he write the one about the bored panther circling and circling his cage? I recently saw such a thing in Berlin Zoo.




Author's Reply:
Hi, thank you for your comments, I will work this poem again, it is sometime ago I wrote it and yes, it needs some improvements. The panther is one of rillke's best poems. Can you read German? It is so much better to read it in its original. Rilke is one of my favourites, I read his poems and letters before I go to sleep. And of course in German.
Yutka



gwirionedd on 23-06-2015
Die Langsamkeit des Sterbens Or the death of the poet Rainer Maria Rilke
Ja, ich kann Deutsch lesen und sprechen, aber noch nicht fließend. Heinrich Heine finde ich sehr angenehm auf Deutsch zu lesen. Er ist vielleicht mein Lieblings deutschsprachiger Dichter.

Ich erinnere mich jetzt an dir, aber es ist eine Weile seit ich hier war...



Author's Reply:


Bridge with God (posted on: 22-11-10)
''As the seasons change,'' he tells her, ''each day brings new challenges.''

My mother takes gambles with angels. If her Patience is solved, she knows she will be protected and safely climb the high step to her terrace to get some fresh air. My mother is also playing Bridge with God. She does so since she was 89 and He always wins, she tells me. It is a different story, though, that of her handy man, for he has been born a sure loser. At least that is what he tells to anyone who wants to listen. He moans about fate, how poverty struck his parents, how war devastated his country and how difficult the new life in a foreign country had become. Laws and rules now are making his life a misery. Lack of jobs and money have become hardship. Until of course, he met my mum. She had just celebrated her 85th birthday and was enjoying an evening meal with her then husband of 94 years, my stepfather, a charming little man, full of twinkles and sparkles. During the meal he, always happy and teasing, congratulated her on the successful fish dinner: ''Elizabeth, my love, it is the best dinner in this part of Western Europe!'' When toasting her with a glass of wine that he drank each evening, he suddenly keeled over and died. Just like that, without warning. Mum was shocked for sure. But after a couple of minutes she pulled herself together and finished her meal, carefully putting the fish bones aside on her plate. What God has given should not be wasted. Now a widow, frail and bent down by arthritis, she had more and more trouble with those little daily annoying jobs. Her pride and joy, the big terrace in front of her bedroom with a huge flowerpot in the centre, had started to look messy. The conifers at the sides, by now largely overgrown, overshadowed everything and weeds had sprouted in the cracks of the paving stones. Buttercups, dandelions and clover were fiercely competing for survival and all sort of grasses tried taking over the gravel path. Mrs. Anderson-White, mum's neighbor, had given her the mobile number of her handy man, a Serb from Belgrade, who she highly recommended. In hindsight, I think, she was a clever lady having found a willing lamb in my mother to take him on and rid herself from trouble. ''Elizabeth,'' she said, ''This man is a pearl, a true pearl. So very precious. And he will do all kind of jobs for you. He will be your handy man, your friend, your comrade. I cannot afford him any longer, as I am going into sheltered accommodation, bless the Lord. But you, still sprightly in your red dressing gown and happy in the independence of your beautiful home, you will get to value his friendship, his loyalty and his eagerness to help with whatever.'' This was the moment when Mum took him on: Gogol, the Serb, as I told you before, a born loser. But for me he seems more like a winner now. Since my mum has employed him, he has become less of a handy man and more of a friend, and now he is nothing less than her soul mate, the only person she sees. He comes daily to sweep her terrace and also meticulously weeds the gravel path, just as she likes it. Each blade of grass he rips out with the roots and brings and shows her. He takes days to cut off dead flowers, weeks to weed a tiny square of gravel and years to tidy up the plant boxes along the edge of the terrace. In fact, he is still busy now after four years. ''As the seasons change,'' he tells her, ''each day brings new challenges.'' Every day my mother gets meals on wheels. When I visit from abroad, she insists that I share her meal but refuses I order one for myself. That would be pure indulgence, she insists. ''You are too fat anyway.'' She does not know that I sneak off to town most days to buy myself snacks, strawberry cake with cream or a pretzels to survive. With Gogol, it is different. She has invited him to give her the pleasure of his company. Each day she orders a whole meal for him, for he is a working man, she points out, someone who needs food for strength. She also pays the rent for his flat: ''A man needs a roof over his head'' But her true concern is his spiritual need. ''Are you a believer, Gogol? Do you trust in God?'' She asks him while chewing slowly and carefully. When he announces he was brought up a Catholic she gives a sigh of relief. ''I always knew it'', she smiles, and ''you are a true believer.'' At night Gogol always visits and puts her to bed, even tucks her in. She confides in me. ''We sometimes pray together.'' My mother rewards friendship. It started with his teeth, Yes, Gogol had lost his old teeth in Serbia and needed dentures to chew all that food. Mind you, he is perfectly able to chew, as he chews all his words carefully. He talks about the poverty of immigrants, the loneliness in a foreign country, the difficulty with a new language and the hardship of bureaucracy and enforced laws and rules which are restricting his life. There are also the people unwilling to listen or giving him a job. "I feel for you," blubbers mum, wiping away her tears. ''It must be so hard for you. The dear God surely has sent you to me for help.'' And she unzips her green purse and gets out two bank notes. Is this enough? Gogol shakes his head. ''No, sadly not. Do you know how much a dentist charges nowadays? These brothers are dear, Elizabeth, especially when they promise a good job'' So she sends him to the bank for more cash. Her bank manager, quite a shrewd man, is soon smelling a rat. Each month she insists on drawing out a hefty cash sum, much in excess to the living costs of a single old lady. ''Why do you need so much money, dear?'' he asks her. Her answer is always the same: ''The dear God wants me to give my money away to the needy.'' What could be done? Mum is not crazy. You still can have a nice conversation with her, about all kind of things, world events, a new politician, TV programs, the food or the weather. No one dares say she is mental. But the bank manager thinks she might be. He gets suspicious, when Gogol the Serb comes up to the counter waving her saving book to cash the interest. Indeed, he shows him the door and mother is angry, so very angry, when Gogol returns without money. ''It's outrageous, how banks are treating their customers! What an insult!'' She sits down with Gogol, trying to comfort and offers him whiskey from a dull looking flask she has kept for years since the death of her husband. She does not drink, as alcohol makes her sleepy, but she keeps it for special occasions. She fills a tall glass and Gogol drinks it, his adoring eyes locked onto hers. He makes a toast: ''You are so wonderful, Elizabeth and this is to our great friendship.'' And he silently laughs about those old cheeks that still blush and her milky blue eyes that don't see how he slips money from her purse into his trouser pockets, how, behind her back he opens the jewellery box on her desk and takes out a ring and a bracelet. For the wife, he thinks, and the daughter-in-law, or for, may be, a cold day that is surely to come. When the cash she has left on the table to pay her cleaner, keeps disappearing, my mother just shrugs. ''It might be the dear God has taken it, when I lost at Bridge. He does not like me to have money. The Lord always knows best. Blessed be He.''
Archived comments for Bridge with God
e-griff on 22-11-2010
Bridge with God
Lovely! Pure loveliness!

There's so much in this story -- so well told, with a distinctive voice. Perfect stuff. I can't find enough words to say how much I appreciated it ....

Author's Reply:
You are so kind! Actually it was you to trigger me to write about my mother, remember? Thanks to you this story has seen the light and I am tickled you like it, as I am never sure about my prose (and my English...) Yutka:)

Gee on 22-11-2010
Bridge with God
I agree with Griff. I started reading and enjoyed the whole thing. Nothing jarred with me, the characters were so skilfully described, it was just a wonderful piece of writing.
Very nicely done.

Author's Reply:
thank you Gee. The characters are all true. You noticed?
Yutka:)

Ionicus on 22-11-2010
Bridge with God
An excellent piece, Yutka, with no words wasted or a comma out of place. Perfect in fact. Enjoyed it tremendously.

Author's Reply:
Thank you so much, my friend. Praise from you always is special to me! Yutka:)

cat on 06-12-2010
Bridge with God
Hi,

Not on here as often as I'd like, but I truely love your stuff. Very well done on featured member - deserved & overdue!

Best reguards,
cat

Author's Reply:


Deep within (posted on: 05-11-10)


The first thing you do, you change the lock, get a new key. You squat when you're squatting in an empty house, check its electrics (for that's how it shows what it's worth) and trace the currents that flow through its wires to proof the energy between walls. You maintain a property as you maintain your veins. You fix with a fix, run it through your blood, pure as it comes. You see all its colours bleeding into your consciousness that lives elsewhere, in a green field with sunflowers and high grasses, with a cloudless sky and swallows flying high. The sun heats you up. You lie on wooden floors, a grand view over the City roofs, where the sky pulls you in and the noise spits you out, where you unlock deep within another dimension.
Archived comments for Deep within
Corin on 05-11-2010
Deep within
Amazing Yutka - where on earth did this come from? I presume it is about being a drug addict and living in a squat and then escaping to another world, but how did you get inside the head of an addict so realistically? I am not assuming the obvious answer but you make the whole experience sound so wonderful.

Perhaps I am wrong, because you state nothing explicitly but come askance at things, somehow slipping from checking the electrics to transcendental experience.

The whole reading really surprised me - a Great Read I think.

Davbid

Author's Reply:
Hi David
What a lovely comment to my poem! I came across some drug addicts and tried to analyse this feeling of utter desolation and hopelessness and their ways of escaping this dreary world. It brought back to me that there is this flight element in all of us trying to escape pain and grief. our spirit seems to be forever on an escape level being it for the past or the future. The present is often just to be overwhelming and difficult. Isn't it?

e-griff on 05-11-2010
Deep within
Yutka, over the years, you come you go on this site, and it seems each time you come back, your poetry is better and better. This is very fresh, unusual, as David says. I don't know what you do when you are absent from the site, but keep doing it! 🙂

Have you written more prose? Remember that piece about your mother? I still do ..

best John G

Author's Reply:

Hi John,
How flattering for me, that you remembering my prose. I often think it is just not good enough and feel honoured that someone even read it! Wow!
Yes, I have written more stories but am going over them again as I have let them sleep for a long while.
You ask what I am doing when I am absent? I am just growing older and hopefully more experienced about life. The story about my mother should be going on. But it is a pathetic one and not all too happy. Is it worth while?
I hope you are continuing with your great comments, they are indeed a valuable help for all your co- writers. Cheers!
Yutka:)

Kazzmoss on 07-11-2010
Deep within
Wow, how powerful. I don't read poetry as I don't really understand what it's trying to say. I love fiction and although this is poetry it tells a story and a poignant one. There is an awful lot in what you haven't said that captures the imagination.

Kazz

Author's Reply:
hi Kazz
Nice to hear nice things from someone who is not poetically minded...that means my poem struck a cord...which is what I aimed for. Great! And thank you!

Yutka:)

pdemitchell on 07-11-2010
Deep within
Not bad - I did a little lsd and magic mushrooms in my time but not the dragon that killed some of my fellow band-members. A little stop-starty in places but a good rich insight into a miserable sub-culture. Well worth the nib. Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:
thanks Mitch, how good you were not "overindulgent" ...and are still here today to give me praise ...
regards Yutka:)


Pink rose glasses (posted on: 22-10-10)


She counts the seconds ticking by while he is sleeping on their bed She gathers dreams from her deep mind and puts her pink rose glasses on While he is sleeping on their bed she calls his name with tenderness as ghostly shadows fill the room that ride the walls and skim the ground. She gathers dreams from her deep mind where light and shadows play the part of hide and seek, of bloom and doom then sighs and wipes away her tears and puts her pink rose glasses on. The man is whimpering in his sleep and while she hears and feels and aches, she counts the seconds ticking by.
Archived comments for Pink rose glasses
e-griff on 23-10-2010
Pink rose glasses
wow - another goodie. I'm sure this form has a name (I am terminology blind) - it's executed well, with some cute touches: shadows skimming and riding, and the really nice 'bloom and doom'!!!

classy stuff young lady! 🙂

best JohnG

Author's Reply:
You make me laugh John! Young lady!!!!thanks for you praise. I also have forgotten what this form of poem is called. May be someone else knows? Love from yuka.)

Ionicus on 24-10-2010
Pink rose glasses
A good one Yutka. The style resembles a pantun but it doesn't actually follow its rules where the second and fourth lines of each stanza become the first and third lines of the next whilst in the last quatrain the first line of the poem re-appears as the last, and the third line as the second.
But my philosophy is that we shouldn't be constrained by fixed boundaries which could stifle innovation and original ideas.
Well done on your excellent composition.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Luigi! Yes, It is a kind of altered "Patun". Thanks for appreciating it. Yutka:)

Romany on 26-10-2010
Pink rose glasses
I love this too, and I could envisage it in my mind, which is a good thing, right?!

Author's Reply:
thanks Romany! Could only answer you now as my internet crashed and it took me a while (with the help of Indian voices) to get it back. So much appreciated your thoughts.
Yutka:)


For all those years (posted on: 22-10-10)


In search for her I walked right through her ghost feeling the cold around the kitchen table, where for all those years she read the bible, talked at length of paradise, god on a throne, how angels sing in heaven an endless drone of praise. There are no ways that I can hold a spirit that will move as fast as thought or hear its sounds protruding into darkness from spheres beyond. I found her dying with her spirit gone but still her flesh was holding on and on.. She'd lost her voice. It dimmed like candle light I listened to her prayers in the night, although they never came yet still were sounding in my ear the same, as when she spoke them at her kitchen table before each meal. Bless oh Lord our daily bread, bless oh Lord our flesh, our mind, our doing, our waking, our sleep. What else to bless? May be the silence, now, her soundless room, the place where her chair stood, the empty bed. Do bless it all, oh Lord, she has forsaken you and lives now with the dead.
Archived comments for For all those years
Elfstone on 22-10-2010
For all those years
This caught my eye Yutka. It says a lot and says it well, but if I may be so bold, I think the way you have laid it out on the page is not doing it justice. Food for thought perhaps? Elfstone

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much for your comment. I worked with a special rhythm which was intentional. But I will check again to make it better. I would be grateful for a suggestion if you don't mind. 🙂 yutka

stormwolf on 22-10-2010
For all those years
Hi There
I thought this was inded excellent. I understand Elf's feelings about the layout..the one line going into another makes it sort of lack oomph but the oomph for me comes in the almost dispassionate recount of things which actually have great meaning in them (if that makes sense)
The voice behind the poem is almost monotone while what it is saying is very profound
I found her dying with her spirit gone

but still her flesh was holding on and on..

She’d lost her voice. It dimmed like candle light

I listened to her prayers in the night, although they never came

yet still were sounding in my ear the same, as when

I loved it Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison. So glad you liked my poem and said it worked for you. Love from Yutka:)

e-griff on 23-10-2010
For all those years
Wow! This is a good piece of work. Moving, full of meaning, without overplaying its hand and drifting into blatant heart-appeal. As another commenter says 'dispassionate' - but it's not of course, under the shell.
I don't score pieces. If I did, I'd give it a ten. It works really well.

I think the layout complements it, I liked the rhythm the line breaks produced, and also the quite subtle internal rhyming that went with it.

A stunner.

(the only thing I'd change is to remove the comma after 'spirit' )

Author's Reply:
Thank you e-griff for you time and thought you spent over my poem. I appreciate it! What you say about the coma after "spirit" I do not understand. Why should it not be there? And what would be the difference? Can you illuminate? Yuma:)

e-griff on 23-10-2010
For all those years
you wrote: There are no ways that I can hold a spirit, that will move as fast as thought or hear the sounds protruding into darkness from spheres beyond

I'm assuming you meant 'that will .... thought' as a sub-clause, in which case, that sub-clause should be bracketed by two commas eg: There are no ways that I can hold a spirit, that will move as fast as thought, or hear the sounds protruding into darkness from spheres beyond

or (my first take and the source of my comment) : There are no ways that I can hold a spirit that will move as fast as thought or hear the sounds protruding into darkness from spheres beyond.
This leaves out the bounding commas, as today comma use is reduced.

The first I think is more correct, but I would say 'that can move' or 'which can move' and 'There is no way' - but that's just my take on it.

best, John G


Author's Reply:
Hi John,
Thanks for your interesting suggestions. I edited my poem a little bit, coma wise. I did not replace the "will" with the "can" for not duplicating the word "can" in the same line, and what I mean with "there are no ways" not just one way but many possible ways one could consider, and also the rhyme with "praise" is important for me. If you read this poem aloud, the is a strong rhythm and rhyme. At least I hope so. Love Yutka 🙂

stormwolf on 23-10-2010
For all those years
Hi again Yutka,
I maybe did not make myself clear enough but I agree with Griff..the layout made the poem and this is indeed unusual, for poems to be laid out in this way often lack oomph....but here it was totally in keeping x


Author's Reply:
thank you again for your comments Yutka 🙂

Elfstone on 23-10-2010
For all those years
Yutka, you asked for a suggestion - here's one. It comes with my usual caveat that it is, in the end, *your* poem and it must be as you want it, but hoping that this will be helpful. Elf.

In search for her
I walked right through her ghost
feeling the cold around the kitchen table,
where for all those years
she read the bible,
talked at length of paradise,
god on a throne and
angels singing in heaven
an endless drone of praise.

There are no ways
that I can hold a spirit
which moves as fast as thought
or hear sounds protruding into darkness
from spheres beyond.

I found her dying with her spirit gone
but still her flesh was holding on and on..

She’d lost her voice:
It dimmed like candle light.
I listened to her prayers in the night,
although they never came
yet still were sounding in my ear the same,
as when she spoke them
at her kitchen table before each meal.

Bless oh Lord our daily bread,
bless oh Lord our flesh,
our mind, our doing, our waking, our sleep.
What else to bless?
May be the silence, now,
her soundless room,
the place where her chair stood,
the empty bed.

Do bless it all, oh Lord,
she has forsaken you
and lives now with the dead.

Author's Reply:
Thank you so much for all your work and thought. I am still working on it...Yutka:)

Corin on 24-10-2010
For all those years
I liked all the soft internal rhymes in this - is this what all the debate about the layout is? A carefully built ense of pathos.

David

Author's Reply:
Thanks David! Nice to hear from you again! Yutka:)

Romany on 26-10-2010
For all those years
I had no problems whatsoever with structure or layout - it read very naturally to me. As for the ending, excellent (as indeed it all is.) I very much appreciated her forsaking God and not the other way around - very effective.

Romany x


Author's Reply:
Thanks Romany! You are the only one who detected this..... "Oh God, why hast Though forsaken me?" This might be a blasphemous poem for some....So nice hearing from you again. It is a long time I wrote any poem. Love Yutka:)

e-griff on 26-10-2010
For all those years
Oh, yes, you are right (above) ... same happens when I write my own poetry, I change something, then notice I've introduced a problem... I should take more care 🙂

JohnG

Author's Reply:


Inner Praxis (posted on: 15-10-10)
Free are those who grow in the perception of self

Give yourself room. Walk the way between the swinging lanterns of grief, of resentment, of rage. Take the difficult path that does not lead you to the water but climbs the hill towards the jagged rocks, the gaping valleys, through winds of discontentment. Breathe the sacred air for you are alive and living means fighting. Battle the selfishness, the inertia, the tightness of emotions. Free are those who grow in the perception of self, the knowledge of self consciousness in gratitude for having been given life, here, between earth and sky, to walk the way from birth to death. Fill your heart with love, for all that there is and sing the song of thankfulness.
Archived comments for Inner Praxis
sunken on 20-10-2010
Inner Praxis
Nibbed and comment-less. How can this be? I blame the looming demise of British summertime. Well done on the nib, Ms. Yutka. Muchly deserved. Good to see you subbing again.

s
u
n
k
e
n

destination: monkey world

Author's Reply:
thanks Sunken, ever so faithful commenter! Do I really deserve this? Yutka:)


The last meal (posted on: 15-10-10)


They came together, anxious and unsure of Him, who stood in darkness and decided to go and leave them, in his aim to cure his fear of death. For death he had provided. A well known loneliness came to invade- a search for stillness without company. He walked the gardens of Gethsemane, and saw his people fleeing by the gate. He asked them in for a last meal. He broke the bread with shaky hands, he took the chalice and its dark red liquid shook and spilled as blood the moment, when he spoke. His words, they flew like birds above his men, around the table and then fluttered on in search for a way out. Yet He again was standing firm and had already won.
Archived comments for The last meal
royrodel on 17-10-2010
The last meal
feel I've read this before somewhere

RODEL

Author's Reply:
You could not have done as I wrote this poem only a short while ago. However, this subject is often written about. In my poem I intended to emphasize Christ's human nature.


Danger (posted on: 06-08-10)
I took all of it in, his very white skin, his muscular arms, his strong hands with their long fingers, coming nearer and nearer.

Danger I have to cope. I have to cope in my own way. What else can I do? When I came down for breakfast, it stared at me: two packs of card arranged in a most beautiful round fan, a work of art in its symmetry, a flower of cards with 52 petals, like a thing that suddenly had come to life. And next to it a bowl with half eaten strawberries. I was in shock, had hardly slept. During the few hours that were left, I had turned around and around in my bed fleeing monsters with big teeth and beautiful patterned snake skins. His face seemed mysterious to me with its almond shaped eyes, which he said, were very short sighted. I took all of it in, his very white skin, his muscular arms, his strong hands with their long fingers, coming nearer and nearer. How would I have loved to stroke them, run my fingers through his unruly brown curls, touch his face. I felt it like electricity crawling all over my flesh making it hard for me to hold back. Instead I stroked his little black dog on his lap, who eyed him adoringly. I could not do it and should not do it! A woman of 67 and a boy of 35. Crazy. What the heck was I thinking? And feeling? Certainly it was his loneliness that came over. And he surely had felt mine. That's how we clicked. It was like a spark when I first set eyes on him. There was something familiar, something intimate, that only he and I understood. As if recognizing an old soul from an earlier life. My husband had found him to help with the repairs of our gate. He stayed for days, readjusting, drilling, painting, and I invited him for meals, when I saw his hungry eyes. His little dog, always in tow and with his eyes demonstrating its utter devotion, seemed to point out constantly how very special his master was. This made me curious. ''Will you come with me to Covehill?'', he asked me while hammering the gate post down. ''That's where my father lives and that's where I dug the grave for my mum. Yes, I insisted to bury her myself''. Silence. ''I'd love to come.'' The next day I was waiting for him, but nothing. After some time, I saw a message on my phone: ''Sorry for not picking you up. I went with friends to a fun park to do some face painting. Not far from you. You can join me if you want.'' I was furious, mostly about myself. How could I think a young guy would like to take me out, me, a grandmother? Crazy. Stupid. Get a life, I told myself. ''No,'' I messaged. ''I am on the way to Oxford. Perhaps another time'' and I went to bed and cried. Later, messages appeared on my phone, thick and fast. Apologies, apologies. So sorry, how he had forgotten this earlier commitment. ''Can you forgive me?'' I did not answer but my thoughts were bothering me. I could not get him out of my head. Why did he not ignore me? Why making a fuss about it? Why this sensitivity all of a sudden. Weird. Three days later, when I made supper for myself, as my husband was abroad, I realised I had prepared rather too much for one person. I phoned him then to invite him to share it with me. ''I miss your little black dog, such a darling''. He seemed to be pleased, having just thought of phoning me too and invite me to his own place, where he would make me a nice salad. He lived by himself in one of these many-a-floor buildings, where he occupied a flat on the ground floor. I had often walked past this scruffy house with scaffoldings for weeks and workmen doing it up. Often piles of junk mail and papers were left by the steep steps leading to the untidy front door. People were coming and going, and I imagined it a place belonging to the council and its inhabitants being members of the more vulnerable parts of society. One of them was a woman with 9 cats, he told me. Another one a young man with two mastiffs. I suggested he came to me. He soon turned up at my gate, an eager smile under dishevelled flying curls. He carried lettuce, peppers, beetroot and carefully, on my wooden board, cut all this up into the tiniest pieces. I observed how he skilfully carved the tomatoes into little rosettes and carefully placed them on top of the salad. Fascinated, I watched his hands at work and for a second I thought of my own son, always so busy and involved in his own life. There never seems to be time for him to visit except for the duty bound birthdays or mother's day. I had to make long term appointments to see him and could not remember him ever making any salad for me. I know, one should not compare, but they are of exactly the same age. Oh how I love my son's company when he makes time for me. Since his marriage I see him less and less. Now here I have a new son, I tell myself. Someone I can heap love onto. Someone I can spoil with time, the most precious of things. Here was my opportunity. Now he was belonging to me. He, sitting with me in my kitchen, at midnight, under the flickering candle light , having dinner. Hours flew away, I mysteriously became young again. He mesmerized me with his magic card tricks and I eagerly learned a new game, Chinese Patience. A born story teller he kept me entertained until the early hours. I had opened a bottle of Ros and we both were drinking and laughing. I even once got the giggles, most embarrassing, when you laugh for seemingly no reason at all and cannot stop. My hands started to tingle, when his fingers slightly touched mine. He had, I observed, a tendency to touch, brushing past me, rubbing slightly against my shoulder, my arms. I felt something stirring inside me, an uproar, an inner scream. Stop it! What are you doing? Yet it felt delicious as if finding something long forgotten. And there was a tension between peace and danger. When my eyes felt tired from all this looking and observing, I needed a rest. I got up from the chair. He put his arms around me and held me tight, which made me standing as stiff as a stick and unable to speak. ''Good night,'' he smiled. ''Sleep well''. I let him go and his little black dog, that trotted behind him. Good byes, I always believed, should be short. And this one was.
Archived comments for Danger

No comments archives found!
Falling apart (posted on: 06-08-10)
....And, full at last, it had a nipple grown for him to suck it when he felt alone.

Their love ran out like water on the rocks She tried to hold it, but it went too fast, as he'd already altered his heart's locks. They blamed each other for their wanton past invading every corner of their senses. She craved a father helping with defences, he for a mother who would tuck him in; both reaching out for sun and moon akin. Their sky came down at night, and with the moon tumbled their happy stars, took the earth strewn with sky high junk. The pain was here to stay. The sky had gone, with it the flock of birds. Light had withdrawn and so had all their words. She stayed indoors and hid herself away, said prayers and her loneliness felt cold. He looked for women and a breast to hold. Then in his search the stars lay in his way Their yellow gold dust made him lust for more, as though his heart was made to err, betray. He found the moon rolled up behind the door, unfolded it and wrapped it in his coat. Brought back to health it grew and kept afloat. And, full at last, it had a nipple grown for him to suck it when he felt alone. She looked for father sun and warmth and love and found him in the grasp of other women. She ripped him from their beds, tried to remove his shine and radiance, with great acumen, and hid him in a drawer by her bed. At dusk she brought him out in sunset red and leaned against his colourful outlook. This was the moment when her heaven shook.
Archived comments for Falling apart
pdemitchell on 06-08-2010
Falling apart
High-five Yutka. This is a difficult format to pull off and this was a mighty good stab too but 'sky high junk' jarred for me and may need a tweak and maybe 'suckle' rather than 'suck it' but I loved the last two stanzas which raised it out of the done-to-death faltering-relationship genre. cheers! Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:

sunken on 09-08-2010
Falling apart
Hello Ms. Yutka. What I wouldn't give to have a nipple to suck on... Sorry. I must stop typing aloud. Ahem. Good to see you posting again and no mistake. An interesting piece. Took me a few reads to get it, but that's to be expected of a simple sunk. Nice work missus.

s
u
n
k
e
n

lemon curd anyone?

Author's Reply:


Colour (posted on: 23-10-09)
and then this fear takes hold.....

Colour is dead, the blind man said. When it had gone, it still shone within my soul. But now there is a hole, blacker than coal. I try to remember the dark blue sky, when by and by silver stars appear. And then this fear takes hold, until I'm told the sky is still here. I try to recall the yellow sun, the green trees and the turquoise seas I try to revive colourful flowers and all the hours I was living my life. And I search for a spark, for the light has gone dark. But before getting sad that the colours are dead, the wind blows to bring perfumes ahead, and a bird starts to sing.
Archived comments for Colour
sunken on 24-10-2009
Colour
Hello Ms. Yutka. I've always thought it would be better to be born blind than to lose your sight later in life. What you've not had and all that. Blimey - it just hit me, imagine never seeing a naked woman! I suppose there's always braille (-; Ahem. Nice work, Ms. Yutka.

s
u
n
k
e
n

should have gone to accident and emergency

Author's Reply:
thanks , dear Sunken
Yutka:)

Ionicus on 24-10-2009
Colour
An excellent poem, Yutka, about the loss of a sense that many of us take for granted. It reminds us how fortunate we are to have sight. And yet a blind person has an inner vision which makes him more appreciative of nature and takes consolation by being able to recognise scents and the singing of birds.
Well crafted and sensitively written.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
thanks Luigi! Nice hearing from you!
Yutka:)


Autumn King (posted on: 23-10-09)
..it's affecting you....

You can get drunk on the crisp air laced with the taste of wood fire, the wild smell of damp and mould. Microscopic spores are filling the air with magic. It's affecting you. True to your senses you become king to your own kingdom. Leaving the gardens behind, the moribund roses, the rot of over-ripe apples, you find what is yours. Smoke signals of mist show your entry. You tread on purple leaves, walk across softest carpets of moss. Scented petals are strewn on your path. The world is hung with colours. Birds put your arrival into song. Blushing trees wave respectfully. Your Majesty comes across files of mushrooms risen in awe, your courtiers, bowing to you. Sun has lit the willowy grasses, minute torches aglow with a hazy white light, a thousand flames flickering in the wind to guide you towards an evening spun in gold.... But wind's energy rips your crown, sobers you up. It teases the dark orange leaves fitfully across a yawning sky. Your house is an ally now, lures you with the promise of tea and scones, an evening by the fire. You put on your scruffy old bath robe, shut the autumn wind out.
Archived comments for Autumn King
sunken on 24-10-2009
Autumn King
Ahhh yes, a cosy feel to this, Ms. Yutka. Bloomin lovely and no mistake. I've a good mind to get myself a mug of Horlicks. Did ya know that Horlicks was discovered by Nasa? It was some kind of fuel by-product. I believe it even helped fund the the first space shuttle flight. That's what Munky says anyway. Ahem. Enjoyed the poem. Sorry about the comment.

s
u
n
k
e
n

but you said that last time, she complained whilst entering the cannon



Author's Reply:

Leila on 30-10-2009
Autumn King
Most enjoyable, reads well especially liked that final verse...Leila

Author's Reply:


Pink Rose (posted on: 17-08-09)
blissfully lays bare your pink heart...

Now you touch me as with lips moving over closed eyelids and I feel you, wind-blown, breathless. You caress me, pure and weightless, summer-born and so invited. Now excited I can sense you at your glistening depth of scent breathing in your lushest perfume, understand, curled in your womb, drunken bees bedecked by pollen, who in dreams hum me your tunes. For the bees and tiny beetles, cocooned in your silken secrets, seem to know some of your riddles, fiddled truths of bloom and doom. Today many memories swirl me flying up like ladybirds and glissading down the thorny stems of pain to get a close up. But the morning wind is fitful, blissfully lays bare your pink heart and blows petals just like kisses.
Archived comments for Pink Rose
Mezzanotte on 17-08-2009
Pink Rose
What a beautiful and delicate poem. I adored it - a five star read indeed. I didn't get the last line though...had to read it a few times and still can't make it work.

An amazing poem

Brilliant

Jackie

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Mezzanotte, for your nice comments. I changed the last line. Is it now understandable?
Yutka 🙂

stormwolf on 17-08-2009
Pink Rose
The first stanza is so deliciously dreamy, light and floaty..the second descends into such warm intimacy...
softy erotic.

lovely
Alison
I did not understand the last line either...did you miss out a word?

Author's Reply:
Thank yoy for liking my poem. I changed the last line. Hope it is better
Yutka:)

littleditty on 17-08-2009
Pink Rose
last line -'blows petals (to/toward) me for kisses' perhaps -or, simply 'and blows these petals for kisses' - very beautiful soft romantic gentleness Yutka - lovely 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Little ditty! So lovely hearing from you! Yes the end was a bit vague. What do you think about it now? I appreciate your thoughts, always!
Yutka:)

e-griff on 17-08-2009
Pink Rose
yes, I simply assumed a 'to' or an 'at' had been left out. 🙂

I feel a bit abashed amongst all you ladies. Of course, this IS a girlie poem. But I admit I enjoyed it very much, sensational in the non-hollywood sense, and with conjured images which pleased. I loved 'bloom and doom' (and shall steal it, no doubt).

thanks for a sweet read. G

Author's Reply:
Hi there, Thank you for thinking about this (my) confusing last line. Must be my bad English! Hope you like the end better
Yutka:)

e-griff on 17-08-2009
Pink Rose
Did I get you a nib? Leave me alone you nibbers!

*we have a long standing disagreement over haiku*

Author's Reply:

Emerald on 18-08-2009
Pink Rose
Very enjoyable, I loved all of it, really made my romantic heart beat a little faster

Emma

Author's Reply:

sunken on 20-08-2009
Pink Rose
Good to see you subbing again, Ms. Yutka. Well done on the nib. Long may you blossom and no mistake.

s
u
n
k
e
n

she left him standing at the alter of tesco

Author's Reply:


After Mandela (posted on: 19-06-09)
''After his death'' he says, the prophecy will come true....

The other land, do I imagine it or remember? Its outline is misty in today's autumn fog, a dull day in England, and you see yourself on the way to the airport, small baggage in hand. When the plane lifts off, the gone-by days dissolve like the summer rains in Africa. You get nearer to the people you love, their faces still hidden in the depth of your eyes. A man in the seat next to you talks of Mandela. ''After his death'' he says, ''the prophecy will come true, Slaughter of all whites within seven weeks.'' I fly across a country that looks like the number seven. Algeria, Mali, Nigeria. Ocean and night fuse in utter blackness. Sleep. Dreams of uprising, rage, mayhem. Glaring light wakes me. A clatter of cups and plates. Coffe is served to pasty faces. You wriggle your toes, look for your lost shoes under your seat. When the plane touches down: the rise of a blood red sun. A flock of hadedas flying up noisily. You wait for your eyes to focus.
Archived comments for After Mandela

No comments archives found!
What my mother said (posted on: 19-06-09)
She is gone now, her words with her...

I know her words to myself carved upon my heart or deep within my head. Fingers of words moving my hair out of my forehead: You look stupid with that fringe. I arrive at the house with a friend already warned of her greeting: You look stupid with that fringe. Doesn't she? ''Madam, stupidity is in the eye of the beholder.'' We are fishing, these dark days, for compliments, scanning the sky for its blue swapped grey, Cloud for cloud I say: You look stupid with that fringe. All is speechless, nothing is speechless. Today I am that child again at the end of a tunnel, running towards the light, my red hair to the wind. She is gone now, her words with her, fluttering streamers catching my breath.
Archived comments for What my mother said
Sunken on 19-06-2009
What my mother said
Hello Ms. Yutka. Where have you been? You know I worry. This, in my sunken opinion, is bloomin lovely. It's kind of sentimental without being cringy, if ya know what I mean. Fringes are currently fashionable by the way. This is probably why I don't have one )-: Ahem. Anyway, good to see you back. I hope you won't mind me slapping a Bernard on you. Take care, Ms. Yutka and don't be a stranger to Uka. Hello?

s
u
n
k
e
n



Author's Reply:
thanks for the Bernard, Sunky! I always liked Beagles!

Albermund on 22-06-2009
What my mother said
I love "fingers of words moving my hair out of my forehead" and just the way you've written this. Not really understanding 3rd stanza (possibly 'cos I'm misunderstanding 2nd stanza) but this leaves me feeling sad, and I'm happy about that. Albert 🙂


Author's Reply:
Hi Albert,
Thanks.
I don't know what you did not understand in the second stanza. May be I should have used exclamation marks for the direct speech?

Yutka 🙂

Jolen on 26-06-2009
What my mother said
A fine piece of work, Yutka, and one that leaves me feeling sad too, which is good, as Albert points out. I don't know if it was intentional, but I loved the pun/play on words/images of the fringe being in the eye of the beholder.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:


Guardian Angels (posted on: 23-03-09)
....You shine white into praise...

Guardians of the tree of life or winged goddesses of Egypt, from Sumeria to Babylon and beyond you are known moving between heaven and earth, fusers of dimensions, who instruct, inform or command, protective or heavenly warriors, cosmic power mediating bone to wing and flesh to spirit. You shine white into praise, decode human landscapes far into the night with light deserving of your halo. Watching over a soul you warn, yet bring slivers of hope to its dream, splice it, fix it into existence. And where it is torn to shreds, you smooth out and repair, as you work incessantly to mend shattered lives, nurture stillborn babies and more, feeding them through the haze, over bloody sheets, in an unlit room, before laying them back into their soft cradle for rebirth. Wherever a soul goes, you go, intercept at junctures on its way, inspire thoughts spurring into action or lend super human strength. You draw blood, too, drops of pain, as hearts are pricked, and pricked again, until a callous forms with your urging on to accept and forgive. Each sadness, each blow struck you kiss better at the morning break, bringing a feel of safety to a frail cowering human soul huddled under your protective wings. And when darkness falls you carry the soul overtaken by death.
Archived comments for Guardian Angels
e-griff on 23-03-2009
Guardian Angels
I thought that the images created in his poem were excellent, and overall it had a ring to it. However, I was conscious of an intrusion with the words, life, night, light, - not only not that 'fresh' for a poem like this one, but repeated a little too often for me. I would suggest some interesting substitutes ....

best JohnG

Author's Reply:
thanks John, you are right...I tried to rewrite...wonder though about your suggestions
Yutka:)

RachelLW on 23-03-2009
Guardian Angels
I liked this too. Some beautiful lines: 'You shine white into praise' being one. Also the fourth stanza is stunning. I think it needs a good edit, but since I'm rubbish at doing that myself I'm not in any position to advise! Enjoyed reading it. Rachel.

Author's Reply:

cat on 24-03-2009
Guardian Angels
Hi Yutka,

I liked this, your poem very much and like the lovely Rachel said, some beautiful lines but also some beautiful images too. And some not so ... 'still born babies' and 'bloody sheets'.
Like like it's self, good with bad.

Love Cat x


Author's Reply:

e-griff on 24-03-2009
Guardian Angels
hey, kid! that's great. I can't even see where the night, light etc were changed, it works so well. and where you've left them (in the key statement) is just right.

when I criticise something, sometimes I suggest alternatives. Sometimes the author accepts them. By far the best result is when the author takes the point, but does it THEIR way.

As you have done. Good job! (as they say) 🙂

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 25-03-2009
Guardian Angels
I really liked this poem. I love pieces of a spiritual nature and thought you brought this to us with clarity and beauty. I too loved the 'you shine white into praise'.
Congrats on the well deserved nib!

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

macaby on 25-03-2009
Guardian Angels
I liked this. The first three lines set the poem of really well, like the others say beautiful descriptions all through the poem. Overall worthy of the nib. thanks for sharing.mac

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 26-03-2009
Guardian Angels
I don't know much about angels and stuff, Ms. yUtKA, but I did once have the pleasure of conversing with a lady from Egypt. She was angel like in many ways. I'll be frank, I fancied the arse off her. Ahem, as you can tell, I need to work on my spiritual side. Well done on the nib.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he can't see downloads being very popular

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 26-03-2009
Guardian Angels
A beautiful poem, Yutka. It has all been said. I feel richer for having read it. Thank you.

Tina

Author's Reply:

Munster on 28-03-2009
Guardian Angels
Hi, I agree totally, the first 3 lines really draw the reader in well done.

Tony

Author's Reply:


And so we lived (posted on: 13-03-09)
The years that came and went...

And so we lived and took in signs and grew. And so we died, before we even knew. The little time we had, we hardly tasted. The years that came and went were mostly wasted. The children we produced, they tore asunder. The pretences we used were one great blunder. And still we love the greatest time on earth. And still we pay with death for all its worth.
Archived comments for And so we lived
Sunken on 13-03-2009
And so we lived
Hello Ms. Yutka. I liked this... I liked it more than crunchie nut cornflakes. This is quite a compliment as I really like said cereal sensation. A moving little piece and no mistake.

s
u
n
k
e
n

the council have refused his request to erect a memorial wendy richards statue

Author's Reply:

discopants on 14-03-2009
And so we lived
Thought-provoking and kind of depressing but yet not quite depressing all at the same time...

Author's Reply:

teifii on 22-03-2009
And so we lived
Brilliant. Have to keep that as a hot story. And you too.
Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/

Author's Reply:
thanks Daff! Nice to hear from you....will be away for 6 weeks, no internet, in the wildness of Africa. Sending you greetings to Wales.


Elegy for a dead poet (posted on: 02-02-09)
...with a gift for to listen, repent and find peace...

Without digressions you went steadily and grew old like a river reaching the sea. As one who reaches the sea and the sand, you let go the safety of the land. You fought the storms battling with age. Your spirit overcame. You turned a page. Your words became salty and filled with shells, drifting in light and drafted in spells. Young in its fervour, brother of the waves, your heart carried weight, wherever it braved. Wherever it braved, you came into being as when morning dawns and night is fleeing in the slimmest of lights, and you suddenly know a new day born and you feel aglow. You reached old age undisturbed by chance with time for reflection and eager for balance, with a gift to listen, repent and find peace, as the sea waves receive, hold on and release. As the sea winds play with an errant dove may the Great Spirit enfold you with love, carry you, written in wind, salt and sea to Elysium's infinite harmony.
Archived comments for Elegy for a dead poet
e-griff on 02-02-2009
Elegy to a dead poet
I appreciate the idea behind this and much of the execution. In an apparently simple form like this, I think some very careful technique is needed to raise it to the highest level. On that score, although I have no enormous problems with the present version, I think it could be raised a notch or two with some delicate tinkering with the rhyme and metre. At present some of the rhymes seem rather obvious/simple and the metre has little added internal interest and some problems in the stresses .

to try and give examples, I found these lines better than the average in the poem:

Your words became salty and filled with shells,
drifting in light and drafted in spells.

nice rhythm throughout, shells and spells unexpected, interesting - you think about what 'shells' means, etc. the 'll' sound in filled and shells repeats nicely and adds interest,
and the drifting/drafted is also a nice touch. and here you have the unstressed start line 1 and stressed start line2, which creates the nice rhythm. This doesn't occur in some other verses, maybe it should, although variation can be good if required.

this, on the other hand, didn't have the same 'feel', IMO

Without digressions and steadily
you grew old like a river reaching the sea

this has some problems - in this first verse, where no rhythm has been established, it's not clear how to stress the line - to fit the later verses 'steadily' has to be said STEAD i LY to provide the two stressed beats to fit the accentual pattern of 4 per line. However, 'ly' is naturally unstressed (a 'feminine' ending) so pairing it with the strong masculine 'sea' ending doesn't fit the pattern of the rest. So when you hit the second verse, you are out of kilter. It felt wrong.
In the second line, the first stress comes at 'old' so you have two substantial unstressed beats before it - whereas most of the other lines begin with a stressed beat. This is too much -
(I'm not going into iambs etc, which is another way to describe it) But to be clear, for instance 'as when morning...' is acceptable, having only a minor unstressed syllable at the start.

Hmm ... I hope I haven't rambled on too much. Basically, I like the poem which is why I became interested in it.

very best, JohnG


Author's Reply:
Hi John,
So very much appreciated your thoughts and was thinking hard to address a change. I came up with other versions but at the moment am sticking to this one. Anyway, am grateful you took an interest.
Yutka:)

SugarMama34 on 02-02-2009
Elegy to a dead poet
Hi Yutka.

I liked the idea behind this and liked the descriptions too of 'aging', very nicely done. My favourite lines are:

You fought the storms battling with age.
Your spirit overcame. You turned a page.

Your words became salty and filled with shells,
drifting in light and drafted in spells.

They give out beautiful imagery and meaning to them.

My only niggle with this is that some of the flow seems a little off in parts and the rhyme doesnt sound right in places, for instance with these lines:

You reached old age in the knowledge of silence
with time for reflection and the spirit of balance,

and also

carry you, written in sea, salt and wind
and in all that is forever entwined.

I'm not really sure though of what to suggest to you. Hope my comments help in some way and I've not offended you.

Lis'. xx






Author's Reply:
thanks, Lis, for your comments. As you see, I changed my poem quite a lot. You were right, I did not like the last line either (before) Yutka:)

teifii on 02-02-2009
Elegy to a dead poet
I can't possibly compete with Griff's detailed review above, but I think the poem does need [and deserve] some careful work on it. It's very rhythmic in places and would be better, I think, if this could be extended. When one finds rhythmic verse in a poem, one tends to expect it all the way.
As I was reading I picked two lines that I thought stood out and I see griff picked the same two
Your words became salty and filled with shells,
drifting in light and drafted in spells.
That is absolutely beautiful.
So, having finished nit picking, I have a suggestion. Do you belong to the poetry society and, if so, to one of its stanzas [area groups]? I ask because each year they have a comp for members who are members of stanzas and PS. This year it is for an elegy.
Daff
PS anyone viewing here PLEASE VOTE FOR MY SPRING FEVER POEM. It needs votes in order to get near a judge. Odd system 🙂
http://writelink.co.uk/springfever/entryDetail.php?id=9


Author's Reply:
Thank you, yes, what would we do without Griff's detailed suggestions? I think he is lovely taking so much time and thought!
I now tried changing some lines and rhymes. Wonder if you like the difference.

There is a Guardian's workshop at the moment and I wrote the elegy for it.
Mind you, it is much too simple in its wording to appeal to the "Guardinistas". But there were times, poor little foreign me managed to sneak in, 3 or four times and I'm proud of it!
I certainly will look for your poem. Take care.
Yutka:)

teifii on 04-02-2009
Elegy for a dead poet
Yes, I certainly like it better.
I think it needs a full stop after
'as when morning dawns and night is fleeing' or the line before. As it is that line seems to be part of two sentences.
Good luck with the Guardian
Daff

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 04-02-2009
Elegy for a dead poet
okay - I was going to give you some more comments after taking a closer look, but decided this instead: there are numerous problems with the metre in this, some of which are pretty obvious (1st verse and verse 8 particularly). If you'd like a run down, PM me, but I don't want to put it up publicly if you don't agree or if you are happy with this as it is.

very best, JohnG 🙂

Author's Reply:


The Saviour (posted on: 26-01-09)
...witch hunts over centuries separate us...

Greed in its creed, the power struggle of churches, witch hunts over centuries separate us from You. Your promise is drowned in frankincense, reduced to stained glass views, bland repentance and the tedium of ritual. Once You walked on water and resurrected the dead, but Your impact has sunken below the self importance of preachers, and died crossed by self righteousness. Rise again, bring purest light to your children in the darkness, who walk through the valleys of fear! We plead for Your simple voice, for Your agape sacrifice.
Archived comments for The Saviour
e-griff on 26-01-2009
The Saviour
overall, I thought this a nicely-written poem. the only wrong note for me was the line: 'your impact has sunken below' - somehow the use of 'sunken' doesn't work for me, can't say exactly why ... 🙂 JohnG

Author's Reply:

Mezzanotte on 26-01-2009
The Saviour
Dear Yukta,

I appreciated the sentiment. Although catholic, I'm not particularly religious but I think now really is. The world is going crazy - from drugged up children prostitutes to terrorists and then, politicians in general. But i can only suppose that from the beginning of time people have said more or less much the same thing.

The sunken reference is okay by me...I think it would be okay with Mr. Sunken too...ahem!

I appreciated the short stanzas. A full body of text in a poem confuses me and makes me squint.

i liked the second stanza, where man's interpretation of religion is shown as distorted and overblown.

Best wishes
Jackie

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 28-01-2009
The Saviour
How rude!

The word 'sunken' works wonderfully, Ms. Yutka. Disgraceful behaviour! I've a good mind to write a letter of complaint to my local MP and no mistake. Good day!

s
u
n
k
e
n

if at first you don't succeed, turn it off and then back on again



Author's Reply:


Poem (posted on: 16-01-09)
...a message in a bottle...

I fill my poem with words, a message in a bottle, sent out in the hope that someone, somewhere, finds it washed up on heartland. I send my poem along to maybe reach a heart, someone's, somewhere, that reads between the lines and knows and knows.
Archived comments for Poem
Sunken on 16-01-2009
Poem
Hello Ms. Yutka. Your bottle has reached a shore near me. I have put the poem in a safe place and am using said receptacle as a vase for a plastic rose that I found on the beach. I hope this helps. A sweet ickul poem and no mistake.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he lives in hope (just outside despair)

Author's Reply:
Charming, Sunky, as always!
Hope your plastic rose brightens your day-
Yutka:)

macaby on 17-01-2009
Poem
i like the idea of the poem in a bottle , no better way of describing the sense of loneliness and abandonment felt by the poet. i hope your poem is found by someone who knows how to read between the lines. thanks for sharing.

Author's Reply:
Thanks,
you just found it!

Yutka:)

Corin on 22-01-2009
Poem
I fill my poem with words,
FOR MY HEART IS EMPTY
a message in a bottle,
AN SOS,
sent out in the hope that
THAT ALL HOPE IS NOT GONE AND
someone, somewhere,
WHO IS ALSO HOPING AND WAITING
finds it washed up on heartland.

I send my poem along
TIDAL CURRENTS
to maybe reach a heart,
A HEART ATTACHED TO A SOUL
someone’s, somewhere,
A SOUL LIKE MINE
that reads between the lines
WHERE LOVE LURKS
and knows and knows.


DAVID





Author's Reply:


Out beyond its depth (posted on: 16-01-09)
...ashamed of its gawky gables and blind windows...

Next to the railway line, this house, resentful of being looked at, painfully holds itself up straight, ashamed of its gawky gables and blind windows, embarrassed by its small shoulders and large hips. But the young boy, who draws it, knows, that the empty house misses the family who once lived there, for it stares at him accusingly, incredulous for being left abandoned. The boy returns again and again, brings his own grief with him. House and boy stare at each other, while the empty white sketch block slowly fills with distress of something out beyond its depth. One day the boy cuts himself loose from the memories, turns his back. He now paints other empty houses, broken windows and faded shop fronts in city centres, suburbs and out of town. His paintings always resemble each other, stuck in the anguish of desolation.
Archived comments for Out beyond its depth
ruadh on 16-01-2009
Out beyond its depth
How sad.

ailsa

Author's Reply:
yes, you are right.
Yutka

Mezzanotte on 16-01-2009
Out beyond its depth
I really liked the last stanza, and felt sorry for the house, being abandoned again, not only by the boy, but also the poet
by not giving the house its pov in the final stanza.

Best Wishes
Jackie


Author's Reply:
thank you
Yutka:)

macaby on 17-01-2009
Out beyond its depth
sad but well written poem , you certainly bring across the feeling of hopelesness in the boy very well, through his drawings.

Author's Reply:
Thanks and yes, you understand: it is all about the boy's feelings and to show how people try to cope

Yutka:)

reckless on 17-01-2009
Out beyond its depth
Another fine poem Yutka.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for "another", it means, you like the others...am I right?
Yutka:):)

Sunken on 17-01-2009
Out beyond its depth
Weirdly, Ms. Yutka, as a kiddie, all I ever drew were rows of houses. I've never worked out why. A smashing write. 'Stuck in the anguish of desolation' is a corking line and no mistake.

s
u
n
k
e
n

rusty on the door

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunky,
may be you are due for analysis?....

Thanks for your "corking line".
Yutka:)


Loneliness is a language (posted on: 24-11-08)
...decode its words, by and by....

What could I do or say? Would pain smooth out under my perfect words? Would it even listen? Winds soothe and refresh. Green shades in the land please the eye, and sitting by the water lulls the senses. The shrieking call of a bird brings it all to an end The old pain is alive, rips the blue sky, claws the heart. Loneliness is a language you will have to learn to speak, decode its words by and by, sit over lost translations.
Archived comments for Loneliness is a language
Sunken on 24-11-2008
Loneliness is a language
I hope you don't speak the language of loneliness too fluently, Ms. Yutka. I have the basics down, but I'm hoping I won't have to use it. Enjoyed the piece.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he keeps a spare can of beans under the sink for emergencies

Author's Reply:

BaBy_PoeT on 26-11-2008
Loneliness is a language
yeh i agree with sunky... but loneliness is defiantly a hard language. and not often heard or spoken.. But i will fully understand...
take care

Author's Reply:
you would be amazed, how often this language is spoken. May be one needs special ears to hear it...

Romany on 26-11-2008
Loneliness is a language
Small typo - by 'and' by.

Otherwise, I love the desolate feel to this - the idea of the peace and harmony ruptured by a harsh bird-call, and the title is very eye-catching and thought provoking. You have a thing for titles, I notice.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
thanks, Romany. I do have a "thing for titles" I presume. Would I also have the power to make an impact with my other words?


yes, was typo. thanks

Yutka:)

Romany on 26-11-2008
Loneliness is a language
Of course you do Yutka. I simply meant to compliment you on another great title.

Romany.

Author's Reply:

Albermund on 28-11-2008
Loneliness is a language
THis hit the spot for me, Y, though I'm struggling with the last line. It reads well too, though I just wonder how it would be if you inserted a few blank lines. Whatever, lovely, meaningful stuff. A:)

Author's Reply:

teifii on 28-11-2008
Loneliness is a language
Lovely poem. I particularly like the ending, but it's all full of excellent images.
Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

Author's Reply:


For the life of him (posted on: 17-11-08)
...but he could not feel....

When she died, all became muted. Things went underground, words floated in vague lines on the surface, then faded away without trace. He somehow felt underwater. Whatever people were saying, he heard, but it had no impact. He smiled at their condolences. He nodded, when they said she had been a beacon of life, a light in the dark, a wonderful wife. He stood there, slender, in his black suit, the centre of attention as usual, uttering thank you, but he could not feel. Nothing reached through the clouded layer, leaving empty sounds drifting across his heart. He still was in the light, but the shadows had started to work on him. He tried to think of the other woman. Both were taken, but for a long time, in his unhappiness, they were anchored to each other in constant support throughout the up and down of currents. Now he could hardly remember her face, and he could not, for the life of him, recall her love.
Archived comments for For the life of him
Sunken on 19-11-2008
For the life of him
Hello Ms. Yutka. This is a very sensitive piece and no mistake. I know this because a girl told me. I am trying to be more sensitive as I believe it will win me more points with the ladies. How am I doing so far? Go on, be honest (-; Enjoyed the read, tho I'm not sure 'enjoyed' is the right word to use here. I hope someone with a brain comments soon. Take care and a sensible coat.

s
u
n
k
e
n

his left thumb doesn't get on with his right

Author's Reply:

teifii on 20-11-2008
For the life of him
Very perceptive and well described. Terribly sad though
Daff

Author's Reply:

sirat on 22-11-2008
For the life of him
There's an interesting thought at the heart of this one: the wife and the 'other woman', 'anchored to each other in constant support throughout the up and down of currents'. Did they know about one another, or even know one another, or was it through him that they were anchored to one another? I probbly shouldn't analyse like this but that was the effect the poem had with me. I'm glad I read it. As Daffni says, very sad.

Author's Reply:


I hunt silence (posted on: 10-11-08)
I found this place by drawing a house, two windows with a front door between them and moved in.

I hunt silence, face solitude in wide wild spaces, where the wind roars down the mountains, and the rain lashes the windows. I found this place by drawing a house, two windows with a front door between them and moved in. I settle into quietness and feel the shape of each day, when silence takes hold of my senses; then my hearing feels honed and I separate noises of wind by volume and strength, become aware of colour and sound, unlike before open my mind to joy and tears. I ban the ticking clock, but slowly the ghosts of time are shifting reality. I respond with meditation, a prayer and long walks. No need for guests, the phone, radio, computer, the door bell. I keep on searching for silence like the one between mother and baby at the end of a night feed, or two lovers embracing without need or demand. That is where the landscape of silence takes shape, in high grasslands, with views across fields and an unbroken line where earth meets sky. Now I live with the sound of a stream in the background and a far away craw from a crow. I am thriving on sun and clouds, as they alternate and shift colour, and the way heather and grasses move in the wind. I sit up in a morning of happiness, no one coming and me going nowhere. I wonder how I arrived here in the sunshine, at my doorstep, where I listen to silence. I will paint myself a garden, with a view across the sea, draw foxes, a deer, the first swallows and the moment the sky turns to gold. I will sit out at night under the stillness of stars, so that the silence can work in me and I will know about healing.
Archived comments for I hunt silence
e-griff on 10-11-2008
I hunt silence
I liked this almost unreservedly - nice concept, nice execution, food for thought. Thankyou for the read. 🙂


one tiny query - the comma after 'I wonder' ?

Author's Reply:
you got me there!!! Always have a personal battle with comas...(or: comata?) thanks!
Yutka:)

Corin on 10-11-2008
I hunt silence
O just one or two microscopic queries! The first sentence was 3 stanzas long - it is of course acceptable practice for a sentence to enjambe a stanza, (now did I put the the right comma in the right place here?) but surely it is quite against Griffiavellian Poetic Principles for it enjambe 2 stanzas AND commence on the very first line of the piece. Of course metaphorical desription is permissable but surely honing hearing is a bit fantastical - honing ears is probably acceptable! Apart from those minute miniscule microscopic little points it wasbriliant and I am going to nominate it!

love

David

Author's Reply:
Hi David, I checked the "enjambment", put a full stop after "windows" which should have been there in the first place. One can "feel one's hearing honed" I asked an expert, who told me it was permitted... but thanks for the nomination and your thoughts!
Yutka:)

Sunken on 11-11-2008
I hunt silence
Hello Ms. Yutka. This is a smasher and no mistake. Do you know it's almost impossible to find anywhere around here that's completely silent? I thought I'd discovered said place yesterday (underneath a table in a neighbours conservatory). My peace, sadly, was soon shattered by police sirens.
A very enjoyable piece, Ms. Yutka. Well done on the nib.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he became optional in 1993

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 12-11-2008
I hunt silence
I really enjoyed this piece Yutka, and am thrilled to see it nibbed and nominated. One bit seemed a bit unnecessary to me, and I thought I'd mention it just for your consideration.

This part, I felt you could probably leave out and still keep the integrity of the piece, "I sit up in a morning of happiness,
no one coming and me going nowhere."

Anyway, just a suggestion and certainly the poem is effective and quite creative.

Blessings,
Jolen


Author's Reply:

barenib on 12-11-2008
I hunt silence
Yutka, I really like this and the 'ideal' part of my head relates to it very much. We all have our dreams of a place to go away from everything. This is very soothing to read and is a poem I shall want to return to, so I'm making it a favourite. John.

Author's Reply:

pencilcase on 15-11-2008
I hunt silence
I agree - a refreshing and invigorating expression that has a big heart to convey your thoughts. I disagree with one aspect of Jolen's comment in that I sensed the impact of...

I sit up in a morning of happiness,
no one coming and me going nowhere.

That really hits the spot for me and the incorrect grammar of 'and me going nowhere' is very effective in expressing your sense of true liberation.

I enjoyed it throughout and find it a worthy nomination.

I think we may be of a kindred spirit, since my latest sub to uka was 'Heather' and you mention heather in yours, and walks amongst it (as I did)...and I spoke of 'raindrop windows' whilst you mention 'rain lashes the windows'!

I also like 'a far away craw from a crow' and this is a bit embarrassing because I can't help mentioning another one of mine on uka called 'Carrion Crow' - the audio of which ends with a rich caw-caw-caw.

Maybe it's bad form to refer to my own poems in a comment on yours, but I mean this in a most positive way to emphasise how I relate to yours.

I think you really capture it with...

I keep on searching for silence
like the one between mother and baby
at the end of a night feed,
or two lovers embracing
without need or demand.

Top stuff - I really appreciated it.

Steve



Author's Reply:
Hi Steve,
Reading my "old" poems after some silence and saw that you sent me such a nice message I never answered! So, after7 years, I finally say thank you! Hope you are well.
Yutka 🙂


Half a circle (posted on: 03-11-08)
...where love touches at a start and touches again at an end...

To set out in spring until walking gets harder, to watch others walk each spring, after the ice, the fog, the rain, we walk through the night, the day; we walk through mornings and evenings. I tell myself I live on moonlight, I live on sunlight I am passing. I think I walk in a circle. Where is the beginning? Where is the end? May be for all of us it is only half a circle, easier to see where love touches at a start and touches again at an end, and when I walk I carry the seeds of life and scatter them to grow into green fields, yellow meadows, red rose gardens.
Archived comments for Half a circle
Sunken on 03-11-2008
Half a circle
Hello Ms. Yutka. My mate Terry lives by a roundabout. He had a lorry smash through his living room once. Luckily he was next door. Perhaps committing adultery isn't such a bad thing?
I'll see your half circle and raise you a whole. I don't know what that's supposed to mean. It sounded clever in my head, but now I see it on screen it looks a bit daft. Ahem. Enjoyed your poem. Thank you.

s
u
n
k
e
n

they met in woolies by the pick n mix

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 05-11-2008
Half a circle
Dear Yutka, i like the sentiment in this write, and think it is beautifully expressed - and :o) i have a suggestion which i think you might resist!! Here it is -

To set out each spring

until walking gets harder,

to watch others walk

after the ice, the fog, the rain,

we walk through the night, the day;

we walk through mornings
and evenings.

ditty xxx


Author's Reply:

littleditty on 05-11-2008
Half a circle
oh -and - howsabout,

'I walk a circle'

lol! 🙂

Author's Reply:
Sorry Nicky, don't get it...Yutka:(

littleditty on 05-11-2008
Half a circle
Hi! -here to be clear - i left two edit suggestions for you -first one was to cut your 4th line, 'each spring' and put each in the first line:

To set out each spring
until walking gets harder,
to watch others walk
after the ice, the fog, the rain,
we walk through the night, the day;

i thought you may not like this idea as i guessed you wanted to emphasis Each Spring - which is why you wrote it the way you did, on its very own line.

then i read the poem again, and thought to cut 'in' from

'I walk (in)a circle'
because it seemed to sound better to me, and
'I walk a circle' - is more like the idea of walking the cycle,
which is what this poem spoke of to me...

just ideas - because i liked reading the poem 🙂 Is that clearer? Sorry if i wasn't clear! xx


Author's Reply:
I am a bit slow, sometimes. Just realized, had forgotten "in". But added "I think" as it makes it clearer. Thanks Little ditty! Thanks for thinking about it! What do you think of the end, do you agree with Jolen?
Yutka:)

Jolen on 08-11-2008
Half a circle
I liked the poem and the premise, but am a wee bit confused at the ending, could just be me though, and should no way reflect on your lovely piece.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

Yutka on 08-11-2008
Half a circle
Thanks, Jolen, nice to comment!
I love the"wee confused"!
Do you think the end is too weak? For me it is just a symphony of colour, that is how I expressed it. That's what life is for me.
Yutka:)

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 08-11-2008
Half a circle
What do i think? hm. i think
'I am passing' in a straight line, counted by the years...
sometimes 'I think i walk in a circle' chasing my own tail, getting nowhere, but,

'May be for all of us
it is only half a circle,

easier to see

where love touches at a start
and touches again at an end, '

and then

'when I walk

I carry the seeds of life

and scatter them

to grow

into green fields,
yellow meadows,
red rose gardens.'

:o)
good poem Yutka - i wonder of all light and shade that is in the life cycle of green fields, yellow meadows, and red rose gardens, and all the symbolism in the colours found there, as emotional spiritual psychological journey, and as stages of life - i wonder if this means i am a poet type! lol -cheers for the read xxx ditty!






Author's Reply:


Pablo Neruda (posted on: 31-10-08)
....together with the Medusa, figurehead of a whaling ship baring her breasts in a long lasting message...

He left some houses and a tomb facing black rocks and the Pacific Ocean, also an unseaworthy boat beached on the veranda, but forgot to take his books, the smell of his herring bone jacket and the sound of his name Neftali. He left a hundred shells, marked with dates and the places he'd found them in, together with the Medusa, figurehead of a whaling ship baring her breasts in a long lasting message, but he forgot the spirits still in the multi-coloured English tumblers. He left many songs and to others a great longing for him pulling the hearts and minds of strangers who feel they have always known him and borrow his eyes for the view from his windows. Yet he forgot to take his memories, his scandals, his love stories and pictures of his women scattered all over his life. He left, you'll find him not only in his poems, but still laughing at the erotica on the toilet seat, or pulling himself up in the roped staircase, or retching from pain in the hollow of his mattress overshadowed by the crucifix next to his sleep.
Archived comments for Pablo Neruda
Sunken on 02-11-2008
Pablo Neruda
He sounds like quite a character, Ms. Yutka. Erotic on a toilet seat... You really shouldn't give me ideas. It seems like the perfect place. Why did I never think of that? By the way, in celebration of your poem, I read it whilst striking a figurehead pose. I even took my top off. The things we do for authenticity. Nice one, Yutka.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he keeps hamsters in the turn-ups of jeans

Author's Reply:


Lizard (posted on: 31-10-08)
....Sit, until time has stopped in the minor keys of your eyes....

Keen-sensed and agile sun-worshiper of the rocky deserts; patient dweller of glittering sands; gliding across stone you change light with dark. For green, in luscious shades, awaits you in your dimensions, where the gnats' dance thrills as much as the spider's flight. Sit, until time has stopped in the minor keys of your eyes looking with flashes of gold at the world's heave and fall. Scale impossible walls on the scent of moisture; then feel your way back to a cove by the waterfall and when in darkness, gorge on the rhythm of minute sounds, as a conductor waiting for the orchestra to begin slows down into patience. Let your infallible senses carry you through singing earth, through murmuring waterholes of uninterrupted music.
Archived comments for Lizard
red-dragon on 31-10-2008
Lizard
Hi Yutka, I can see this lizard from my monitor....
Well written. Ann

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 02-11-2008
Lizard
Another lush piece, Ms. Yutka. Not unlike yourself (-; Ok, I'm flirting. I blame hormones. I may have replacement therapy at some stage. I've just not decided what to replace them with yet. I hope this helps.

s
u
n
k
e
n

his underpants are currently hanging on a door knob

Author's Reply:

Corin on 03-11-2008
Lizard
A lovely piece Yutka - Very D H Lawrencian - right down to the sexual innuendoes!

David

Author's Reply:
David! What are you reading out of my poem! I am amazed!


Just joking...thanks David
Yutka:)

e-griff on 04-11-2008
Lizard
Nice to see your work here again, miss Y. very enjoyable posts.

This one is jewel-like, glittery, catching the feel of a lizard's slowness, and quickness at the same time. They freeze, then they dart ... they don't seem to do anything in between - not the little, sharp ones anyway.

My only qualm, given that you have chosen to arrange this in sentences, is that the first two don't really read sensibly for me, beautiful as they are....
best JohnG

Author's Reply:


Hi John
Thanks for commenting. The first 2 sentences are a statement. I added another line and changed punctuation. Hope it makes more sense for you.
Yutka:)

e-griff on 04-11-2008
Lizard
Yes! that's it now, no qualms any more. But (promise this is last comment) how about a comma after 'green' just to avoid misunderstanding? (you can put one after 'shades' if you like, but I always think a line end can act as a comma anyway ... )

right - I'll hurry off now best JohnG 🙂

Author's Reply:
for me, a coma would not make sense
Yutka:)

e-griff on 04-11-2008
Lizard
don't want to outstay my welcome, but here:

In:
'For green in luscious shades
awaits you in your dimensions'

you could read the first line as some kind of complete statement at first, BUT it is part of a sentence with the verb 'awaits' making 'in luscious shades' a subordinate clause, ie:

For green, in luscious shades,
awaits you in your dimensions.

An author often has difficulty seeing alternative readings a reader might get sidetracked into. That's competely natural. A third-party eye can see the traps that some (even a minority) might fall into. It's the old thing of 'maybe most read it okay, but some don't'. With a quick change, you can make it acceptable to the others as well - without detracting from the art of the whole poem, I think.

end of lecture .... 🙂 very best JohnG

Author's Reply:


Unresolved (posted on: 27-10-08)
...Harsh is the road and relentless that leads us a lifetime in circles....

Unresolved lie the things of the heart, locked rooms, where keys have been lost, or windows closed to the air of spring or books left out in a foreign tongue. Force cannot prise open tight hearts or decipher the symbols in books, for patience must walk at great length through the different levels of pain to reach all dimensions of grief. Costly for us is all love as we price our days in good fortune but are charged for sadness and sorrow. Harsh is the road and relentless that leads us a lifetime in circles living impervious questions in the dust-gathering room of heart space.
Archived comments for Unresolved
Romany on 27-10-2008
Unresolved
There is a kind of reward, a learning, in resolution, even if the conclusions one comes to are heart breaking. But never reaching that resolution must, I imagine, be far more sorrowful still. That is what I took from your poem,

Romany.

Author's Reply:
yes, that is what I tried to convey: the learning curve is winding and difficult, but we all must go through it to evolve

Yutka:)

Michel on 27-10-2008
Unresolved
The thoughts, words and tone mellifluous.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Michel.
Yutka:)

Corin on 27-10-2008
Unresolved
We pay for happiness with sorrow but perhaps you are not saying that, rather that the price of love is always too high?

David

Author's Reply:
I did not say "too high" David, but love is costly and to learn is difficult.
Hope you are well. I just came back from a long trip abroad and have to get accustomed to my surroundings again. Adapt might be a better word.
Yutka:)


The dog whisperer (posted on: 27-10-08)
inspired by seeing hundreds of homeless dogs in Santiago de Chile....

They find you wherever you search old sheds, parks, the city streets the lost, the abandoned, the homeless. Like a kind pied piper, a whistle for a flute you'd pick them up round a shiver of fur and the way home, come, come, what a good boy! Then in the dim kitchen you put up a soak to scrub and soap a bony thing, feel how it heaves and drags under your touch. For weeks you are saviour and nurse, your patience and skill changing a bundle of fear with soft words, the pledge of a full water bowl, marrow bones, You'd stroke a knotty back with knowing fingers, mouthing again and again into wet ears, it's ok, ok, ok wake in the night to a scratch and a howl throw a blanket over all this anguish, clutch loneliness in its trail. Sometimes you're stared at on end, your guests don't move, don't bark, won't respond, their will, leaking from them like a dripping tap, their eyes clouding over, but then again, most will follow you, lap up your whispered words, ears pricked, tail awag tapping into your unique energy full of boundless bounce.
Archived comments for The dog whisperer
Romany on 27-10-2008
The dog whisperer
I am a dog lover and I truly admire those who dedicate their lives to improving the lot of abused and abandoned dogs/animals. The cruelty of some people is unbelievable. I know others will say there are as many, if not more, mistreated and uncared for human beings, and of course that is true sadly, but it doesn't mean we should ignore the suffering of other living souls does it? Nice poem,

Romany.

Author's Reply:
well, I concentrated on dogs.
But of course, we should care for all poor souls, be it children, the old, the weak, the handicapped, etc. The list is endless. But experiencing those sad dogs in Chile, I just had to write about them...
Yutka:)

red-dragon on 27-10-2008
The dog whisperer
As owners of 2 rescue 'mutts', I appreciate this poem! Ann

Author's Reply:
Thanks Ann, I just love animals, be it dogs, cats, birds, you name it. They are such beautiful souls.
Yutka:)

Sunken on 27-10-2008
The dog whisperer
I knew a goldfish whisperer once. I could never hear what he was saying as he wore one of those glass helmet things. This has little to do with your excellent poem though, Ms. Yutka. A tip top piece that I hope many will read and digest.

s
u
n
k
e
n

its not where you're at - it's wear your hat!

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 27-10-2008
The dog whisperer
love this - the flow - i stumbled at this part only, so suggest a couple of commas extra, just for help with meaning there:

sometimes you’re stared at on end,
your guests
don’t move, don’t bark(,)or(;)

their will(,) leaking from them
like a dripping tap
their eyes clouding over

i love this poem's subject mater - skinny riddled dogs is a heartbreaking sight if one is fond of them - and your poem is full of empathy for them, and their ways - enjoyed :o)







Author's Reply:

Yutka on 28-10-2008
The dog whisperer
I neglected the punctuation marks, yes. I confess.
And I thought about your comments and placed them all, carefully. Hope it looks better....and helps the meaning...Yutka:)

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 28-10-2008
The dog whisperer
i read again -i love this poem! (please read it again! - there is either one little mistake or a brilliant thing, and I don't know which!! i wonder what you will do! I'll read it again later :)) xx

Author's Reply:

Mezzanotte on 14-11-2008
The dog whisperer
I used to be a dog lover until my father in law bought my children a puppy, who has since chewed my new wooden staircase and bitten holes in all of our clothes...seriously, he's now my constant companion and very loved, an inspiration for a poem which I intend to submit once rejected from the comptition its probably now floundering in at the moment. Your poem was very sad, yet lovely. I particluarly loved the lines:
their will, leaking from them
like a dripping tap.
Fantastic. And the final stanza, where the dog has to take its energy from the poet, the 'boundless bounce' which is usually intrisic to the dog not the human. Great poem!

Author's Reply:


Retrace me (posted on: 23-10-08)
....the scent of memory

No need for lock and key where I go shadow-less. Torn into blue my shade, mangled and frayed, away from do and don't I disobeyed. No trace of the old house, the winding road, the gate, I left the world you know, behind, below, am now pure energy in ebb and flow. I talk to you, my voice is close to sky and stars, the wind, the breathing sea. When you unlock the past. the scent of memory will be the key.
Archived comments for Retrace me
littleditty on 23-10-2008
Retrace me
- well expressed sing song rhymes have lift off! Starbathing warmth and milky way scented sea breezes to you Captina Yutka :o) xx

Author's Reply:
harsh winds now here, getting cold. Coming from Spring to Autumn....is strange. Did you know Pablo Neruda built his various houses in the shape of boats but he feared the sea? And the breeze...?
Yutka:)

Sunken on 24-10-2008
Retrace me
There's a lot of sea related stuff around these days. Have I missed something? I have a habit of missing the boat, Ms. yUtKA. Did ya see what I did there? That's right, I tried to be clever. The last time I did that I almost lost a leg. Nice poem, ridiculous comment.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he kissed a girl and felt funny (i said 'funny' - was ya ears out!)

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 24-10-2008
Retrace me
Oh bum! I meant 'wash' your ears out. I don't know what's wrong with me today. It's ever since Andrea showed me her tits.



Author's Reply:


Unread roses (posted on: 23-10-08)
...cut the darkness with mind scissors....

It is one of those dark mornings when the rain runs the sky in a frantic race. I am wet and weary and impatient like the wind to open exits you'd never entered. I ignore amber and red lights, cut the darkness with mind scissors, retrace all you said to me in that foul night of red rimmed eyes. Your accusations still scream into my time zone, and I nurse my bruises, violet moons. It is one of those mornings, when the sun is in hiding, when green lights take flight and all the red roses remain unread.
Archived comments for Unread roses
Bradene on 23-10-2008
Unread roses
I like this vey much and can empathise. Love the last two stazas in particular Val x

Author's Reply:
thanks Val!
Yutka:)

discopants on 24-10-2008
Unread roses
Like this, especially the phrase 'violet moons'.

Author's Reply:
Thanks! Yutka:)

Sunken on 24-10-2008
Unread roses
Hello Ms. Yutka. Some neat little lines and phrases in this. It's good to see you back on planet uka. You'll seldom be unread around here I'm sure.

s
u
n
k
e
n

bad girls 3 - polo mints 2

Author's Reply:

artisus on 25-10-2008
Unread roses
yes, a classic one. loved it

Author's Reply:
Wow! Thank you for the "classic", mind you, I was quite happy when I thought of the title, came in a flash...
Yutka:)

Romany on 27-10-2008
Unread roses
Classy piece and a great title.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, my dear friend. It is so nice to get this good comment!
Yutka:)


There are escape roads (posted on: 17-10-08)
....you might run from where you can reach the mountains...

There are escape roads in Valparaiso, all marked. Yellow poppies lighten the way you might run from where you can reach the mountains, the dry face of the Andes. The tsunami might never come, the sea stay calm deciding to sleep just a little longer. Who will know? There are escape roads in Valparaiso, all named and show you where to run from the water that sometimes beats its words filling them with dead and angry wood.
Archived comments for There are escape roads
littleditty on 20-10-2008
There are escape roads
really liked this poem Yutka -as i'm really fed up of dead and angry wood - have you read Neruda's poem on Valparaiso? Well worth a read 🙂 as was this one of yours, cheers 🙂

Author's Reply:
No, I haven't, but just going through one of his books I bought in Chile.

Mind you, I have visited all of his three houses, fascinating museums, but the best I thought was in Isla Negra where he also is buried.
Yutka:)

e-griff on 21-10-2008
There are escape roads
this is haunting. How such a simple fact can form a poem and do that is mysterious. I can't put my finger on why.

well done.

Author's Reply:
thanks e-griff, i found it "haunting" too, when I saw it written "escape routes" underneath several street names, in the centre of a city. It makes you think, life is fragile....
Yutka:)


Atman and Brahman (posted on: 17-10-08)
Atman and Brahman lie at the essence of Hinduism.
Atman is the universal life-principle, the animator of all organisms, and the world-soul. ..Brahman is the unchanging, infinite, immanent, and transcendent reality which is the Divine Ground of all matter, energy, time, space, being, and everything beyond in this Universe


The world-soul runs as a river warped and wild, curving space and time. Its spirit undefined beyond description or approach carries all, it flows through everything reaching for the sea that sustains the universe without thought and language, finite within the infinite, infinite within the finite, Birth and death float the bank of karma only freed by lit beacons.
Archived comments for Atman and Brahman
Sunken on 17-10-2008
Atman and Brahman
That's all well and good, Ms. Yutka, but how does that help me with the digital switchover? It's a worry and no mistake. I blame technology. I do wish the human race would stop progressing. I liked your poem. Believe it or not, I did get something from it. I'm keeping it to myself though as I fear that banking it may result in eventual loss. Did any of that make sense? Thank you.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he swears he's being stalked by a sparrow

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 19-10-2008
Atman and Brahman
I liked this a lot, especially the last verse - very nice!

I did have a problem with
...., it flows
through everything
in reach for the sea
that sustains the universe

'in reach for' doesn't make sense in the context - it could be 'everything in reach' TO the sea or it might be 'it flows through everything/TO reach for the sea ... (or 'reaching for the sea that ....)
or whatever you intended.

I also found the finite/infinite repeat reversal a little too much. I can see yin and yang here, but it might be better to use different words for the repeat

But overall, as I said, nice clear interesting thought.

Author's Reply:
thanks for your appreciated comments. I changed into "reaching" if that makes it clearer. Ref. to the "infinite....at the moment I cannot think of anything other that would express what I think...
Yutka:)

littleditty on 20-10-2008
Atman and Brahman
just a thought, enjoyed the meaning Yutka xx

Birth and death float
the bank of karma
only freed by lit beacons.



Author's Reply:
you are so right! I changed.
love
Yutka:)


My Lover (posted on: 29-09-08)
...as still in wait for passion....

My lover wears his hair as memory. Silver slithers across ivory as still in wait for passion. All he now gets is his wife's naggings. He still brags of helter skelter escapes in fear of my husband, who was lost in his own world behind bookish walls. My husband, his dreams strung like a broken guitar, took to silence, his despair cut losses in the darkness. When I fell pregnant to the wind, my belly billowing out at my waist, red roses grew all over my skin. I held my daughter dark and budding, quiet and slippery like the wedding band on my finger.
Archived comments for My Lover
teifii on 29-09-2008
My Lover
Says a lot in a few words. Very telling images.
This, in my opinion, is brilliant

My husband, his dreams
strung like a broken guitar,
took to silence, his despair
cut losses in the darkness.
Daff

Author's Reply:

barenib on 30-09-2008
My Lover
Yutka - I enjoyed this very much, the last verse is my favourite. This speaks of experiences that are probably a lot more common than we might guess, and captures a lot of the hidden poignancy. John.

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 01-10-2008
My Lover
Dear Ms. Yutka, I am a little shaken as I write this because a bloody big spider just crawled from behind the screen of my laptop. I wasn't scared. I didn't jump like a big girl. I'm a man. I can deal with these things... ahem. Enjoyed the poem.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he's not scared of spiders...

Author's Reply:

Corin on 01-10-2008
My Lover
Well Miss Yutka - I am taken aback - all these admisions of adultery and bastard children on UKA!!!


THis guy Wind must be a bit of a stud. Isn't that how Mary got pregnant with Jesus too?

Where will it all end?

David


Author's Reply:

jay12 on 06-10-2008
My Lover
Adultery - sounds good and bastard children - well I'd rather not be fathering people - bastards or not! nice poem.

Jay.

Author's Reply:


Translations (posted on: 26-09-08)
.....Does language alter with distance?....

At the curve of the river a new language, words higher in sound, a woman's voice singing them in a paddy field. Songs unfold like lagoons the wind tries translating. But the meaning stumbles, sinks beneath rippled water, no proof it ever reached other ears. Does language alter with distance, dangling sounds move underwater like hands picking sea anemones, shells, stones always diffused, always elsewhere, where substance gets lost like flying fish to vanish in a split second? When you just thought you knew you see it gone with the hush hush flow of the river that runs into the sea.
Archived comments for Translations

No comments archives found!
Wild sheep chase (posted on: 26-09-08)
...I feel my skin peels easier than yours...

If you saw me with your eyes, you would not notice. Where I come from, the shadows of loved ones are still tended and we always sacrifice with smoke. I feel my skin peels easier than yours, as my face burns in the winds of South Africa and blisters in the sun of Chile, my dimensions showing like onions, skin after skin, each one new and biting. The world has shrunk in me and around. Where I go, the search for you seems to have stopped, my steps echo in the vast and I use my Gulliver-eyes to question. More and more I get used to the wild sheep chase. Each morning lambs spring out of my head somersaulting with tiny feet. I never tire though to count their blessings, one by one.
Archived comments for Wild sheep chase
Bradene on 26-09-2008
Wild sheep chase
Like the onions, there are many layers of skin to this poem I feel. I like it, I hope your seach continues, as does mine. A lovely poem to make of what we will. Val x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val,
reading your comments in Chile. So far and yet so near to you all.
Cheers,
Yutka

teifii on 26-09-2008
Wild sheep chase
I really like this one; it's sort of mysterious.
I think verse 3, being in present tense requires a matching 'seems' in this line
seemed to have stopped.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Daff, my friend, you are so right! Changed it!
Love Yutka

artisus on 26-09-2008
Wild sheep chase
a poem to experience, to feel, a good, good poem..

Author's Reply:
Artisus, thanks for your nice comment
yutka

Munster on 26-09-2008
Wild sheep chase
Really enjoyed the read lots to ponder lots to wonder.

One to read over again.
Tony (Munster).

Author's Reply:
Happy to read your praise. Thanks
Yutka

e-griff on 26-09-2008
Wild sheep chase
An excellent poem, with many fine images. To selct just a couple - I liked the use of 'vast' and I liked the lambs springing forth immensely, in the wild sheep/goose chase ...

I had a small problem with 'I never though tire to count ', (the 'though') which I think is a small flaw in an otherwise perfect poem.

Nice to see you here again. 🙂 JohnG

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 26-09-2008
Wild sheep chase
Dear Yutka - this got to me, led me emotionally to a search i undertook a few years back, and now in South America, where i was thinking to visit Argentina... love the somersaulting lambs, tiny feet, and, counting their blessings, Gulliver-eyes to question - - i agreed with Daff about 'seems' and suggestion for the last line, keeping 'though' slows the pace well i think:
I never tire though, to count their blessings, one by one.

really enjoyed this evocative write, thanks for the read xxx




Author's Reply:
Sorry, a bit late with my answer... appreciate your comments, always!
Yutka:)

discopants on 01-10-2008
Wild sheep chase
I liked this- thoughtful, with each word carefully chosen.

dp

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much, so glad you liked this poem!
Yutka:)


Where will my heart go? (posted on: 25-08-08)
..now you pay for it....

Your kisses darken my lips. You silenced love when you came, blue, out of paradise. My heart leaps around your street well. Now you pay for it as if to a woman of pleasure, redden the wilted rose of her loins, your half closed eyes a dying sky. The moon has grown old and night does not wake your memories. Where shall I lay my heart? We always bring hearts to each other, united by beating nights. Where will my heart go? Will death throw it down a well, bury it in a garden of stone? I fear the night without stars. The uncountable stars always lightened your blood. Love bloomed from love multicoloured. Where will my wan heart go?
Archived comments for Where will my heart go?
Sunken on 26-08-2008
Where will my heart go?
Ahhh where indeed, Ms. Yutka. My heart once went to Wigan. It didn't say it was going. It just upped and left. I had to make-do with a temporary replacement in the form of an empty cheese and onion crisp packet. I was most put out and no mistake. Anyway, good to see you back at uka. August is notoriously quiet by the way. I blame those pesky school holidays. Nice poem. Sorry 'bout the comment.

s
u
n
k
e
n

ye old computer repair shop

Author's Reply:
thanks, Sunky, for your comment. Feel like meeting an old friend again...
tomorrow I'm off for 3 weeks to South Africa, hope getting some inspiration. And in oct. a wedding in Santiago...You bet there will be some new poems....
Yutkaxx


Nothing has changed (posted on: 21-04-08)
a quiet young girl from a council estate recently committed suicide and people who had befriended her in church were unconsolable, as no one had known how she really felt inside.

Leave Sarah leave. You've come a long way. A life without a job and nowhere to stay. Leave Sarah leave, nothing has changed mother is pregnant, her boyfriend deranged. The time is long gone when you played on the beach. So tired, young Sarah Are your dreams out of reach? An absent father whom you never knew and no one to turn to and nothing to do. Leave Sarah leave.
Archived comments for Nothing has changed
orangedream on 22-04-2008
Nothing has changed
What a sad story and hauntingly told, Yutka. In some ways I can identify. I was brought up on such an estate. They can be lonely places.

Tina

Author's Reply:

Elfstone on 22-04-2008
Nothing has changed
I had a suicide in my family (in fact I wrote a poem about it: 'Isobel') so I can empathise with this.
May I make a couple of suggestions?
- leave out the "and" in the second stanza
"mother is pregnant,
her boyfriend deranged."

rearrange the word order at the start of the third stanza
"The time is long gone
when you played on the beach"

Hope this is helpful 🙂 Elfstone.

Author's Reply:
Hi Elfstone,
I only now read your helpful comments. Thanks. You are very right. Sounds better...But it is such a sad poem I wonder why I put it up. It just expresses sadness and does not help anybody.


Scratch the surface (posted on: 18-04-08)
..think of mothers with the fathers...

Scratch the surface, you will find cracks in waking, cracks in sleeping and holes of another kind. Lift the lid of what you're keeping, look deep down in gaps that matter. Find the bugs in darkness creeping. Start afresh, clean up the crevasse. Think of mothers with the fathers, bring the parents to the surface. Note that families are the cells made up bodies of society Not a pile of burnt out shells or a cancer that grows wildly out of control and haphazardly, that will end in pain and agony. Broken families, unleashed drinkers, drug addiction, truancy, Can't you see it? Wearing blinkers? Family demise spells cancer, serious as crime or terror. We all have a lot to answer. And as grave as global warming it needs modern laws on divorce and on family reforming. Our government is fiddling ''while Rome burns'' only with words, declarations less than middling. Marriages are low held functions while divorce climbs high and higher and the poors' state means malfunction. Scratch the surface, you will find cracks in living and surviving in a world that's dumb and blind.
Archived comments for Scratch the surface
Munster on 18-04-2008
Scratch the surface
This was a worthwhile read, many personal thoughts drawn from your poem.

Author's Reply:

artisus on 18-04-2008
Scratch the surface
Very good poem that expresses your opinion with which I agree, especially with what you say in the final stanza.

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 18-04-2008
Scratch the surface
too true about much- ive so much to say about this that i can say nothing at all here now, your poem says much, and well, thanks for the read - ah! - one thing -in England the National curriculum in schools has some content on parenting and understanding relationships etc in a relatively new subject called PSHE - personal, social, health education, this is such a massive topic, more time should be given to it in schools i think...good poem Yutka xx

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 19-04-2008
Scratch the surface
Hello Ms. Yutka. I read your poem over a strong cup of coffee. To prove your final stanza correct I added a decapitate jelly tot. I hope this meets with your approval. Well done and no mistake.

s
u
n
k
e
n

no one notices

Author's Reply:


Prince of the Skies (posted on: 11-04-08)
Horst Rippert, a German fighter ace just learned that one of his 28 wartime kills was his favourite author

Strange how he arrived at the truth before he went for the meaning sending him deep into the night along his own sandy beach with a quiff of wind, sand and stars. When young he had read the man in between hasty landings and take offs. Has his voice finally risen from the waters lifting him up, little prince of the skies? He'd prepare himself for the true meaning that is invisible to the eyes to understand what lay at the bottom of the sea. Had he not killed 28 of those allied planes and only now learnt of his super kill? And here he is, 64 years late, wanting to know about cause and effect that play on the heart while the ghostly creator still shivers seaweed-entangled, crustacean-encrusted He is walking slowly back, feeling the heat and the buzz of the old Kameraden in the putrid sweat of loneliness. His old legs threaten to give up the nearer he gets to the hull of his fighter plane.
Archived comments for Prince of the Skies
RoyBateman on 12-04-2008
Prince of the Skies
I very much like the way you've woven real people and events into a touching poem - it was the mention of "little prince" that gave it away as Antoine de Saint-Exupery, but maybe it's just as effective if the reader doesn't realise how true the events are. The emotion is quite real enough.

Author's Reply:
When I read about it, I thought how incredible this story is. Imagine! Someone kills unknowingly one's favourite author.... So I had to make a poem of some sort....Great to know that you also are a fan of St. Exupery....You know, he only started to write after having crashed his plane and got a big bump on his head. Mind you, I would not mind this if only to become a great author...
Yutka:)

Sunken on 13-04-2008
Prince of the Skies
I nearly missed this one, Ms. Yutka. I'm glad I had an early morning surf now. I don't know anything about this Antoine fella, but it was still an enjoyable read.

s
u
n
k
e
n

tomorrow the doctors

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunky, I would suggest you get yourself "The little prince" one of the best books ever written, and not many pages so just right for your concentration span....but highly highly meaningful...one of its famous words: the essential is invisible to the eyes, you only see with your heart...
Yutka:)


Who cries to the silence? (posted on: 11-04-08)
...those lost in foreign lands....

Down the river of discarded days nights flow again, all empty. Stars float indifferently past an ambivalent moon. Who cries to the silence? Those lost in foreign lands, who lie unmarked in desert sand or seas cheated by life, the flimsy words they died for now are changed, and all the winds cry out for justice. When silence strikes at souls combustion grows, until a 'blue' is unavoidable, not of this world, no smoke, no flame, only lost voices which the winds kindle and rekindle...
Archived comments for Who cries to the silence?
Sunken on 11-04-2008
What cries in the silence?
You're on a roll, Ms. Yutka, and you taste of beefburger. This is a good thing as I am quite partial to said delicacy. I trust this critique has helped? Another finely crafted piece, in my sunky opinion. Especially liked the rekindling line. Fancy a gherkin?

s
u
n
k
e
n

his left nipple is optional

Author's Reply:

Munster on 11-04-2008
Who cries to the silence?
This piece was a fine read, liked it, liked it a lot.



Author's Reply:

teifii on 12-04-2008
Who cries to the silence?
Well expressed.
the flimsy words
they died for now are changed, -- very telling and so true. It's happening all the time.
Daff

Author's Reply:


The Lovers (posted on: 11-04-08)
...They need no bed for feeling intimate...

This is not what they mean when they say "die for love", or "burnt by fire," more stem a rising flood that reaches high up to the chin, but does not let one die or drown desire. This is what's written as in secret ink. Held up it spells their words in lower tune and makes a mark for walks more firmly in the dusk and in the dark, facing their ghosts, the whisperers of gloom. They need no bed for feeling intimate, just looking at an eye's glint and a lip that only arches slightly, with a hint of strength and does not need a handle there to grip. This is why they hold on, when they fear things to drop or time runs out but play a waiting game, where both will pass the ball like players up unto the end when one's without. This is why they're so quiet when they look at defeat and words have gone. It is the way their eyes are holding on to each other's image, unchanged, complete, till lines are drawn.
Archived comments for The Lovers
Corin on 11-04-2008
The Lovers
So beautiful and so well crafted Yutka - I presume that this is relative to Larkin's Dockery and Son - only much less gloomy than Larkin:-)

Life is first boredom, then fear.
Whether or not we use it, it goes,
And leaves what something hidden from us chose,
And age, and then the only end of age.


Author's Reply:
Thank you, dear friend.

Life can be more than boredom, or fear.
Its like a whirl wind dragging us along
before we know it, leaves but scattered thoughts,
a blown off song...

sorry, no match for Larkin...

Yutka:)


red-dragon on 11-04-2008
The Lovers
Wonderful. As Corin said, finely crafted and worthy of the nomination. Ann

Author's Reply:
Thank you Red Dragon, for your kind words.
Yutka:)

e-griff on 11-04-2008
The Lovers
Overall, this is potentially an excellent poem, very rich in words and imagery, flowing.

But it raised a few questions with me:

Rhyme: I liked the internal rhymes, love/flood, eyes/ slightly, dread/bed for instance. But I was confused by the pattern. In verses 1,3,4,5 you rhyme end line 2 with the last line end. But out/without may be too direct, and in V5 you also rhyme line 3 with 2 and 5. Then in verse 2, you have tune/dread. This last one threw me ('doom' might work instead of dread), as did the others to a lesser extent. I'm just puzzled as to why you did it that way.

Then there are a few things I didn't understand:

There is a slight conflict of the tense of 'die' and 'burnt'

'More stem ...' - I can just about work out that this might be a dramatic protestation of some kind. It would be clearer to say 'more likely stem ... if I read it right, but the tense of 'does' also conflicts with 'stem' unless you replace the 'but' with 'that' . Then again, I may be reading this wildly wrong.

Just looking at an eye’s glint and a lip
that only arches slightly, with a hint of strength
and does not need a handle where to grip.

This seems incomplete grammatically. I was expecting a statement, assuming 'just ... ' was an opening, eg 'Just looking at .... can be enough.' for instance. Hope you see what I mean. I can't see it referring back to the 'bed' line.

and 'where to grip' simply doesn't make sense in the last line. 'for to grip' might fit, but it's not sparkling. 'there to grip' ?

'up unto'? who says that? you might mean 'up until', or better, simply 'until'

'they fear things to fall' -- didn't understand.

'when one's without' - just don't understand this at all.

Last verse: I don't like 'they're' but quickly let me say that is a personal preference, thinking of the tone of the speech in the rest of the poem. Similarly personal, I'd use 'face' defeat rather than 'look at'.

Okay, I've been very critical on this. Reason being I think it's mostly very good. If my comments help, I'll be very pleased. If I've got some things completely wrong, forgive me, please.

best, JohnG




Author's Reply:
Thanks John for your elaborate and appreciated comments. Here is my answer:
My poem has no consistent rhyme, it does not have to be put into a straight jacket, has it?
There are lots of poets who do not adhere to a strict rhyming pattern.
“die for love” or “burnt by fire” are sayings. It does not matter that they are in different tenses, I think.
I do not think you are right about “stem” ( it belongs to: what they mean....they stem....)
May be you are right about "the handle where ..." and I better put "which"
The word “just” is used as “only”. Is that not clear? It is not a full blown statement. It is more as one speaks: just doing this, just doing that. Yes?
They hold on, when they fear….should be clear
'when one's without' - you said "just don't understand this at all"
It’s pretty obvious. Why don’t you understand this?
Re.:'they're' -You are right. It’s personal

You said "I'd use 'face' defeat rather than 'look at'."
I see this as a cliche, prefer "look at defeat"
But thank you again.
Yutka:)





Sunken on 11-04-2008
The Lovers
Well done Ms. Yutka. It's good to see you getting some positive feedback. I shall remain as inane as ever, if you don't mind. It's for the best. The last time I tried to be clever I got arrested. I still say my testicle vent was a good idea tho. Congrats on the nib and nom.

s
u
n
k
e
n



Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunky and thanks for refraining.

e-griff on 12-04-2008
The Lovers
Rhyme: I liked the internal rhymes, love/flood, eyes/ slightly, dread/bed for instance. But I was confused by the pattern. In verses 1,3,4,5 you rhyme end line 2 with the last line end. But out/without may be too direct, and in V5 you also rhyme line 3 with 2 and 5. Then in verse 2, you have tune/dread. This last one threw me ('doom' might work instead of dread), as did the others to a lesser extent. I'm just puzzled as to why you did it that way.

Then there are a few things I didn't understand:

There is a slight conflict of the tense of 'die' and 'burnt'

'More stem ...' - I can just about work out that this might be a dramatic protestation of some kind. It would be clearer to say 'more likely stem ... if I read it right, but the tense of 'does' also conflicts with 'stem' unless you replace the 'but' with 'that' . Then again, I may be reading this wildly wrong.

Just looking at an eye’s glint and a lip
that only arches slightly, with a hint of strength
and does not need a handle where to grip.

This seems incomplete grammatically. I was expecting a statement, assuming 'just ... ' was an opening, eg 'Just looking at .... can be enough.' for instance. Hope you see what I mean. I can't see it referring back to the 'bed' line.

and 'where to grip' simply doesn't make sense in the last line. 'for to grip' might fit, but it's not sparkling. 'there to grip' ?

'up unto'? who says that? you might mean 'up until', or better, simply 'until'

'they fear things to fall' -- didn't understand.

'when one's without' - just don't understand this at all.

Last verse: I don't like 'they're' but quickly let me say that is a personal preference, thinking of the tone of the speech in the rest of the poem. Similarly personal, I'd use 'face' defeat rather than 'look at'.

Okay, I've been very critical on this. Reason being I think it's mostly very good. If my comments help, I'll be very pleased. If I've got some things completely wrong, forgive me, please.

best, JohnG

Reply from Yutka
Thanks John for your elaborate and appreciated comments. Here is my answer:
My poem has no consistent rhyme, it does not have to be put into a straight jacket, has it?
There are lots of poets who do not adhere to a strict rhyming pattern.
“die for love” or “burnt by fire” are sayings. It does not matter that they are in different tenses, I think.
I do not think you are right about “stem” ( it belongs to: what they mean....they stem....)
May be you are right about "the handle where ..." and I better put "which"
The word “just” is used as “only”. Is that not clear? It is not a full blown statement. It is more as one speaks: just doing this, just doing that. Yes?
They hold on, when they fear….should be clear
'when one's without' - you said "just don't understand this at all"
It’s pretty obvious. Why don’t you understand this?
Re.:'they're' -You are right. It’s personal

You said "I'd use 'face' defeat rather than 'look at'."
I see this as a cliche, prefer "look at defeat"
But thank you again.
Yutka:)

This is not what they mean
when they say "die for love", or "burnt by fire"
More stem a rising flood that reaches high
up to the chin, but does not let one die
or drown desire.

This is what’s written as in secret ink.
Held up it spells their words in lower tune
and makes a mark for walks more firmly in the dusk
and in the dark, facing their ghosts,
the whisperers of dread.

They need no bed for feeling intimate.
Just looking at an eye’s glint and a lip
that only arches slightly, with a hint of strength
and does not need a handle where to grip.

This is why they hold on,
when they fear things to fall or time runs out
but play a waiting game, where both will pass
the ball like players up unto the end
when one’s without.

This is why they’re so quiet
when they look at defeat and words have gone.
It is the way their eyes are holding on
to each other’s image, unchanged, complete,
till lines are drawn.


Okay, sorry to come back again (and don't want to be boorish) but I'll explain as I go.

1. rhyme. Of course you don't have to fit any particular rhyme scheme. But, as they say, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's a duck. Four out of five of your verses have a strict rhyme scheme (one with an out of place extra rhyme). One verse departs from the norm. You set the reader's expectations with the first verse. We all like order, we see patterns. You've told us – here is a rhyme scheme. Then in the second verse it goes haywire, THEN the next three go back to the regular rhyme scheme of the first. So 80pc of your poem follows a regular rhyme scheme and the odd one out looks like an error. Changing dread to doom would remove this objection.
THAT's my point. NOT that you HAVE to have one (a rhyme scheme). But you've mostly got one.

2. Okay, I see what you mean about 'stem'. I misinterpreted it, I agree now you have explained what you intended. But, for me it still makes little sense. Do you mean 'more of them' – if so, 'most stem' would be clearer in referring to people.

3. 'which' (handle) does not work either, I'm afraid. 'there' works, as I said, but you might wish to recast altogether if you don't like that.

4. Okay: 'just'. No, that was not clear to me, but I see what you mean now. The problem is partly the full stop after intimate, which effectively disconnects the two thoughts. I'd suggest a comma, and then say 'just to look … ' which immediately connects them. However, 'just to' is hard to say, with the 't' sounds and the rhythm, so I'd say 'only to' as more acceptable unless there's a better way …

5. 'when they fear things to fall' is not clear I'm afraid, unless I am being thick, nor is it grammatic. Think about it. Similarly 'when one's without' . I did say I didn't understand them – what they mean in context, so I'm no wiser as you haven't given me a clue. But in the latter, after several ponders, I think you mean 'left without the ball'. But that really is not clear. 'until one's left without' might be nearer. But there is still a confusion of 'without' (with the meaning 'outside').

6. 'face defeat' may be a cliché, but it's effective. 'look at defeat' doesn't say the same thing at all. Words like 'expect' 'presume' 'imagine' etc might be better than 'look at' …

that's all, best, JohnG ...



Author's Reply:

e-griff on 12-04-2008
The Lovers
sorry. Yutka, I posted the whole bloody lot again by mistake, and this stupid site won't let me edit it.


Author's Reply:


They cannot make it alone (posted on: 04-04-08)
...Love ya lots babe , ur da best...

They cannot make it alone, on the street, in a bus , on the phone How they lean into voices their talk expanding into a full blown noise that deafens the silent stars. A noise that bears messages Flinging junk of words and symbols to keep , to keep , to keep in touch. Words and symbols make way for loneliness. Imprisoned they think only of lock and key: Love ya lots babe , ur da best mangle emotions into text or the void of the noise. They leaf the textbooks of love when they open themselves to the pain of loss, but cannot do without voices as the soil cannot do without rain. Cupping the dark of the night, they cry: Who am I? And the night 's calling back: Who , who ,who , are you?
Archived comments for They cannot make it alone
Romany on 04-04-2008
They cannot make it alone
This, in my humble opinion, is very, very good! I just love it, and I understand absolutely what you are saying. Excellent!

Romany

Author's Reply:
Thanks Romany, I am so pleased. Aren't we all suffering from those phones...
Yutka:)

Munster on 04-04-2008
They cannot make it alone
Really liked this is this the way forward or are we really on the way back.

Author's Reply:
Who knows, Munster, who can tell?
Yutka:)

artisus on 04-04-2008
They cannot make it alone
yep, good and cool!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Artisus, and also for the ratings!
Yutka:)

Sunken on 06-04-2008
They cannot make it alone
Well done on the nib, Ms. Yutka. It suits ya. May I recommend navy blue shoes to offset the dramatic red hue of the aforementioned accolade? I hope this yelps. Yelp! Nice one.

s
u
n
k
e
n

could do with a nap

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 06-04-2008
They cannot make it alone
Nice theme, well executed. Fresh.

suggestions:

your first lines lead the reader to think this is a rhythmic, rhyming poem or a rap. It isn't - it stops there. I suggest removing that inference. (and best and text also have an accidental part rhyme)

'but of lock and key' - archaic phrasing out of character with the poem - suggest 'only of...'

The last line - and this is personal taste only ... I immediately wanted to read: 'Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?'

- s'all! best johnG






Author's Reply:
I am very grateful to you for the thoughts you spent over my poem. As you see I followed one of your suggestions.
About the end: I tried to listen to a night's voice. The night is used to nightly bird calls like oo hoo oo hoo oo hoo... you know what I mean? So I have the night talking accordingly...
Yutka:)

teifii on 08-04-2008
They cannot make it alone
Well deserved nomination. I did fall over 'but of lock and key' and would like to see a change.
Otherwise I think it's brilliant. I really like the rather inconsequential and random rhyming and assonance.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Hi Daff,
Nice to hear from you. As you can see, I changed this "but" and think it sounds better, at least I hope so..
Yutka:)


Crow Land (posted on: 31-03-08)
...the mind must listen beyond sound....

Cool air at dawn makes sound travel further, from the dawn chorus to a blackbird's call, when the crows fly in, growing ink splotches blotting out the patchy rice paper sky. Two carrion crows chase a leveret round makeshift burrows into the coppice, its hide-out now under a dense blackthorn. A wood pigeon and a collard dove flee the chestnut tree in outrageous protest. Limited to human amplitude the mind must listen beyond sound, tune in to higher vibrations for bird meaning. A chase is not all about survival or attraction, but it's life at the edge, as if birds were unearthly and ghost-like, as if wings were hands to urge and wave on the stagnant flow of air, play down tales of crop thieving or fidelity flutters. Crows build their land by circling the treetops with their own crow energy and voices. Crow laws are issued in strong crow language with frontiers laid down in keep-out-pattern still claiming links between life and the dead. Forever, in the east, will be a chase of the sun crow after the white moon hare. Here we have craw-music, tongues in the air, repeated riddles of death and rebirth that furtively live on carrion, sneak iridescence into bleak blackness.
Archived comments for Crow Land
littleditty on 31-03-2008
Crow Land
This is great - well done Yutka and thanks for the read :o) Nicky xx

Author's Reply:
thank you so much, little ditty. This was my second try. I also think my last.
Yutka:)

e-griff on 01-04-2008
Crow Land
when I hit the last verse of this poem, it really picked up energy and imagery. The first two, are by comparison, meandering and s bit dull ( 🙂 ). I'd be very tempted to suggest ditching them and leaving the last verse to stand alone - which it surely could?

best JohnG

Author's Reply:
I feel the first two stanzas are essential for the picture. But thanks anyway.
Yutka:)

artisus on 01-04-2008
Crow Land
I disagree with Egriff, which it surely could not young Egriff.

Yutka I really like this one.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Artisus. Very happy to read this.
Yutka:)

littleditty on 01-04-2008
Crow Land
Where is the nib? i have imagined one there above your poem, looking good - seems silly that it is not there - i am going to have to rate with numbers -i don't like giving numbers to poems unless they are about earthquakes, but this is a 10 just in case the nib people pay any attention to things like that!

Author's Reply:
thanks for the rating. Do I need nibs?

Yutka:)

Sunken on 01-04-2008
Crow Land
I'm with Ditty! She says I smell and that she'd rather I stand somewhere else, but I won't. She'll just have to get use to the great smell of Brut. I can offer you a Bernard. I know it's not quite the same and that he's liable to crap on your carpet, but he means well. Nice one, Ms. Yutka.

s
u
n
k
e
n



Author's Reply:

jay12 on 06-04-2008
Crow Land
This is really great. I wish I could write poetry this good.

Author's Reply:
I felt overwhelmed at your praise. I bet you can if you tried. This poem evolved after quite a while and another first version. I was lucky to find someone who told me what was wrong and I hope this second version is ok. Well, you like it and that is much for me. Thank you.
Yutka:)


Falling apart (posted on: 31-03-08)
..they blamed each other for their wanton past...

Their love ran out like water on the rocks She tried to hold it but it went too fast, as he'd already altered his heart's locks. They blamed each other for their wanton past invading every corner of their senses. She craved a father helping with defences, he for a mother who would tuck him in, both reaching out for sun and moon akin. Their sky came down at night, and with the moon tumbled their happy stars, took the earth strewn with sky high junk. The pain was here to stay. The sky had gone, with it the flock of birds. Light had withdrawn and so had all their words. She stayed indoors and hid herself away, said prayers and her loneliness felt cold. He looked for women and a breast to hold. Then in his search the stars lay in his way Their yellow gold dust made him lust for more as though his heart was made to err, betray. He found the moon rolled up behind the door, unfolded it and wrapped it in his coat. Brought back to health it grew and kept afloat. And, full at last, it had a nipple grown for him to suck it when he felt alone. She looked for father sun and warmth and love and found him in the grasp of other women. She ripped him from their beds, tried to remove his shine and radiance, with great acumen, and hid him in a drawer by her bed. At dusk she brought him out in sunset red and leaned against his colourful outlook. This was the moment when her heaven shook.
Archived comments for Falling apart
Sunken on 01-04-2008
Falling apart
Ahhhh, Ms. yUtKA. If only I had a nipple to suck when I was alone. Some girls can suck there own ya know!? Imagine that... Ahem. A very interesting piece that made me think of... well, if I'm being honest... Nipples. What did you expect though. I am, after all, extremely shallow. I blame leakage. I do apologise for this comment. It's not what I'd hoped for. You deserve far better.

s
u
n
k
e
n

it suddenly dawned on them that italy was over there

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunky,
you know what you do to me?

You leave me speechless....

nobody else commented on this poem. Makes me wonder...
Yutka;0


From the Ashes (posted on: 22-02-08)
..his wings unfurled as blades...

They closed my agate eyes, folded the eyelids over. Stacked the light high. The angel had me ushered to the gate. He took his time with firewood and flint to fill the grate. Gave me assurances, showed me compassion. His wings unfurled as blades, spread out like night. Nothing can spare me now. Nothing contains me now. My life is ashen. From ashes rose the bird, unfolded wings, he flew towards the light fast gaining height. He roared above all skies, above all unknown things to cosmic sunrise where its heaven rings.
Archived comments for From the Ashes
e-griff on 22-02-2008
From the Ashes
some cracjkerjack lines in this !
I loved:

His wings unfurled as blades, spread out like night.

above all skies, above all unknown things

I have a few suggestions 🙂

'eyelid' is one word.
I'd delete 'the' in the light high.
'fill up the grate' is wrong grammatically - perhaps 'to fill' or 'and filled'
I would take out the second 'me now' I just don't think that repetition works. fine without it.
i don't like 'turns' (ashen) rather see a bleak statement 'is ashen'
'soon gaining height' - literally, he has been gaining height since he took off, so I feel 'soon' is the wrong word here. I'd suggest 'fast gaining height'
The last lines are good, but I did find the 'purple hue' rather weak as a finale. Maybe something explosive/changing bright/

I've also just noticed the changes in tense (past/present (contains)) which I can't quite work out ...

Nice images! JohnG


Author's Reply:
I did it! I dit it! Thanks John!
Yutka 🙂 🙂

littleditty on 22-02-2008
From the Ashes
A beautiful Phoenix poem Yutka - like griff, i think 'filled', but of the rest found the present tense worked well - enjoyed xxldx

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Nicky. Nice of you to comment! Yutka:)

Sunken on 23-02-2008
From the Ashes
Yes, another tip top piece Ms. yUtKA and no mistake. I thought I could smell burning when I read it. Turns out my ear was on fire. I must learn to extinguish my fags before storing them behind said appendage.

s
u
n
k
e
n

also available in honey nut clusters

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 24-02-2008
From the Ashes
yes you can (do italics and bold)

just put an i in triangular brackets in front and an /i in the same brackets after. text in bet will be italic!

(I can't type them cos it won't show - er will it?

I can't edit this comment so you are stuck with whatever

here are italics yes --- there!

Author's Reply:


The Other Land (posted on: 22-02-08)
...Another of their young lost to this world.

His sky has no horizon, volcanoes pile around him spewing fire like dragons. Their silver claws threaten to shred him but they cannot reach. When I call him by his old name, they tumble down. A child runs out of a school along the village road. A young man waves to me across the promenade in Nice. A father smiles at his small son. A bloody heap curls by the muddy kerb under a whir of voices. The tank has gone past with the soldiers on the lookout. Grim faced they patrol the main road to Basra. Another of their young lost to this world. I wonder how to end this story, of his last phone call with his words about people drawn into a senseless war still laughing, when the shells exploded. He was felled by the kiss of death. I opened them the door, the street light threw incredulous specks on their dark uniforms. Their eyes in shadow sealing my fate. We are facing each other, we cannot cross borders, for we have to be called. I am here. You are there. Diluted voices. Still we believe in the strength of eyes to perceive a whole picture with its grains and imperfections that we call truth. I am so sad for you, he says. Been just in the wrong place at the wrong moment. If ever... The dragons have clawed my belly. But here sorrow leaks into hollows and the sand dusts the stars. We walk near the fire always and it burns right through any thought. Orange and gold in the air. He searches for words to tell me about the most amazing skies, the colours around him, the emptiness and vastness of his world.
Archived comments for The Other Land
Sunken on 23-02-2008
The Other Land
Powerful stuff Ms Yutka. Certainly deserves more attention. Fave bit for me was -

'...But here
sorrow leaks into hollows
and the sand dusts the stars...'

Well done Ms. yUtKA

s
u
n
k
e
n

he has a certificate for falling

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunky. Nice to hear about your certificate. Don't we all fall at times...
Yutka:)

Aurelio on 24-02-2008
The Other Land


Author's Reply:

Gerry on 24-02-2008
The Other Land
Yutka, we just don't seem to learn --do we?
Powerful poetry...

Gerry.

Author's Reply:
Nice to hear from you Gerry. Thanks.
Yutka:)


If I sang (posted on: 11-02-08)
...I would like to sing like Orpheus....

If I sang I think I would sing of unpolluted rivers and of long forgotten natives, all their peacefulness and good interaction with the earth . I would sing of long lost truths and the things which were held worth I would sing about the youths, absent fathers, absent mothers and that drugs lead to disaster. I would sing about our sons dying in a foreign land and the anguish of their mothers and again of all the others who seek justice to the end. I would bring alive those words: Palaces from alabaster where the rich live undisturbed yet lean hard against the poor, I for sure will add what's missing: lack of love and lack of hope and the shameless politicians who would tell us how to cope, taking funds for their own cause but deprive the state of money, steal from brothers and from sisters filling their own pots of honey. I would sing about old people and the loneliness they feel among brothers, among sisters, these infested wounds and blisters only love and peace can heal. I would like to sing like Orpheus who brought even rocks to cry. With his singing he tamed lions bringing tears into their eye. He brought peace to many things that would listen to his music. Even winds and seas were calming when he sang thereby disarming devils clad in angel wings.
Archived comments for If I sang
orangedream on 14-02-2008
If I sang
Again - Yutka - the most perfect last line:-

'devils clad in angel wings'.

A poem which says much to those who would listen.

Tina

Author's Reply:

Gerry on 14-02-2008
If I sang
Yutka, I fully understand and agree--very well penned...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:

teifii on 16-02-2008
If I sang
Indeed, indeed. And I like the scattered rhymes turning up without seeming premeditated.
Daff

Author's Reply:


The blue and long lost (posted on: 11-02-08)
..childhood ways...

The blue and long lost There runs the pain of school in timelessness. It's haunting still and keeps the memories spinning. When dreams don't come, the school bell's ringing still in the mind, a young boys' choir singing still in the ear, a teacher's torments stringing the scattered beads of near forgetfulness. There is a buried fear still to address that keeps the mind on edge, is slightly clinging... When it slows down, then darkness will be brimming with loneliness. The past is far and yet can every day be fetched from storage where it's put away in yellow heaps collecting dust: Teenager years that pined for love and lust or fears unspoken changing into trust, or loss without a cause, as skies betray winds as they must. And from afar to watch and play while learning to walk erect and stroll around the ground past others with their own dull yearning, blind, running wild in circles round and round. But late at night with little steps returning towards home, where grounds are safe and sound, and sometimes slipping with emotions churning by fears unfound. Much time is spent on mountains with a view or lonely roads or shores where sand dunes spread. A mind tries to make sense, pursue impressions, map them, trace a thread and sometimes reaches a dead end , the blue and long lost childhood ways instead. Where from? Where to?
Archived comments for The blue and long lost
Sunken on 11-02-2008
The blue and long lost
Hello Ms. Yutka. It seems an age since we spoke.... Well, I spoke and you just looked confused. I like your poem. I have read it twice. Once in a low voice and once in a high voice. I am favouring my lower rendition. I feel that scale is very important with regards to poetry reading. Tomorrow I may try my mid range. I hope this helps. Your poem raises many questions. I shall search for answers after eating my latest culinary delight. Yes, I have learned how to cook, Ms. Yutka. Did you know that you can get potatoes in cans? They're great. Two minutes in a microwave (preferably your own microwave) and viola, er... potatoes. Amazing and no mistake. Thank you. Well done.

*Please direct any complaints regarding this comment to Ms. Andrea.

s
u
n
k
e
n

woolworths 2 - argos 6



Author's Reply:

orangedream on 12-02-2008
The blue and long lost
I love the ending of this, Yutka (and of course the rest)!

Particularly liked the lines:-

'... or loss without a cause, as skies betray
winds, as they must.'

Tina

Author's Reply:
Thank you Tina.
Sometimes, though, I would like to know what people don't love about my lines. I am not always sure if I accurately convey feelings by my use of words. But that's probably a constant dilemma that is haunting us poets.
Yutka:)

Gerry on 14-02-2008
The blue and long lost
Yutka, you have sure covered some ground here---well done...

Gerry, xxx.

Author's Reply:
I love your comment, Gerry. "covering ground" appeals to my love of gardening.xxx
Yutka:)

teifii on 16-02-2008
The blue and long lost
Well, I'm afraid I like it to and on my way down to the comments had copied exactly the sakme lines that Tina quotes; they are lovely.
If you want me to be picky, i think you could leave off the last two questions as it ends so well without them.
Daff

Author's Reply:

Romany on 17-02-2008
The blue and long lost
I really like this. Your work, for me, often has an elusive or an ethereal quality to it. This one seems a little different - although still imbued with the yearning quality, there is also a real life, down to earth edge mixed in with the daydream and wishfulness of it and I think it works very well. This is one of my favourites of yours.

Romany.

Author's Reply:

Romany on 17-02-2008
The blue and long lost
Forgot to add, these are my fqavourite lines:

The past is far and yet can every day
be fetched from storage where it’s put away
in yellow heaps collecting dust:

Romany x

Author's Reply:


Sunset (posted on: 04-01-08)
Then room spaced out and spaces became less...

With dazzling light and with a warm caress the land was yours, surrounding you with love, when, in a final act, the sun goddess filled the entire mountain range above only dispersed by the vast squandering sea. Then room spaced out and spaces became less around you and the town, above the trees, above the mountains where grew emptiness. Also your life had changed, the colour dance had lifted, risen, filled the empty spaces until it met the dark and edged out traces of night with the reality of stars offering resistance in a cool white glance.
Archived comments for Sunset
e-griff on 04-01-2008
Sunset
I liked this - the rhyme scheme had me intrigued - is it a particular pattern, or did you just meander? It worked for me.

Now, this might be a stupid question, but did you mean 'mountain range'

Author's Reply:
Yes you are right. A typo. I changed it. It is amazing that of all the 122 people who read my poem only one remarked about it...Thank you so much. I am often much too rushed and should double check...
Interesting that you like the rhyme. Many of my rhyming poems are in a similar pattern. It has been used by German poets in the beginning of the 20th Century.

teifii on 05-01-2008
Sunset
Lovely poem, Yutka. I too was intrigued by the rhyme pattern and assumed it was your own. Interesting about the German poets. Very educational place, this UKA.
It is odd how few people notice typos. I make them all the time but am often astonished how many are left in published work. Saw a glaring one bare for bear in a peize winning poem the other day, which presumably neither publisher nor judges noticed. I blame spell checkers for making writers lazy.
Sorry to stray from poem, which I really liked.
Love
Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.merilang.htm

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 05-01-2008
Sunset
Beautiful Ms. Yutka, just like you. Yes, I'm loved up, but there's nothin' wrong with that. I particularly like the reality of stars line. Very well done and no mistake.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he loves to love

Author's Reply:

reckless on 07-02-2008
Sunset
If there's a poem of yours I don't like, I have yet to find it. This is, to me, mellow, thoughtful and romantic. I liked it very much.

Author's Reply:
Your critique is not reckless as is your name. Well appreciated, reckless you!
Yutka:)


Scent (posted on: 24-12-07)
...the lover who feels has a right....

Who are you, inconceivable delight? How do you find me unexpectedly and close the innermost and heartfelt me revolving in a world that's losing sight? The lover who feels, has a right to love, is far from it, but you alone are closeness in the dark and unbeknown with sudden rainbow colours in the night. Who could see music in a mirror's glance would see and name you, if he had the chance.
Archived comments for Scent
orangedream on 24-12-2007
Scent
What a delightful picture you paint, Yukta.

Seasons greetings and I wish you all the best for the New Year.

Tina

Author's Reply:
and a Happy New Year to you to, Tina...Yutka:)


New World (posted on: 17-12-07)
...winding down to a new world from the known to the unknown...

Rain monsters pissing on corrugated tin roofs belching out from the ground, lift your eyes off the clutter of houses, the gleam of puddles on the dust-dirt road towards the copse of trees. You go back in time. Ferns that are in abundance among the wildwood uncut where giant birds swoosh a dark flight with widening circles, disappearing into the clouds to join tremendous storms that reign from outer space. You are now here. Metal dressed people at the beach, shiny beams strung across the shore, ship wrecked they flounder, wind-swept, vapour-leashed, into a new land waiting for their fate to unfold and that of their unborn children . You will be there. Rock leaves your boots stumble on harsh tracks winding down to a new world from the known to the unknown. You almost miss the three moons, a glow of blue, a faint vermillion, a dark copper. And you go on.
Archived comments for New World
Sunken on 19-12-2007
New World
Love the opening lines Ms. Yutka. Rain monsters pissing on corrugated tin roofs, that's quite an image. Intriguing stuff and no mistake.

s
u
n
k
e
n

always keep the receipt

Author's Reply:
thanks Sunky! Wishing you a happy Christmas!
Yutka:)

orangedream on 22-12-2007
New World
Marvellous imagery, Yutka.

"Ferns that are in abundance among the wildwood
uncut where giant birds swoosh a dark flight ..."

A beautiful concept.

May I wish you seasons greetings and all the best for the New Year.

Tina

Author's Reply:


Become an Indian again (posted on: 10-12-07)
We are proud people but we are invisible

Where buffaloes sleep in the tall grass and the clouds pursue each other over the prairies, there lives the presence of my ancestors. They tell me to seek endurance, catch a butterfly, chase grace as I gallop my horse. I pluck the butterfly from the sky, rub its wings against my heart, and ask for swiftness and courage. We are proud people but we are invisible to the outside world. I touch my grandfather's arm and his skin is smooth as the earth's surface and in passing the bow, he returns his love. My elders put my heart in front of theirs lifting it to a better life. I spring out the soft glow of fire, clean my spirit, for pride and ignorance have led me away from my people and our past. We have lost the way that has brought us here, so I sit with the old one as he sings, as he dances, as he is silent and become an Indian again.
Archived comments for Become an Indian again
littleditty on 10-12-2007
Become an Indian again
Hi Yutka, i have been writing about this - and it was mostly ugly - where yours is beautiful poetry- a charming write, much enjoyed in an uplifting butterfly kind of way :o) xxldx

Author's Reply:
Hi Nicky, I would not think you could write anything ugly....and thanks for your nice words to me!
Yutka:)

orangedream on 11-12-2007
Become an Indian again
Oh I like this, Yutka and agree entirely with ld.

Tina 🙂

Author's Reply:
thanks Tina! I like to think that we all have an Indian inside..,
Yutka:)

Sunken on 12-12-2007
Become an Indian again
Hello Ms. Yutka. Especially like the butterfly reference. I like butterflies. Did you know that they only live for 24 hours? This still doesn't explain why I've never seen one at night though. I think you'll agree, this is yet another useless comment. Nice poem.

s
u
n
k
e
n

beyond the sullen

Author's Reply:
thanks Sunky, I treasure your comments useless or not.
Yutka:)

Zoya on 13-12-2007
Become an Indian again
"I pluck the butterfly from the sky,
rub its wings against my heart,
and ask for swiftness and courage"

Dear Yukta, I love these lines!

Yes, we do forget to value our legacy at times;
The old cultures were deep, soulful and contemplative, with a lot of 'age old wisdom'-
It is worth going back to them;
and become yourself again.

I am nominating this piece, it deserves to be i the Anthology!
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:
So nice, Zoya, to hear from you and be appreciated. Thank you so much!
I hug you back.
Yutka:)

teifii on 15-12-2007
Become an Indian again
Absolutely brilliant. A fav for me and if it wasn't alreadt done I'd have to nominate it.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Hi Daff! Lovely hearing from you. Wishing you a lovely and merry Christmas! I hope you and all your animals are well. Thinking of you!
Yutka:)


Hopi Dreams and the red star Kachina (posted on: 30-11-07)
There had been a writing in the stars...

Before the storms broke there were forecasts. Three children on the way to the fields were carried away by the flood. A woman tending her orchard was killed by a stone wall, blizzards rushed out of nowhere. The prairies were flattened by an angry wind.. There had been a writing in the stars Our ancestors had translated away in time. In their earlier days, there were floods too, and sickness, sudden death from fever, tragedies with no name all the reasons were there: failure to trust in the Great Spirit, selfishness and lack of love for one's brothers, unkept promises to lead a simple life. Repeated and repented since Maasau had breathed life into man, cause and effect in perpetual change, knots looping back throughout generations. Now we fortify our houses with sand around our walls and move by canoe through the newly sprung waterways. Our daughters think it strange to paddle where once the roads were leading to their school, their playground, now totally submerged. There runs a fast flowing river, dangerous in its currents. Suffering and fear keeps many holding on to the shore but the elders say let go and swim, with your eyes open and your head above the water and praise the courage of those who swim with you and celebrate. We are not important as we are just uniting in one spirit and harmony, where all living belongs to. The time of the lone wolf is over. Let us not struggle but celebrate and touch and dwell on our Hopi dreams by living a simpler life in love with our brothers. For when the red star Katchina, lights up the sky, we will be ready. Our souls rejoice, our bodies are prepared for the long journey. The day will come when the wingless ship touches down for us who hold the earth sacred and fly us home to a safe new world.
Archived comments for Hopi Dreams and the red star Kachina
e-griff on 01-12-2007
Hopi Dreams and the red star Kachina
Ah! But will Pahana come from the east with the fire-stone and bring peace? Or will Spider Woman lead the good to the fifth world? Only the Kachinas may know ... 🙂

I liked the way (for me) global warming etc seemed to be blended in ... the fate of the world, not just the Hopi.

Author's Reply:
Thank you. I am glad someone noticed....we are all into it together. Did you watch the recent tv Earth about the glaciers? Awsome!
Yutka:)

Corin on 01-12-2007
Hopi Dreams and the red star Kachina
Yes Yutka the writing is everywhere - on the walls in the stars - but not in he White House, so the storms and blizzards and winds and rains will come.

THis line:-

"now totally emerged. "

Did you mean "now totally submerged. "?

WArm Wishes

David



Author's Reply:
Thank you David! You are right! How could I..... seem to be confused lately. Not only my words, but my driving too...had a little crash but ok.
Nice to hear from you again. So glad!
Bye bye
Yutka:)


DriveTech UK (posted on: 05-11-07)
When you have committed a driving offense in the UK, you have the choice of doing a course in road awareness, or go to court. On hind sight I think this is a marvellous scheme and should be obligatory for any driver after a certain length of years even if there had been no accidents.

Queuing at the barracks to have our driving skills checked, we make a group of miserable looking people dressed in khakis, browns and blacks, some of the elder women with jewellery making a stand: we shall prove ourselves! The younger ones casual, one teenager with one earring, the men in trainers. Their clothes duller than their normal outfits, jeans in tatters where you follow the holes, no piercing involved. We are on edge, raising the stakes by trying to look cheerful, even cooperative to the faces of the presenter, our instructors, to each other. Like lambs to the slaughter or keeping emotions at bay: show determination after the accident, look how brave we are, we will learn, we will improve. Except for the bandaged woman, not yet recovered from the shock of three generations nearly wiped out by one wrong move, her large eyes still asking and staring as in another time zone, as if still covered in blood.
Archived comments for DriveTech UK
Jen_Christabel on 05-11-2007
DriveTech UK
Most of this was humourous, and then we get to the last stanza; chilling.
Nicely done.
Jennifer x

Author's Reply:
thanks Jen. The experience was not funny, I can tell you...the observations real!
Yutka:)

Gerry on 05-11-2007
DriveTech UK
Yutka, If no one was allowed a driving license until they were seventy--there would be no accidents. lol.
A driving license is a privilege not a right, some people just don't appreciate this point. Yes the point struck home...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
thanks Gerry... it is hard to swallow, but you are right!
Yutka:)

delph_ambi on 07-11-2007
DriveTech UK
Strong writing, with an excellent and moving ending.

Author's Reply:

Bradene on 07-11-2007
DriveTech UK
A great poem with a powerfully stunning message at the end. Well written. Val x

Author's Reply:
Yes, Val, rather a sad message, but I hope poignant. Thanks very much for your comment and ratings!
Yutka:)

reckless on 08-11-2007
DriveTech UK
It did take me by surprise, the ending, and it certainly leaves an impression. A powerful message, well put.

Author's Reply:


Yellow bird language (posted on: 02-11-07)
but my signs are in a language they cannot understand.

A change of scene brings foreign yellow birds, exploring the hedge and the dustbins, landing on the lawn like petals. I approach one and try coaxing it on my hand, but my signs are in a language they cannot understand. Its movements are windswept, suggesting another climate, gushes of wind, an ominous sky. I keep my distance: back off, somewhere beyond the garden wall and the rose hedge. I follow the bird sounds and am followed by specs of yellow, when I leave through the gate, across the path, past the lake. Then I'm lost in a maze of bracken and boarded-up sheds, an old swing with a broken seat, a rotten tree stump. The twitter of yellow birds overhead never ceasing. I want to reach them, teach them my signs and learn their language. The old gardener shrugs. Ask the barn owl- he's not from around here either, but might translate. He leans forward on his rusty old spade, scratches his neck, squints a long moment. He speaks, and the wind blows in reply. Petals tumble down, my scarf strung around my neck flutters and flaps in an eerie breeze. And here they come: a flock of yellow birds circling, out of the blue, settling like songs on the old man's coat, his boots, his cap, his raised arm.
Archived comments for Yellow bird language
Bowlie on 02-11-2007
Yellow bird language
Hiya,
I really enjoyed this, you've painted a beautiful picture-
I think my favourite line is 'landing on the lawn like petals'
wonderfully observational, you know I'm a sucker for bird poems, but this one is a standout.
beks:)

Author's Reply:
Thank you so much Bowlie. I am crazy about birds too! My bird poem: I had a bird with an ugly voice...has just won a prize in a competition. It's a funny poem, at least I hope so.
I had once a cockateel called kOJAk (bald patch on its head) that was so tame. It never left my shoulder even when I was going for walks and did love-dances on my arm, wings outspread, turning turning like in a trance...I had him for 15 years....
Yutka:)

Jen_Christabel on 02-11-2007
Yellow bird language
What a lovely piece!
Jennifer x

Author's Reply:
thanks, Jen! Much appreciated.
Yutka:)

orangedream on 02-11-2007
Yellow bird language
'Settling like songs
on the old man's coat ...'

Pure poetry, Yutka.

A wonderful poem, which I enjoyed very much.

Tina

Author's Reply:
So glad you enjoyed my poem Tina!
Yutka:)

Slovitt on 02-11-2007
Yellow bird language
Yutka: Pretty damn good. Wide, and deep, and rich. Your last two stanzas, and I won't quote them, are outstanding, but then so is your whole piece. Perhaps 'rusty spade' is sufficient and 'rusty old spade' not as good. Beyond that, your only missteps seem to me when you the poet intrude, 'I want to be understood, teach them my signs/and learn their language'/, and then again, in what comes across as precious, 'Ask the barn owl--/he's not from around here either, but might translate.'/. I would cut the two couplets I've just quoted as they don't add anything, and break the run of poetry that the rest of your poem is. And now I must, after all, quote your fine last lines,

And here they come: a flock of yellow birds circling,
out of the blue, settling like songs on the old man's coat,
his boots, his cap, his raised arm.

You understand the necessity for imagery, and you employ it well. A very good poem. Swep

Author's Reply:
Hi Swep,
Thank you for spending time and thought over my poem.
I am not sure what you are actually saying. Do you want me to omit the lines:
I want to be understood...and Ask the barn owl...? I think it would alter the meaning of my poem. Isn't it about different consciousness on adifferent sides, unpenetrable for each side, but somehow, sometimes, both unite and there is magic...that's what I wanted to say.
Ref. rusty old spade...it justs sounds better when you speak it and stresses the point.LOve
Yutka:)

ruadh on 03-11-2007
Yellow bird language
Great imagery in this, loved it.

ailsa

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Ruadh for your lovely comment.
Yutka:)

Slovitt on 04-11-2007
Yellow bird language
Yutka: Okay, perhaps

I want to reach them, teach them my signs.

The old gardener shrugs.

Ask the barn owl, he might translate.


The lines I'd suggested omitting are still something I'd suggest you look at paring, making less intrusive by the poet in the first case, and, I'm assuming the gardener is saying 'ask the barn owl,...' perhaps refining it to as simple as statement as possible in the second case. So, find above a suggestion. In closing, I must say that you have created a universe of birds, and one in which you move easily. Swep

Author's Reply:
I changed the line , your suggestion is brilliant, like it! I am still pondering about the barn owl, as I want to stress that it is also a foreigner but has so much better skills....Thanks anyway for your great comments. And yes....I love the idea of a bird universe....invites for a poem, doesn't it?
Yutka:)

Jolen on 05-11-2007
Yellow bird language
Bravo, Yutka: Marvelously rich and memorable! The 'Settling like songs on the old man's coat ...' swept me away. Simply beautiful!

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
thanks Jolen. The end a little sentimental....but it works....
Yutka:)

teifii on 06-11-2007
Yellow bird language
It's magic, pure magic.
Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/gallery/books/shop.merilang.htm

Author's Reply:
Hi Daff, How are you going...in the Welsh mountains? Thanks that you came along to read my poem. You probably, like me, love the birds.
Take good care of yourself
Yutka:)

teifii on 23-09-2008
Yellow bird language
Hi Yutka,
It all went very well in spite of a very small audience [6 -and 5 readers!]. Everyone loved this one. I didn't do forced dreams as the programme at one point was too loaded with serious ones and I had to add several funny pieces for balance. Thanks for letting me use this.
And yes, I love birds. I have a multiple feeding station right outside my study window so I can see themas I work. Have just installed a seed feeder [niger seedes] to try to get goldfinches. There use to be lots in my lane until the year of Chernobl. I think the radio active cloud that hit our mountains and made the sheep dangerous must have got them. So far all the usual residents are still eating peanuts.
Daff

Author's Reply:


Hopi Prophecies or when the blue star Kachina dances in the plaza (posted on: 26-10-07)
(when the earth will rock to and fro, the white man will battle with those who know the wisdom. After disease and death the seed of wisdom in the hearts of men will grow and help paving the way into the fifth world.)

Fight mind against matter, when Saquasohuh The Blue Star Kachina dances in the plaza and removes his mask! The children were laughing, when the great flood receded. Great Spirit, we promise you, they said, never to turn away from you. We will look after the stone tablets you gave us, guard, protect and hold them in trust, until you return, as the past grows longer, and the future grows shorter and you say: I am the First and I am the Last. Fight knowledge against ignorance, when Saquasohuh the Blue Star Kachina dances in the plaza and removes his mask! The children were dying, when the white men took our lands in their spinning wheels, filling them with their voices. They struck us with thunder, killed our buffaloes and overran our prairies with their own long-horned beasts. They criss-crossed our plains with giant spider webs, fed fire to snakes of iron and travelled on barren rivers of stone. Fight wisdom against folly, when Saquasohuh the Blue Star Kachina dances in the plaza and removes his mask! The children will be watching, when the sea is turning black and many living things are dying. Columns of smoke will rise skyward and our totem poles will speak to whoever will listen. There is a dwelling-place in the skies that shall fall with a great crash. When the blue star is born, the ceremonies of our people will cease. Fight spirit against flesh, when Saquasohuh the Blue Star Kachina dances in the plaza and removes his mask! The children are crying, when Kachina is showing his face The end has come, no more faith in the old, for Oraibi will mark a new circle of Hopi life. The men from the east will go to war and destroy the southern lands and people. But the Hopi land will remain, where a shelter is heart peace, for brothers are one without evil. Rejoyce, Hopi children, open your eyes and take notice, when Saquasohuh the Blue Star Kachina dances in the plaza and removes his mask! For Maasau, Great Spirit of all Spirits, who travels under the guidance of stars, will bring the virgin with butterfly hair riding in a dome-shaped craft. The day of purification has come, when the Blue Star Kachina rises in the heavens, the Fifth World will emerge. Then we true Hopis will fly to other planets in ships without wings.
Archived comments for Hopi Prophecies or when the blue star Kachina dances in the plaza
Jolen on 28-10-2007
Hopi Prophecies or when the blue star Kachina dances in the plaza
I think it's incredible that you tackled such a beautiful theological and spiritual ideology and did it wonderfully. I enjoyed this and again am impressed with the seeming ease you maintain control of the 'theme' throughout.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Jolen. The story and prophecies of the Hopi Indians are truely amazing! And very visual too. Can you imagine the butterfly maiden appear in a wingless ship?
Love from Yutka:)

Griffonner on 28-10-2007
Hopi Prophecies or when the blue star Kachina dances in the plaza
I read between the lines of this, something that is much more immediate, current, than at first might be seen. A very competent and skillfully constructed piece. Congratulations.


Author's Reply:
You are very right with your comment. That is what made me pick up this legend. Isn't it strange, that there is such a foreboding, a feeling for many of us, that something is going to happen , soon, in our world. The calendar of the Mayas says that it will stop in 2012....
Yutka:)

teifii on 30-10-2007
Hopi Prophecies or when the blue star Kachina dances in the plaza
A lovely poem, Yutka. Made me feel I must find out more about the myths of the native Amaericans. I'm quite ignorant of them.
Daff
butterfly hair -- amazing image.

Author's Reply:
Hi Daff, Hope you will. The Hopis are ever so interesting. It might even inspire you to write "Hopi"
poems....and thank you for your interest.
Yutka:)


Weather pattern (posted on: 19-10-07)
...apart from staying in bed a lot of the time....

Their love life often is turbulent, almost electrifying, for they both adore to dress like the sky, so that they become invisible to people. Then nobody tells them what to do and they walk on cloud nine. Apart from staying in bed a lot of the time, they go shopping, admire their sky blue reflections in the shop windows, giggle about the birds coming down on them, then flop in surprise. When things get too hilarious, they cannot stop laughing; their temperatures rise and they easily become locked in a repeating pattern. People keep staring, unsure of the outlook and guess an upcoming tornado. Police issue storm warnings. The postman ties his parcels tighter with twine. The betting shop doubles its wagers on weather conditions and the publican closes the shutters early asking the drinkers to leave. Traffic slow-downs caused by flash floods. Bolts of lightning oscillate from the couple, alternating with a hard blowing wind. They are calming down now, keep their hands off each other. Still a soft thunder rumbles out of his trouser legs and the moon rises and falls underneath her dress. The forecast is patchy with an easing of the stiff breeze.
Archived comments for Weather pattern
Slovitt on 19-10-2007
Weather pattern
Yutka: Rich, muscular lines, and a well carried out conceit.
In the first line of your third stanza perhaps 'Traffic slow-downs' would be smoother, and there's a typo 'Bolts of lightening' should be 'lightning'. And is 'emerge' leading off the second line of the third stanza the word you want? An energetic, strong piece of writing. Swep

Author's Reply:
Hi Slovitt, Thank you for your constructive chriticism, changed two but still am thinking about "emerge" . May I ask if you have a suggestion? I just cannot find one, may be, I am just an ignorant foreigner...

Yutka:)
ps do you mean "concept"?


Slovitt on 19-10-2007
Weather pattern
Yutka: A 'conceit' in poetic terms is 'a fanciful poetic image, especially an elaborate comparison and 2. a poem or passage consisting of such an image'. 'Conceit' is a term in favor with a couple of the writers with whom I interact and not a term I use very often, but there its definition is. Perhaps 'flash from the couple' as an alternative to 'emerge'.
Swep

Author's Reply:

freya on 21-10-2007
Weather pattern
My dear Yutka, this is a delightful read!

I agree with Swep; clever, clever conceit, or idea. You make an ingenious comparison between weather and this couple. Where the heck is that nib fairy?

Just love these lines:

When things get too hilarious, they cannot stop laughing;
their temperature rises and they easily become locked
in a repeating pattern. People keep staring, unsure of the outlook
and guess an upcoming tornado. Police issue storm warnings.
The postman ties his parcels tighter with twine.

And your ending is ACE:

They are calming down now, keep their hands off each other.
Still a soft thunder rumbles out of his trouser legs and
the moon rises and falls underneath her dress.
The forecast is patchy with an easing of the stiff breeze.

I would suggest you consider splitting this up into shorter stanzas, though. It's a bit dense and crowded for the eye to take in, at least to me. Perhaps a line break after every fourth would work?

Thought here : their temperature rises

needed a grammar check; should be 'their temperatures rise' - unless you intended to convey that they are so close their temperatures rise together, as one?

and here: Bolts of lightning
oscillate from the couple alternating with a hard blowing wind.

needed either punctuation, or some other small change in the sentence structure, to clarify what you mean. A comma after couple?

Lastly, I'd definitely isolate your ending lines. They are a blast, and surely deserve the send off:

Still, a soft thunder rumbles out of his trouser legs
and the moon rises, falls underneath her dress.
The forecast is patchy, with an easing of the stiff breeze.

Nice, Yutka. Very nice. 🙂 Shelagh

Author's Reply:
Oh Shelagh, thank you so much for your most thoughtful comment. I take it all to heart, you are right with everything you suggest ( I wondered about the density of lines already) and I think it is now "easier for the eye" as you so rightly put it.
Have a lovely day.
Yutka:)


The Boy (posted on: 15-10-07)
...where he was master and also a servant of a white life that did not offer choice...

When young he did not seek out shells for beauty, for he was one with them, from the same world. The scent of hyacinths did nothing for him nor did he value mirroring his face. Yet all his days were as they had been opened and spread out like a valley, oval-shaped, where he was master and also a servant of a white life that did not offer choice for one who often did something improper. But not for long he took a winding path. He longed for knowledge of himself and others, to learn to find the words when coming home. Before they tamed him, told him what was proper, he drank some of the flood with bitter taste. Then he recovered in a strange light mood and walked along a shore in emptiness. He picked up shells buried beneath his feet and carried hyacinths in his long hair. He knew about their beauty now and also of a great life embellished and in style. With a faint smile he dropped the flowers soon, because he saw the prison in all things and through the prison bars he watched his fate, his beautiful and unknown destiny.
Archived comments for The Boy
Romany on 15-10-2007
The Boy
for he longed knowledge - should that read 'longed FOR...?'

An interesting poem. It spoke to me of the awakening from childhood and the realisation of the real world about you, in which process you invariably lose a little of your innocence.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Romany, You are right. I have changed it. I based this poem on someone I know, but as you say, many could find traces that reminds them of their own growing up.
Yutka:)

teifii on 16-10-2007
The Boy
Very interesting and mysterious. Love the images.
I was a bit thrown by

He longed for knowledge of himself and others
and learn to find the words when coming home.

longed for --- learn doesn't work grammatically.

Really intriguing poem though.
Daff


Author's Reply:
you are right, Daff, I forgot the "to", changed it now. Is it ok?
love Yutka:)


How many angels (posted on: 15-10-07)
..can dance on a pin head...

How many angels can dance on a pin head? And how many love bites are meant as a love threat? And when is a lover considered a sinner? And how far to go to make him a winner? Angels are spirits and do not need matter. Lovers need passion to make sinners feel better. Passion beats sin for winners fly high to dance on a pin head in the pinnacle of sky.
Archived comments for How many angels
pencilcase on 16-10-2007
How many angels
The question of how many angels there can be on the head of a pin, or rather the fact that this question was taken so seriously, is fascinating, and something I might write about myself one day. I'm interested in this from an historical pov, but you use it to make your own point about love and passion - and that cannot be a bad thing in a world of fear and loathing!

In the end, it doesn't really matter how many angels you can get on a pin...it is perhaps more important to see them in the trees on Peckham Rye, or maybe somewhere else...

Steve

Author's Reply:
oh Steve,
you talk after my heart and to the point! Glad that you, like me, find this question (earnestly discussed!) fascinating...my son mentioned this over breakfast and I thought, I should write about it, even light heartedly...it is such a wonderful question.
Yutka:)

teifii on 16-10-2007
How many angels
That's a really cleverly woven piece. I read it several times and kept finding more in it. Lovely.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Daff, you are kind and sweet and generous with your praise. What can I say? Thanks!!!
Yutka:)

eddiesolo on 17-10-2007
How many angels
I agree with Daff, a clever piece. Really enjoyed reading this-great stuff.

Si:-)

Author's Reply:
Hi Si,
Thank you uch for your encouraging words. I felt a bit sheepish to put it up....
Yutka:)

Jolen on 19-10-2007
How many angels
Hi Yutka:
Yes, this is clever, and very much like 'passion' itself, in that it builds nicely and reaches a beautiful climax, as it were.

Blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
thanks Jolen, for your lovely words...isn't passion great when it's real?
Yutka:)


The love nest (posted on: 01-10-07)
...was it the swift movement of birds?....

Joy came to him far from memories, where sea gulls, lost in flight, crossed the dusk between wind and rain, the rocks and the sand and the loneliness of the cliffs. Now without the sea and the barn with its tufts of smoke, now far from the old tavern of blackened walnut wood with sunlit copper, the smugglers, the luck and gratitude, angel bread, burnt sugar, the smell of distilled alcohol - Was it the swift movement of birds, was it the voice of the wind that led him towards.... I still see you, love. It is love that did not make sense when I lived without realising your way of looking at the wind, the waves. You heard laughter in the screams of the gulls. You saw spiders and felt music, far from my days watching doors surprised by their certainty always to open at a pale dawn without darkness but moonlit water and soft sounds. I recall your face without remorse. No mental scars, no hope, no secrets, already free of your flesh, away from the lonely lie, with innocence intact and a lover's lasting silence. I still see you, love. It is love that does not make sense, the glitter on the foam of a wave how it arrives at our love nest, enters the harmony of the open roof, climbs the rain drenched acacia tree, leaps from the wings of the gulls into the hand of old John sitting in his back yard where he raises his glass with sheer happiness and when Sally comes running wild with kisses, it lights up her bangles and cleanses me from hopelessness. And I still see you, love. It is love that drove me senseless. Lift your face into the wind with the promise of spring, the jubilant fruit of your body, lovely in smoothness and shyness, when night falls and the sky grows and the sea turns intimate, when happiness revives, far from memory, the pain and the truth, that once was ours.
Archived comments for The love nest
teifii on 01-10-2007
The love nest
This is a favourite for me. I like all the concrete pictorial images among the more abstract whole. Makes me feel I want to know more like when a favourite book finishes.

Author's Reply:
thanks Daff! It is just a little romantic poem, trying to capture a man's feeling about his past.
Yutka:)

Romany on 01-10-2007
The love nest
This seems to me to be heartfelt; i.e. a series of thoughts, feelings and expressions that you have held within you and have finally begun to pin down on paper, as it were. If I am wrong, forgive me, but this poem has a truthful quality, an earnestness and a sadness/delight/realisation that makes it a real pleasure to read.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Hi Romany, Lovely to hear from you again! I am glad you like my "ballad" that's what I intended to write: of a man's past love and his realisation.
Yutka:)

Sunken on 02-10-2007
The love nest
The ladies have summed this up far better than I could Ms. Yutka. I shall do you a favour and keep my mouth shut (-: Nice one.

s
u
n
k
e
n


Author's Reply:


Inebriating (posted on: 28-09-07)
..and with those fires in the night...

I sometimes will ask the night to shut out the world or prevent the arrival of dawn, as I don't want morning to come, for nothing decides it, not the moon, not the sun. Dreams cannot be seen as they seem far off at the stars, for a day manifests itself and does not reveal nightly intervals of sudden day breaks filled with light and white birds. Something in their flight is inebriating, not with presence but distance; the purity of stars singes the trees, burns my body to the core. What else to do but throw myself into space? And with those fires in the night fades the glow of futile days. I rise, never to look or listen downwards, let shadows open their light, let morning escape in the twilight.
Archived comments for Inebriating
Jolen on 28-09-2007
Inebriating
This was a beautifully melancholic piece. Great images and very nice rhythm to it. I especially enjoyed the second and fourth verses.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolen, nice words from a great chritic!
Yutka:)

silversun on 29-09-2007
Inebriating
Reading through, I always thought I was with it, even managing to keep up when you threw yourself into space, but then you hit us with two lines at the end that made my head spin. Obviously such reactions are personal, but 'I rise,/never to look or listen downwards' and '...let shadows open their light' took me on a trip. I have no idea why or exactly where, nor do I need to; that it did is enough; '...to listen downwards' is a wonderful thought.
James

Author's Reply:
I appreciate your thoughtful comments, Silversun. Thank you so much.
Yutka:)

teifii on 01-10-2007
Inebriating
This conjures up the feeling of a positively psychodelic dream, Don't know if it was a dream or just imagination but the description is brilliant. The ending I find especially effective.
Daff

Author's Reply:


Song of the frog princess (posted on: 24-09-07)
...where I kiss you as frog...

Whisk me away to an old fashioned dance, where oldies jump high and move as in trance, where frogs turn to princes when given the chance. Whisk me away to an old fashioned dance! Bounce me over a tumbleweed rock, where the lake is a mirror and frogs sit to croak, where midges do headstands and gnats will provoke. Bounce me over a tumbleweed rock! Whistle me under the beaten old trees, where I kiss you as frog and you call me a tease, where summer is all about honey and bees. Whistle me under the beaten old trees! Nibble my ears and wobble my hips with marigold posies and honeysucked lips. Where frogs sit in ardour and tell of their trips, nibble my ears and wobble my hips. Pull up my blankets and switch off the light, play water music to spangle the night. Let me peep dreams to offer delight. Pull up my blankets and switch off the light
Archived comments for Song of the frog princess
Macjoyce on 27-09-2007
Song of the frog princess
This is a wonderfully energetic poem with great rhyme, metre and a repeated structure, and some top phrases like “where midges do headstands” and “play water music to spangle the night”.

There’s just a few things I’d question:

The repetition of ‘old’ in the first two lines, it’s a bit clumsy.

How do the gnats provoke?

Peep? Peep is an intransitive verb, it has no object, but you have given it one, ‘dreams’, which doesn’t make sense. What do you mean by peep?


Author's Reply:
thanks Macjoyce,
well, "oldies" and "old-fashioned" are for me two different words. If you feel it clumsy, so be it.
Have you ever been bitten by gnats? That's how they "provoke".
And lastly "peep"....I might have stretched language a little, but my friends, who are English all said, when I asked them about it, that tey did not feel it was too akwardly sounding. And they understood the meaning..But of course, you told me what you thought., and rightly so. I am grateful for your thoughts.
Yutka:)


teifii on 06-10-2007
Song of the frog princess
Lovely poem, Yutka. I enjoyed the rhythm and repetition. Have to agree on 'peep' in Paul's comment. It threw me to on reading. But I understand 'gnats will provoke'; we jave lots of them here on a still evening and they sure do provoke!

The jewel in the crown here for me was
'play water music to spangle the night. '
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Daff! From your comment I know you like Haendel's watermusic, like me! I have met a kindred spirit!
Yutka:)

Macjoyce on 06-10-2007
Song of the frog princess
I think that by 'peep' you mean a high-pitched noise, yes? It's just a bit confusing, because the literal meaning of 'to peep' is to look at something, especially in a naughty way. Like a 'Peeping Tom'.

No, I've never been bitten by gnats before, to my knowledge. Mosquitoes, dogs, yes. But not gnats.

Peeping Mac


Author's Reply:

e-griff on 06-10-2007
Song of the frog princess
'peep' works well here. IMO - she 'peeps' dreams (ie takes a peep at them) - no probs for me.

Author's Reply:


Moths (posted on: 24-09-07)
..the raised pattern of their wings...

During the night as I lie thinking of you, moths are visiting through the open window. They are making their way to my bed past the night light, their colour the dark amber of your hands like pianists' hands, the raised pattern of their wings like your veins.. I could scarcely feel your delicate palms on me, your feel was so light, the exquisite scrape of an insect's leg across my breast. No touch like yours ever before. I dream I open my legs and feel your fingers between them, trembling velvety wings...
Archived comments for Moths
Jolen on 24-09-2007
Moths
A nocturne of nocturnal emissions. Very descriptive and delicate. A most pleasant read.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

69-96 on 18-10-2007
Moths
As a man Yutka, I think this is such a beautiful descriptive poem using quite a graphic format. The moth theme is gentle and erotic, A great write.

Author's Reply:


Who can (posted on: 14-09-07)
Who can?

Who can say as much as he wants who wants as much as he thinks who thinks as much as he lives who lives as sure as he dies
Archived comments for Who can
Sunken on 14-09-2007
Who can
Who can Ms. Yutka? You can, that's who. Was that corny? It was wasn't it? I must raise this at commenting classes. Nice one Ms. Yutka. Simple and to the point... no, not like me! Ahem. Good day.

Rate: Golden years - wap wap wap

s
u
n
k
e
n

Join my commenting classes today! Just £15 a lesson.

Author's Reply:
I know that you can, Sunky....can give a nice lot of praise. Thanks!
Yutka:)

Macjoyce on 14-09-2007
Who can
Not me, that’s for sure. Clever little linking poem, Yutka. Ich mag es.


Author's Reply:
thanks Mac. Ich mag dass du magst!
Yutka:)


Portrait of an old man (posted on: 14-09-07)
...forgotten signs

His face etched parchment his ugly cheeks hieroglyphs of obsolete secrets forgotten signs expectations dream loss around the corners of his mouth handsome his chiselled autumn skin in and out thoughts notched into his forehead Who are you border crossing from year to year
Archived comments for Portrait of an old man
e-griff on 14-09-2007
Portrait of an old man
This was nice - was it about me? 'handsome' I like - but how can he be handsome ith 'ugly cheeks'? I have nice cheeks. (and a lot of cheek besides, they say 🙂 )

Author's Reply:
handsome and ugly, light and shadow, one complements each other.
And cheek? I like it..
Yutka:)

Sunken on 14-09-2007
Portrait of an old man
Dear Ms. Yutka, you are like a fine wine. You get better with age. You've a twinkle in your eye that renders me quite weak. Oh, I like the poem too. Especially liked -

his ugly cheeks
hieroglyphs
of obsolete secrets

Oh yeah, that's classy. Have a kit kat. Good day. Thank you.

Rate: Silver linings

s
u
n
k
e
n

she fell out of love and into his arms

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunky, Thanks for the kitkat and your sweet comments
Yutka:)

Macjoyce on 14-09-2007
Portrait of an old man
Hi, Yutka.

I’m not sure I understand the ‘border crossing’ ending, but this poem has some very nice touches. The imagery of the first verse is particularly impressive.

But, can secrets manifest themselves through a person’s cheeks? I’d have thought the forehead would be the most appropriate home for secrets.

I don’t think you need ‘obsolete’. Adjectives are often unnecessary and this one certainly is because the secrets are obviously obsolete – they’re hieroglyphs on parchment. Let the nouns and metaphors do the talking!

All the bestest,

Mac the Pharaoh


Author's Reply:
Border crossing is what we all do by living. We cross borders into each other's sphere so to speak. Obsolete is a word I like the sound of. Just say it slowly: it sounds what it means. Sometimes an adjective can stress a meaning but you are right: tread carefully with them.
Referring to a person's "cheeks" they can have very interesting lines, sometimes quite harsh and bitter. I always had a thing with "dimples" so much more cheerful than laughing lines, aren't they?
Thanks anyway for all your thoughts and suggestions. Much appreciated!
Yutka:)


Surely there is (posted on: 10-09-07)
...your face grown wan...

Surely there is something to say about objects and how it is only each entity reflecting what we see. Things show us the flip side of what we suppose. I look at a white rose for instance and think of white, its colour almost bounces back on me like the white sheet on your last bed with its hospital scent and your face grown wan refusing more and more
Archived comments for Surely there is
reckless on 10-09-2007
Surely there is
I love the simplicity of this, the stark message in the deceptively simple imagery. Intelligently crafted and haunting.

Author's Reply:
a little delayed thank you for your lovely message, reckless. (Why this name?)
Yutka:)

e-griff on 10-09-2007
Surely there is
A nicely constructed sentiment with a telling conclusion.

Forgive me, I had a small glitch with 'about objects and how it is only an entity reflecting what we see' - I couldn't relate 'objects' and 'it/an entity' - do you see what I mean, or am I being dim?

And what do you think about losing 'almost'? 🙂

best, JohnG

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 10-09-2007
Surely there is
Reckless puts it so much better than I ever could. What an ironic pen name. Well done on the nib. Muchly deserved and no mistake.

Rate: A big bunch of flowers.

s
u
n
k
e
n

Author's Reply:

barenib on 10-09-2007
Surely there is
Yutka - this is exquisitely poignant and I love the thought behind it, albeit focussed on a sad event. Perhaps -

about objects and how it is only
an entity reflecting

- could be changed to -

about objects and how they are only
entities reflecting

- to address e-griff's point.

Great read for me - John.

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much for your thoughts, John. I took Teifi's suggestion. Hope you like it.
Yutka:)

teifii on 12-09-2007
Surely there is
Really beautiful and says so much in such a short piece.
As to E-griff's and Barenibs comments -- I too tripped on that because of the singular and plural conflict. Barenib solves it one way. I had thought on my way down here, so to speak, -- Surely there is something to say
about objects and how it is only

each entity reflecting
what we see.

Author's Reply:
Dear Teifi,
this is great! Thank you for this suggestion, I thought hard about it and this is what I wanted to say. Forgive a foreign girl the faux-pas in the English grammer...
Yutka:)


Punch (posted on: 24-08-07)
...That's the way he does it...

Mornings he is full of beans, eats egg and porridge for breakfast, sings a song, brushes off her jealousy, fools around with the cat, so that the postman who calls, intrigued and thinking bliss, steps inside. Pleased as Punch he makes him laugh. She hates his slapstick humour, asks him to kill his devil. He struts. In his hooked shadow he shows his crooked self. He wavers between dreams of guilt and atonement. He pleads with her, he'll change, asks for a second chance, to forgive him. Next day himself again, boisterous as ever, full of swagger and bounce he's leaving for the day. He's planning betrayal again. Again and again. That's the way he does it.
Archived comments for Punch
delph_ambi on 24-08-2007
Punch
Excellent poem. The use of the 'Punch' imagery is spot on.

Author's Reply:
thanks delph, glad you think so
Yutka:)

Kat on 24-08-2007
Punch
I agree with delph, especially re the 'Punch' imagery - this is a highly original poem full of clever wordplay - excellent stuff!

Yutka, you show me how to do it!

Kat x

Author's Reply:
Hi Kat,
never been able, have a bad sense of orientation, always lose my way....just joking, Kat..
Yutka:)

Sunken on 25-08-2007
Punch
Yes, another classy slab of Yutka and no mistake. Ya know, men like that should be treated as dogs. Put a collar around their necks and tie em to the table leg... Blimey, that's getting me excited. Is that normal? I better take my medication and no mistake. Nurse!

Rate: Abba Gold

s
u
n
k
e
n

somewhere over dysfunction

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 30-08-2007
Punch
I agree, this is clever. Excellent title as well as the others have said, it works well.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
thanks Jolen. I thought that was one of my better poems. Lesser ones got a "good read"...who is judging?
Yutka:)


You have only a few weeks to live (posted on: 24-08-07)
...you feel your soul sink, stranded...

In the blink of an eye you feel your soul sink, stranded by the ebbing tide, when you hear the voice on the phone. At other times you would not have lacked words, even cracked a joke. Now you crumple from inside, crumbling as a sand castle. When a soul sinks, does it lose itself drowning in debris? Voices drop warnings that time ends in a mist, day turns into night (the sun fades, when you lose control) and your chest tightens. You expect an explanation. A flashback: a looming separation, failed success, despair How breakage led to fear a cancer beached in the blackness, but instead you say: Thank you to your surgeon, don't let cracks appear. You stay clear of the tunnel with a bright light and your ancestors waving you into their world. Still ready to stand your ground, you'll fight sea creatures with webbed feet and ductless eyes, before the open sea turns back the tide.
Archived comments for You have only a few weeks to live
Sunken on 24-08-2007
You have only a few weeks to live
Hello Ms. Yutka. I have to say, I think you're writing some of your best stuff of late. This is particularly poignant. Nice one Ms. Yutka.

s
u
n
k
e
n

Author's Reply:
Did not know you like this kind of poetry, Sunky. Hope you are well.
Yutka:)

Kat on 24-08-2007
You have only a few weeks to live
Wonderful, beautiful poetry, Yutka - very skilled, clever - I cannot fault it. The last stanza is just brilliant.

Kat x

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Kat. Did you mean the ancestors or the sea creatures?
It's quite a "macabre" poem Yutka:)

Kat on 24-08-2007
You have only a few weeks to live
...both, Yutka...

yes, it is a macabre poem but it puts words and visions to thoughts and feelings that are very real.

Kat x

Author's Reply:

royrodel on 26-08-2007
You have only a few weeks to live
Scary stuff
or is it?
I liked the reality of this

RODEL

Author's Reply:
A delayed thank you for your comments and the rating. I tried to imagine a person in this scenario. Once a doctor phoned me at home when I was alone and told me I had cancer. That went from that...
Yutka:)


How Paul takes Alexia (posted on: 17-08-07)
...He follows her angles, gets tangled...

Alexia couldn't be sexier. How she glows! Paul is relieved she knows. Dead thin, a slip of a thing, he takes her all in. Porcellain bones, fairy, she glitters, clatters her ways down his corridors. He follows her angles, gets tangled, even her touch is too much. He dreams he's becoming a cloud so light, he could take her without any word, any light, any frown and bangs the shutters down.
Archived comments for How Paul takes Alexia
Sunken on 19-08-2007
How Paul takes Alexia
My Dear Ms. Yutka, This is a little gem and no mistake. I see your other sub got a nib, but this stands out for me as being one of your best. I liked it from the first read and have returned a few times to have another slice. Well done Ms. Yutka.

I am currently using a system of rating previously made famous by 80’s new romantic, Steve Strange. Apparently Mr. Strange once managed a second hand store and would subsequently rate using the various items of bric-a-brac found in said establishment.

Rate: Dressing Table (I’d sprinkle some talc in the draws if I were you. They smell a bit musty). I hope this helps.

s
u
n
k
e
n

a stray eyelash led them… astray

Author's Reply:
Glad you like my poem, dear Sunken. I was afraid to put it up. It was just a doodle....
Yutka:)


I'll float upon the blue (posted on: 17-08-07)


The day will come, I'll float upon the blue of skies revised. As ebbs the flowing sea my life withdrew unrecognized. Gone is all sound. But winds still do caress me caringly, while waves rock me around with tenderness and carry me. And carefree fish lead me to muted ways not known before. And somehow I will drift, quite easily, and land ashore.
Archived comments for I'll float upon the blue
Romany on 17-08-2007
I’ll float upon the blue
Beautiful!

Romany.

Author's Reply:

Macjoyce on 18-08-2007
I’ll float upon the blue
Ooh, this is a bit bleak! Still, there is hope and optimism at the end.

It's a very good poem, with a lovely subtle rhythm and rhyme scheme. Just a few niggles...:

I don't really understand 'skies revised'.

You say 'sea' twice when you only need it once. I'd get rid of the first one and end that line on a closer rhyme to 'come'. Or, you could possibly say 'arrive' and 'of waves'...

'ways' and 'easily' are not rhymes or half-rhymes. Maybe you could do something else there.

Just a few suggestions, that's all.

Alles Gute,

Mac the Castaway


Author's Reply:

dylan on 19-08-2007
I’ll float upon the blue
Nice rhythm, as Mr McJ has noted.
Some of the lines are slightly cliched, imo-
"winds still do caress"-(I know the rhyme is for "tenderness", off the top of my head,maybe "the wind is aimless around me"?)
"Carefree fish" likewise-maybe "silver-backed"?
Only suggestions, of course.
Nice poem.

D.

Author's Reply:


Triolet (posted on: 13-08-07)


My heart has locked its door shut closed as firmly as it could. There is no entering for those my heart has locked its door shut closed. I threw away the key that shows You will be there for good. My heart has locked its door shut closed as firmly as it could. .
Archived comments for Triolet
e-griff on 13-08-2007
Triolet
I wrote a triolet a while ago, and at the time said I'd found the form very constrictive.

This one has meaning that works well in the form. My only doubt is whether the phrase 'door shut close' is a little contrived - it doesn't have a clear meaning for me, and I found a confusion between 'close' (adj) and 'close' (verb) especially as the 'wrong' meaning (verb) is the one that rhymes most directly with 'those' ...

best, JohnG

Author's Reply:
Well John, to appease your sense of grammar, I changed it to CLOSED. Triolets are difficult, but I have seen some remarkable ones. I am still trying...
Yutka:)

Sunken on 13-08-2007
Triolet
Dear Ms. Yutka, you will never be trying. I don't even know what a triolet is. To be frank, I thought they were some kind of sanitary device for ovulating triplets. This comment has now gone critical and I would advise that you step away from the computer. Well done Yutka. Good to have you back and no mistake.

For one week only, I am using a system of grading that was made popular by Cheryl Baker of Bucks Fizz fame. Thanks.

Rate: Tumble Dryer (with eco setting)

s
u
n
k
e
n

treading water in doc martens

Author's Reply:

delph_ambi on 14-08-2007
Triolet
It's a very, very tricky form. 'Closed' certainly works better than 'close', but it's still not all working. Third and fourth lines, "There is no entering for those / my heart has locked its door shut closed." doesn't make grammatical sense, and it needs to for the form to work.

These are great fun to write, but infuriating at the same time.

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 14-08-2007
Triolet
I am not familiar with very many forms, but I thought the poem worked well for the reader. I salute you for even attempting it, as I don't have the courage to.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
thanks for your kind words. Try it! I bet you are good at it. I did quite a lot as a challenge and I liked this one for its contents (influenced by a German poem from the Middle Ages)
Yutka:)

Macjoyce on 14-08-2007
Triolet
Ah yes, the triolet, always good for adamant or obsessive subjects. I always try to pronounce triolet in as un-French a way as I can, so that it rhymes with violet. Tree-oh-lay indeed. French is so limp. Give me a muscular tongue like German any day.

Are you German? Or do you speak it? It strikes me that English is not your Muttersprache, because of the refrain "My heart has locked its door shut closed". That clangs on my Anglophone ear. You see, you say 'locked', 'shut' and 'closed' all in the same line, which is a bit much. 'Shut closed' is a tautology. How about 'tight closed' or 'fast closed' or something like that instead? Only, an English-speaker wouldn't really say "My heart has locked its door shut closed".

Also, yes, Delph is right, lines 3 and 4 don't make grammatical sense. It is a tricky form, and other than that, you do a good job of it.

Alles Gute,

Mac the Sausage


Author's Reply:
Haha! I absolutely love your comments, especially the "muscular tongue"..yes, yes, yes! I know that it does not sound English and about the tautology..but sometimes this can be used to stress what is already there (see my answer to an earlier comment for my poem :Once when I'm dead..)I'm sorry to clang on your ears with my muscular tongue. Should I have nibbled?
You can read my poem with a nice German accent. Jawohl. It might become a catch phrase in your language: shut-close....if you repeat it long enough...
Sorry, just joking. You are very right with your comments. I just cannot stop giggling. You must have said something funny...
Cheers
Yutka:):):)


Once when I'm dead (posted on: 10-08-07)
...Id wink at those who walk, forlorn, out of the alleyways of dawn...

Once when I'm dead I'd like to be a lamp next to your bed to brighten up your night with soothing light. Or hang beside your gate when rain falls late and morning does not want to come. I'd wink at those who walk, forlorn, out of the alleyways of dawn and far from home. Or, maybe, you could carry me along a lane, where children go and memories ease, a paper lantern with a happy glow, that's swinging in the breeze to the wind's song. .
Archived comments for Once when I'm dead
Sunken on 10-08-2007
Once when I’m dead
Hello again Ms. Yutka. I think this is my fave of your current subs. It is more lovely than this girl I have my eye on. She has her eye on some other bloke I'm afraid. I am hoping he gets mad cow or something. Anyway, that's not important right now. Very nice poem indeed and no mistake.
Please accept a Garibaldi.
Rate: Garibaldi

s
u
n
k
e
n

they could give us a war just to keep us amused

Author's Reply:
ehunken, great that you still are enthusiastic about any of my poems. Shows your excellent taste...
Yutka:)

e-griff on 10-08-2007
Once when I’m dead
I admired this one very much. You were quite right to showcase those knockout lines! Lovely, flowing and memorable.

I shall return and read it again later. G

Author's Reply:
thanks e-griff. Nice comments.
Yutka:)

Romany on 10-08-2007
Once when I’m dead
This beautiful - the second piece of work by you that has really grabbed me lately.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Romany! I value your praise
Yuta:)

e-griff on 10-08-2007
Once when I’m dead
I read it again. The only thing I wondered about was whether to choose another word than 'walk' after 'children', having used it so successfully earlier. Maybe 'play'?

Author's Reply:
thanks for the suggestion. I changed it into "go". Hope you like it.
Yutka:)

Claire on 10-08-2007
Once when I’m dead
Hi there, beautiful poem.

A silly nitpick: 'Or, may be, you' -- 'may be' is one word 'maybe'. Or did you intentionally have them as two separate words? If so, they don't read quite right to me.

A wee suggestion: 'and brighten up' change 'and' to 'to'???
And, at the end of this stanza I'd change the coma to a full stop. The next stanza I'd start it off with a capital letter for 'or', keep it all looking the same as the others.

Hope you don't mind me nitpicks. I do appreciate and like this piece.

I've rated this a 7, which to me is well above average just needs a wee iron out here and there.

Claire.

Author's Reply:
Hi Claire,
a great constructive chriticism! I changed as you suggested as I liked it. Thank you very much.
Yutka:)

zigzag on 11-08-2007
Once when I’m dead
Hi yutka,

Read your poem a few times now and like it's feel a lot.

or hang beside your gate
when rain falls late
and morning does not want to come.

= my favourite line.

zigzag

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Zigzag (what an interesting name!) for liking my line..
Yutka:)

Albermund on 12-08-2007
Once when I’m dead
A lovely poem. "Once when I'm dead" bugs a bit. Do you mean that just the once, after you are dead, you want to be a lamp? Not sure about the "and memories ease" line. It seems a tiny bit short and wondered if release would be an option. I like the last three lines very much especially the sound of last line. cheers, albert:)

Author's Reply:
Hi Albert,
Once in "one day" so to say. And of course, after my death. I said so, din't I
I like the easing memories. They ease more than release. Thanks for liking my lines.
Yutka:)

discopants on 13-08-2007
Once when I’m dead
I think it's mostly been said already- a beautiful poem that flows smoothly. It's my preferred sub of yours by a short neck. Agree with Albert about the title- I think it only requires one of 'Once' and 'when'.

dp

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comments but I'm afraid: don't quite get what you are saying. Once and when???

Yutka:(

e-griff on 14-08-2007
Once when I’m dead
I thought 'may be' was deliberate. If it's going to be plain old 'maybe', perhaps lose the commas around it?

Author's Reply:

discopants on 14-08-2007
Once when I’m dead
Further to my original comment, I think it's natural to take the meaning of 'once' in 'Once when I'm dead' as having a meaning akin to 'when'. For instance, if you were to say. 'Once I'm dead', you could equally say 'When I'm dead' and have the same meaning. So, to me it seems like tautology and either the 'once' or 'when' should be removed from the title.

I see from your reply to Albert that you mean 'once' as 'one day'- I think you could call the poem 'One day when I'm dead' and not have the same problem. Any clearer or just more confusing??

dp

Author's Reply:
Hi,
I see now what you mean. but this was done intentionally and "one day" would destroy the rhythme. Referring to "tautology" this quote might be interesting:
"Intentional repetition of meaning
A repetition of meaning may be intended to amplify or emphasize a certain aspect of the thing being discussed: for example, a gift is by definition free of charge, but one might talk about a "free gift" to emphasize that there are no hidden obligations, financial or otherwise, or that the gift is being given out of free will. This is related to the rhetorical device of hendiadys, where one concept is expressed through the use of two, for example "goblets and gold" meaning wealth, or "this day and age" to mean the present time. Superficially these expressions may seem tautologous, but they are stylistically sound because the repeated meaning is merely a stylized way to express a single unified concept."
I appreciate your thought.
Yutka:)




For we love dragonflies (posted on: 10-08-07)
...Time charges for not stopping...

Sun burns away memories, lets you forget, therefore leave the beach for the souk, escape the brutal light, look for treasure in the old market. The time to look is not at the height of daylight but in the low hours, when gates open into other gates, as in the kasbah of Tangier, where you found my Berber necklace. You cannot walk away from a deal, the price always goes down. What is the price of memories? Time charges for not stopping. To stay in a place, be where the sun dissolves into water. Go for the dusk, where our dead are young and old and charge us nothing, for we love dragonflies. If you search for memories you will find them there, hovering in the low light.
Archived comments for For we love dragonflies
Sunken on 10-08-2007
For we love dragonflies
Hello Ms. Yutka. Good to see you back. I quite like your front too. I also like dragonflies, but not in the house. I like your poem more than cottage cheese. This is quite a compliment, as I really do like cottage cheese and no mistake. I am rating via the gift of biscuit today and can offer you a jammie dodger.
Rate: Jammie Dodger.

s
u
n
k
e
n

but i'm still frightened by the telephone

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunken, great comments, as usual...are you ever short of ideas?
Yutka:)

littleditty on 10-08-2007
For we love dragonflies
i love this one - i was right there this last dusk and dawn -i am so glad you are posting again - feeling a bit inarticulate today, sorry -can only say that this poem is special, so i am going to make it a favourite. Cheers Yutka xxldxx

Author's Reply:
You are never "inarticulate" little ditty. Not you! And thanks!
Yutka:)

Kat on 10-08-2007
For we love dragonflies
Yutka, it's great to see you posting again - I was thinking of you just the other day. :o)

There's a great depth and quality in this poem and a good smattering of wisdom. Really enjoyed the last 2 stanzas in particular.

Hope everything is well with you.

Kat x

Author's Reply:
Kat, it is such a nice feeling that you were thinking of me. Sometimes in my isolation (new home, new town) this gives me strength to know I have still friends in my old poetry writing site. I am very very grateful.
Yutka:)

Claire on 10-08-2007
For we love dragonflies
Hello there, nice poem here.

Time charges for not stopping. -- interesting line and a favourite.

Claire.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Claire. It does, doesn't it?
Yutka:)

blackdove on 11-08-2007
For we love dragonflies
This seems to catch that wistful senitment of what time takes and what it leaves behind.
Your poem has an elusiveness, a wistfulness that hits the spot. Very well written.
Jemx

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jem, I like "wistful".
Yutka:)


Gerry on 11-08-2007
For we love dragonflies
Yutka, some good lines in this poem. Although I get my best memories via the sun, I see your point very well...

Gerry.xxx.

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 12-08-2007
For we love dragonflies
Dear Yutka, nice to read your stuff once again after a hiatus.
I found this a very sweet and nostalgic poem which also brought back memories of holidays in Tunisia with its souks, camel markets and the price haggling.
What is the price of memories, indeed.
Enjoyable piece.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 12-08-2007
For we love dragonflies
I read this and was going to come back. In the meantime, you have a well-deserved nib. I'll just add to the praise. I especially liked 'Time charges for not stopping.' G

Author's Reply:

teifii on 17-08-2007
For we love dragonflies
Beautiful
Daff

Author's Reply:


Downgrading (posted on: 06-08-07)
....I waved my piece of sky away....

I kissed a life away at dawn. The silent garden looked bereft. I walked down to the apple tree, embraced his stem and stroked his leaves and thanked him when I left. I waved my piece of sky goodbye, the garden underneath lay bare until with morning sound of birds the sun was weaving webs of gold over me unaware. I kissed a life away at dawn the garden did not stop to sing. The cherry tree moved with the wind and cherry blossom fell like snow reminding me of spring.
Archived comments for Downgrading
e-griff on 06-08-2007
Downgrading
I particularly liked the last two lines, a good winding down ending for a thoughtful poem.

(oh, a typo I think: stroke/stroked?)

Author's Reply:
thanks for your comments and pointing out the typo.
Yutka:)

Romany on 06-08-2007
Downgrading
Very moving I thought, and beautifully written,

Romany.

Author's Reply:
very happy to hear from you, Romany.x
Yutka:)

delph_ambi on 06-08-2007
Downgrading
I love the musicality of this poem. Beautiful writing.

Author's Reply:
thank you Delph!
Yutka:)

Gerry on 06-08-2007
Downgrading
Yutka, a gentle little poem, I liked it...

Gerry.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Gerry, to leave my home after 35 years...caused me to write it.
Yutka 🙂

littleditty on 07-08-2007
Downgrading
Yaaaay! Hi Yutka :o) I think the structure and musicality of this is ace -and the subject one i can relate to -good to see you here again xxldx

Author's Reply:
Hi Little Ditty,

thanks to you kind remarks I felt like coming back. Someone (you) thought of me...

The house is gone, the new one is here. One has to make the best out of it. I thought I would never get over it, but surprise surprise----- I love my new house now and all the advantage it brings. Life is surprising, isn't it? I wrote this poem the night before leaving.
yutka:)
Yutka:)

discopants on 08-08-2007
Downgrading
I, too, particularly liked the last 2 lines- good poem.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, appreciate your comments!
Yutka:)


Too Late (posted on: 25-12-06)
....It was too late to even blink an eye....

In a rich wetland redolent of spring, deep in the reeds, their spikes lit by the sun some actual Tyrannosaurus Rex went on an early run. Corseted in their folds, armoured in scales, their claws securely anchored they reached out in unison. Their chatter was about the weather, one was scanning clouds, the other chirped about the tales of climate change, one just enjoyed the fun of meeting in a warm and spring-clean world. No harm could penetrate this safe stockade, were it not for a sudden roar and rocks that hurled across the sky and grew alarmingly like a cascade of enemy invaders from up high. It was too late to even blink an eye or say good bye to all the living chorus. "Yucatan" could not be found in a Thesaurus
Archived comments for Too Late
neotom on 31-12-2006
Too Late
"Do not ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee." I imagine Ernest Hemmingway watching this scene as a God from the sky.

Everything comes to an end, I suppose.

Great poem, easy to feel there.

I cannot constructively criticise it because I only write sing-a-long poetry.

Tom

Author's Reply:
Thanks Tom and forgive my late replay. The bell will toll one day, surely...like for the dinosaurs. I hope i will not be there. Scary!
Yutka:)

reckless on 14-01-2007
Too Late
Ah yes. Intelligently written, Yutka. How we are blind as dinosaurs to our coming fate. I don't fully understand the reference to Yucatan, though aware that it is despoiled and a unique civilisation now little more than a tourism spot. Very well done, and much enjoyed. Though oddly, no Great Read again, while the birthday card stuff is feted with awards. A situation somehow consistent with the message of your poem.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, reckless. Yucatan is the plain where, they say, the meteor came down...The geologists are quite sure of that....
Yutka:)


The morning they go rowing (posted on: 11-12-06)
...Last summer he decided to sell the house ...

The morning they go rowing, swans bring them no closer to perfection. Nor do reeds bow against the stream. They argue which stroke will turn their boat, which method reverse this drifting into another possibility of capsizing as storm clouds break over the site of their new home. Why have they come to the middle of the lake? May be the swans brought them here, or the reeds nodded them in? Last summer he decided to sell the house without leaving room for her opinion. "Why", she asked, thinking where her whole life had been. "We have to," he said. "We have to move on," like the sound the oars will make dipping in and out of the water to reach firm ground. Their lovely daughters on the edge, among the camellia trees and the rhododendrons, unsure of their gestures, waving them on.
Archived comments for The morning they go rowing
Romany on 11-12-2006
The morning they go rowing
Very good, and the title is so clever - rowing as in with oars, or rowing, as in arguing. You can feel the lack of control this woman has over her own life, and the sense of helplessness the daughters experience, watching from the back and unable to reach their parents. Deep poem.


Romany.

Author's Reply:
Hi Romany,
great interpretation! You got it there! Thanks! Yutka:)

littleditty on 11-12-2006
The morning they go rowing
Dear Yutka -your poems are so often filled with my favourite things - this is a beautiful, interesting poem with a story, i imagined houses by the water to incorporate the water imagery - or a houseboat! Anyhow -enjoyed as always xxxldx

Author's Reply:
I see, Little Ditty, we both like water. I am pulled towards it all my life but sadly, never lived near the sea. Mind you, with all that global warming talk now and the sea levels rising, may be it is not such a good thing after all....a house boat? yeh, could be nice for holidays...Yutka:)

scotch on 13-12-2006
The morning they go rowing
most elegant...scotch

Author's Reply:
thanks for the "elegant" scotch. Did you think of the swans?
Yutka:)


Mnemosyne (posted on: 08-12-06)
....Its dark about a childhood I remember....

It's autumn in a childhood I remember how strong a love once made me feel secure, a shadowed house that sheltered me in sleep sun-sweetened was my life, and yet demure. It's cold about a childhood I remember a father who died young, only a boy and people I once loved have gone away with many things I used then to enjoy. It's empty down a childhood I remember I had no sister with whom I could play, no brother who would fight me in a tease I grew up lonely, hid myself away. It's lonely in a childhood I remember no noise of children but the talk of gran, We never left the house, only for walks in sombre woods to pick Pieds de Moutons It's dark about a childhood I remember My gran has gone, so has my mum, remarried, she moved away and found herself a man and did not care where lay my father buried But I still celebrate his long gone birthday each May I think of him, cold and forgotten when spring sprays perfumes over all decay.
Archived comments for Mnemosyne
Romany on 08-12-2006
Mnemosyne
Childhood is not always all it's cracked up to be, is it? And the memories made then can last a whole lifetime. Very sad about your father. I detected a trace of bitterness about your mother's remarriage, too - but as usual I am not asking questions and do not expect an answer, merely making an observation. That's what it's all about, right? Take care of yourself,

Romany.

Author's Reply:
thanks Romany, not so much bitterness but a little sadness, as my stepfather was the nicest person one could imagine and she had 42 happy years with him. My mother loved him so much, so her first husband (teenager love) paled over the years. Yutka:)

scotch on 08-12-2006
Mnemosyne
very good...scotch

Author's Reply:
Thanks Scotch. Lovely getting your praise! Yutka:)

Bradene on 08-12-2006
Mnemosyne
Can identify with your apparent feelings about your step father, I never knew my real father he was killed in WW2 and in retrospect I think I always resented my mothers husband. Lovely poignancy about the piece Well done Love Val x

Author's Reply:
Hi Val, so we share a similar experience.
My father too died in WW2 and I hero-whorshipped all his photographs and even now, I miss him and speak to him in my dreams (try to get his approval for things, it's a bit weird, isn't it?)Love from Yutka:)

Evitchka on 09-12-2006
Mnemosyne
Call me old fashioned but I love a bit of rhyme.
I like your cadences too.
Sweet and powerful
Eva

Author's Reply:
Thanks Eva, "Rhyme is the Goddess of Poetry" the German poet Rilke once said.....he was a wise man, I think...
Yutka:)

Kat on 09-12-2006
Mnemosyne
Yutka, all I can do is admire your poetry... this is (yet) another - love the repeated trope, 'a childhood I remember' which brings a very effective rhythm to this very sensitive and well-evoked (personal) write. Really well done.

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:
Kat,
I love your positive and sweet messages. They help!
Yutka:)


Escape (posted on: 04-12-06)
...lace my will tight...

You trick me with your proposition, bend my soft-boned knees and mould me into an amenable position. Lace my will tight. Securely have me tethered to your height and do your best to ride on me, prostrate, to bugger and caress me, while I wait for one sweet word. You silently keep on, avoid my eyes and push into the void. Breath on my neck. Now give me head you moan. My toes unfurl. I do it on my own. I curl into my wings. An airborne thing contains me now, I rise, head on, into the shimmer of the night, I'm gone.
Archived comments for Escape
Romany on 04-12-2006
Escape
This left me feeling so sorry for 'you' - be it the character or the writer. Poignant and beautiful and tinted with an ugliness too - quite an achievement for such a small and not-so-simple poem.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Don't feel sorry for me, Romany. I believe that a poem should enter the reader’s mind and heart spontaneously independent of a poet’s writing in a first person.. On leaving the atmosphere of thought and life experience that served at impetus to create it, it should rid itself of the person who wrote it. I hope my poems are seen in that context. It will not matter that I, Yutka, have written this poem, but rather, that it takes on a life of its own. Unfortunately, emotions, damages done to the self cling to a poem like a bad smell and may lead to a claustrophobic experience for the reader, but a good poem should be able to make the life of the poet insignificant, and linger on as, perhaps, a message. In this case, I try to tackle the tragedy of an unsatisfactory, even damaging relationship, quite a taboo subject, by mental escape. I do not say it is my solution. It is just one solution.

Corin on 04-12-2006
Escape
Just WHERE did this come from Yutka? I don't know what to say!

"Make love to the nicest person you know - yourself"

Will that do?

Warm Wishes

David

Author's Reply:
Thanks Corin, how do you know I am nice? Read my answer to Romany.
Yutka:)

e-griff on 05-12-2006
Escape
Right - thanks to the site, i posted an insightful, chatty comment - which was promptly lost! So if this is terse, sorry.

This is an engaging, imaginative poem. It grabs you , then confuses you, hovers close enough to sense to hold you, but wanders far enough away to keep your imagination fired, trying to grab at the clues. Horses, dragons... ?

small thing: i would put 'Now give me head' in quotes.

big thing: the three lines from 'Lace' to 'prostrate' don't fit (for me) with the flow of the rest. Could be the placing of 'securely' or the verb 'have me' (as opposed to 'You trick/You silently') I don't claim to know how to fix it, just point it out to see if it helps. 🙂 best, JohnG


Author's Reply:

e-griff on 05-12-2006
Escape
Right - thanks to the site, i posted an insightful, chatty comment - which was promptly lost! So if this is terse, sorry.

This is an engaging, imaginative poem. It grabs you , then confuses you, hovers close enough to sense to hold you, but wanders far enough away to keep your imagination fired, trying to grab at the clues. Horses, dragons... ?

small thing: i would put 'Now give me head' in quotes.

big thing: the three lines from 'Lace' to 'prostrate' don't fit (for me) with the flow of the rest. Could be the placing of 'securely' or the verb 'have me' (as opposed to 'You trick/You silently') I don't claim to know how to fix it, just point it out to see if it helps. 🙂 best, JohnG


Author's Reply:
Thanks e-griff, for your suggestions. But my poem has nothing to do with horses or dragons...but wait, may be it shows what a dragon can achieve.
"A dragon overcomes obstacles until success is his. He is energetic, decisive, optimistic, intelligent and ambitious." that is what the Chinese believe.
Yutka:)


Stay (posted on: 04-12-06)
...we can all be sad....

Stay, rush no longer! Show your distrust if you must, but trust the earth. Has it not carried you all your life? There is still the blue sky of your childhood, trees have grown with you and around you, and the same flowers greet you each spring. Life always surprises. Spot the cloud faces as you spot pain evolving and dissolving; feel the April winds like old memories, they lead you to other needs. The need for change is connected to the old. The loneliness of lovers wears out, when the emptiness is filled with past voices. Stay a while. You look sad. We can all be sad. Listen to the sound of the wind, the sound of grief, the sound of the earth, recreating our love each new day. Be there to wait for it. The moment you change will be when you hear your life rehearsed by sorrow, carried away in the screams of the gulls far beyond sadness.
Archived comments for Stay
Gerry on 05-12-2006
Stay
Yutka, we have much to be grateful for and to be happy about--tis a pity that the morons try to destroy peoples happiness...
Nicely done...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Thank you and yes Gerry. We take too much for granted. It's great to be alive!
Yutka:)

Sunken on 05-12-2006
Stay
The void between my ears quite easily allows for echoes and with this in mind I would like to echo Mr. Gerry's comment. Another classy piece Ms. Yutka.

s
u
n
k
e
n

lost in Tesco

Author's Reply:
You are always very generous, Sunky. Thank you and hope you found your way home!
Yutka:)

Kat on 05-12-2006
Stay
Yutka, I can only admire the tender beauty in this poem, with its sincere and heartfelt message - wonderful.

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:
Hi Kim, thanking you for you encouragement!
Yutka:)

Zoya on 05-12-2006
Stay
Very neatly done piece in you inimitable style, Yukta. Delicate, sensitive, heartfelt and intelligent are the adjectives I would like to use, to describe this incredible piece of poesy!
Thanks for sharing.
((( Hugs)))
Love, Zoya


Author's Reply:

Yutka on 06-12-2006
Stay
Thank you so much, Zoya, for your charming comments.Hugs to you too!
Yutka:)

Author's Reply:

flossieBee on 07-12-2006
Stay
I really like the way you use repetition of words in this piece. It has quite a power.

when you hear your life rehearsed by sorrow,
carried away in the screams of the gulls

This image is lovely


Author's Reply:
Thanks, Flossie. I cannot stop writing about gulls, just love them and never tire watching them. Yutka:)


Snapshots (posted on: 01-12-06)
...a woman holds her head....

A cuckoo calls off screen two policemen in a field a white dog running the body of a man face-down a bell ringing a woman holds her head the picture small and smaller cuts to lily pond, nymph, table, wine glass smokes , blackens curls up orange flames dissolves it into ash. It is April.
Archived comments for Snapshots
Romany on 01-12-2006
Snapshots
Intriguing - the imagery reminded me of news stories when the are recapped at the end of a year. Nothing more than fleeting images that sometimes leave impressions so disturbing or saddening that they stay with you, sometimes forever. Don't pretend to understand it, but I know you have hit on something here,

Romany.

Author's Reply:
thank you, Romany, we all have these "snapshots" burned sooner or later...that's life
Yutka:)

Gemini-Janus on 02-12-2006
Snapshots

Yes, this is enigmatic - but not in a way that totally excludes the reader. The snapshots are clear and can be joined together to form a narrative with many interpretations. The images linger. Like watching TV from the corner of my eye with the sound turned off.

Author's Reply:
you are right: I often do this, watching TV without sound....it is less lazy, makes you think, evaluate..
Yutka:)


The Meeting (posted on: 01-12-06)
....The hotel room cool and narrow, just right for the two clinging lovers -

Coffee and croissant at a cafe in Nice, a mimosa tree lit like a yellow parasol against a rainy sky drunk on its own stormy clouds. The hotel room cool and narrow, just right for the two clinging lovers - yet no hope of finding enough comfort in such fleeting moments of tenderness, renewal, too late to imagine people who might rather be happy than suffering and causing pain. Time is up. We are leaving. Before last good byes, let more gulls sweep the sky screaming love to a lover, let the black cat cross the cobbled street finding a sure way home.
Archived comments for The Meeting
Bradene on 01-12-2006
The Meeting
an atmospheric rather sad poem I enjoyed the read, you set the scene very well. Val x

Author's Reply:
thank you, Bradene, for enjoying.
Yutka:)

scotch on 01-12-2006
The Meeting
liked... scotch

Author's Reply:
thanks!
Yutka:)

orangedream on 01-12-2006
The Meeting
Love the line:-

'a rainy sky drunk on its own stormy clouds'.

Judging by the sky today in Bedfordshire, the sky will sure have a hangover tomorrow!

Lovely poem.

orangedream

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Orangedream! You should see our sky here: it is now boozed-up on stormy clouds, totally...(does not sound as nice as "drunk", does it?)
yutka:)

Gemini-Janus on 02-12-2006
The Meeting

I like the way this has a recognisable narrative that the reader can relate to, without having the details spelt out.

The break up of an affair, depicted in a manner reminiscent of a french impressionist film.



Author's Reply:
my favourite films, those French impressionist...you guessed.
Yutka:)

Ionicus on 02-12-2006
The Meeting
Wunderbar, Yutka.
A very stylish poem full of vivid imagery.

Author's Reply:
Grazie tanto, Ionicus. I like it that you like...
Yutka:)

Sunken on 03-12-2006
The Meeting
Hello Ms. Yutka. Isn't it December outside? I like your poem very much. It put me in mind of a film I once saw that starred that bloke who took his jeans off in a Levi's ad. I forget his name now, but I think it began with an 'N' and rhymed with wick... no, it's no good, it's gone. I hope this comment helps. Great poem. Loved the opening especially. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

lying in the gutter looking at a fine

Author's Reply:
thank your dear Sunky! I am thinking and thinking about the name of the guy you mentioned, who did all those amazing things...but I cannot remember...his name. Must be old age creeping in?
but I remember you ratings and thank you!
Yutka:)

discopants on 06-12-2006
The Meeting
Liked this- built up a cracking atmosphere.

Author's Reply:


Crossing words (posted on: 27-11-06)
...deplore their dissonance....

Crossing Words In the crosshatch of our evenings you always point out the words of injustice. Together we count their letters, decipher their meaning, deplore their dissonance before we lay them upside-down into the desolate casket of indignation to rot deeply deeply in faraway grounds.
Archived comments for Crossing words
Kat on 28-11-2006
Crossing words
Yutka, another piece of yours that I very much like, especially,

'deplore their dissonance'

what a great expression of feeling with words - very satisfying. A clever poem.

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:
Thank you Kim for your encouraging words. Unfortunately we leave it with "deploring" that is the irony, isn't it?
Yutka:)

Gemini-Janus on 28-11-2006
Crossing words

Interesting choice of phrases to emphasise your underlying theme. Particularly liked 'crosshatch', which suggests so much with a single word.

I get the feeling those grounds are not faraway enough.



Author's Reply:
thank you for your remarks. I appreciate your thoughts.
Yutka:)


Shadow Play (posted on: 27-11-06)
(edited)

Sunset on a cold and stormy night. Thought slides, hurtling down to a background of pain, pursuant to happiness, further pain. Evoke seasons, growth, decay, the breathings of oceans, always recurrent - This night feels special. Time showed out of nowhere, the Magician waving his wand of beauty conjuring the blushing sun, the glistening moon, the angel dust of stars, though I miss their meaning for myself . A day brings words and a hint of what it means waiting, dusk ends the waiting for a presence beyond the stage, beyond language that gathers in the night forever. I watch the magic in the sky, runaway passion of tempestuous red, of vibrant orange, bashful pinks brought home to graceful yellows, Distracted I ignore essentials, the writings on the wall I should have read the unsaid words I should not have withheld. There are tears of regret. dried by a soothing wind, wiped by the gentle hand of the Magician who sprinkles forgetfulness, even on a cold night like this, where clouds are oozing blood, where the lake is made of steel, where shadows play tricks with the mind.
Archived comments for Shadow Play
Sunken on 28-11-2006
Shadow Play
Hello Ms. Yutka. Another wonderful piece. It puts me in mind of a dulux colour chart. Well done on the nib and also for the nib that you received for, 'Self storage' recently.

s
u
n
k
e
n

the colossal clout of cucumber

Author's Reply:
your praise tastes like honey, Sunky, and what do I do now with 2 nibs? nibble?
thanks for rating!
Yutka:)

Gemini-Janus on 28-11-2006
Shadow Play

A vivid piece of writing, where the effortless and incidental majesty of nature eclipses human concerns. Beneath the sky, our pain is a fleeting shadow.

Author's Reply:
I love your last line, Gemini, you express in one sentence what I did in many. But if you like my poem better now, it is also your merit.
Yutka:)

Gerry on 29-11-2006
Shadow Play
Yutka, there is some powerful stuff on here this week--this has to be one such poem. Nicely done...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
I am delighted that you think so, Gerry. Thanks you.
Yutka:)


Low on Time (posted on: 20-11-06)
...and the water was nursing its quiet....

We were low on time so I said let's highlight the moments we spend going down to the lake. Dusk fell and the water was nursing its quiet and we walked with the wings of the gulls. You smiled and eased gently your words about darkness and death and you calmly accepted whatever would meet you out there, where the sky takes on earth. You said love was a gift that embellished a life like a sunset, worth no more, no less, and the light in your eyes was pulling my heart, drew it near drew it near.
Archived comments for Low on Time
Kat on 20-11-2006
Low on Time
Another very beautiful and very meaningful, poignant poem, Yutka - great work - really like those last 4 lines in particular.

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:
thanks Kat, for your lovely comment. it is just a little love poem, glad you like it Yutka:)

Sunken on 21-11-2006
Low on Time
'the sky takes on earth' - Great line from a great Ukaneer. Well done on the nomination Ms. Yutka.

All of my smunky love,

s
u
n
k
e
n

came last in cookery

Author's Reply:
Thank, Sunky, you for the "great Ukaneer"! A new species? And also for the "smunky love".Tastes good!
Yutka:)

flossieBee on 21-11-2006
Low on Time
it's got a beautiful calm tone.
fB

Author's Reply:
Thanks Flossie! Evening at a lake always brings it out: it's magic.
Yutka:)

Gerry on 21-11-2006
Low on Time
Nice lined here Yutka--a nice little poem...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
thanks Gerry, like your xxx mmmmh
Yutka:)

scotch on 22-11-2006
Low on Time
hi there i like this the beat and pace i wondered if a poingnant adjective after' walked' stasnza 2 would enhance this even more... scotch

Author's Reply:
Thank you, I think I know what you mean, Scotch, but I just cannot think of any word that could go in after "walked"any suggestion?
Yutka:)

Kat on 22-11-2006
Low on Time
Me again, Yutka!

Just to say that I've seen your PM (today) but because notifications aren't working just now, please feel free to email me direct at katschroeder@gmx.net

Cheers

Kat x

Author's Reply:

eddiesolo on 25-11-2006
Low on Time
I like this Yutka.

Good reading!

Congrats on the nom!

Si:-)

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Eddie and also for the ratings!
Yutka:)


Love in a mist (posted on: 10-11-06)
....tell my sadness to the careless eyes of dusk....

When you are gone I walk the hills in the changing robes of fog without letup, pick the last love in a mist, tell my sadness to the careless eyes of dusk. When night falls, I hasp my windows fast against the silky spider webs afloat, see the moon caught in a net, when I fish for dreams. How soon will the wind rattle my memories, the blue nigella wound through the silver thistles, their seeds so fine, I could sprinkle a field of sky, sow the aroma of Persia into these light blue dreams you would find, if you came home, parched as my dried out capsules, set alight with your match...
Archived comments for Love in a mist
Sunken on 11-11-2006
Love in a mist
Hello Ms. Yutka. I read your poem whilst contemplating beans on toast. You may also be interested to learn that I am commenting from my bed which, incidentally, leans to the left by approx 32 degrees (its a testicle thing). Anyway, I just wanted to say that I like your poem more than 'Wash and Go' (the all in one shampoo and conditioner - it changed my life to be quite frank). I think you'll agree, this is quite a compliment and one that will be reflected in the rating. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

last in macdonalds

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Sunky, appreciating you your comments. Thanks.
Yutka:0

teifii on 12-11-2006
Love in a mist
This is absolutely beautiful. What are the nib fairies about to miss it? Anyway I think it needs nominating and it's a favourite for me.
It reads beautifully and also paints such a picture -- almost impressionist.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks Daff.I am thrilled that you nominated my little poem and liked it. Do you know the flower? It is absolutely beautiful.
I always found it intriguing and a good title for a poem.
Yutka:)

Corin on 13-11-2006
Love in a mist
Dear Yuka,
Perhaps I am merely dense, but I cannot understand the last two verses. It feels as though it needs re-punctuating, there is a question in the penultimate verse but I cannot see where it ends. Not sure what is to be found?

THis is how I am reading it:-

How soon will the wind rattle
my memories? The blue nigella
wound through the silver thistles,
their seeds so fine, I could sprinkle
a field of sky, sow the aroma of Persia

into these light blue dreams.
You would find, if you came home,
parched as my dried out capsules,
set alight with your match...

But the end is clearly wrong in that reading of mine, so?

Warm Wishes

David


Author's Reply:
Hi David,
there should be no fullstop (and probably no coma either) after "the light blue dreams "

the light blue dreams
you would find.....

...parched......set alight....


will this be clearer?
Regards from Yutka:)

narcissa on 15-11-2006
Love in a mist
My my, it's good to be back and reading your excellent work again. This piece is rich in assonance, and flows as beautifully as the images it contains.
It feels to fragile a piece to crit, so I apologise for being unhelpful, but wanted to just comment and say how beautiful I think this is.
Laura x

Author's Reply:
Thank you so much, Laura, I feel happy if someone likes what I write.Yutka:)


Love in idleness (posted on: 06-11-06)
. milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness.(A Midsummer Nights Dream)

Infinitive Summer is over. The milk-white flowers have turned purple. Autumn storms loom. I watch the squirrels, try to be like them: to gather, hide, to gather, hide for darker hours surely will arrive. Failing to move, idly we sit waiting for the hours to go, flow into each other. Decades do not make any difference to a life that passes with the seasons. Unlimited the space between my upper thighs, unlimited my thoughts from day to night to day. Imperative I feel I have some duty for a life given without merit, urgently I try to influence, find a ledge on which to lay my spirit level. I place it where you do not work, outside. You pile your own logs, work on your own wreckage. Indicative Could anything be more indicative of your melancholy than how you wear your body, how you hold your head to one side, fold your arms tight when speaking or let me wait for answers that never come. You sit for hours in the dark, staring ahead, do not use your hands with tasks like polishing silver, filing your nails, leafing through a magazine or book. Horizons merge with skies for you, I crawl on hands and knees to reach. Subjunctive You go through life as a blind man explores a disused mine shaft, groping for ways out and hang on to endless ropes of the subjunctive. You should let go, see me in the true morning light, or by moonlight for a revelation. Sobs rack my chest like hidden laughter. I wish you were enlightened. Conditional you do not have much self-esteem. It is a sickness, for it is conditional. Your marriage is dependant on avoiding things you don't forgive. You do not lie. You are not changing with the weather and your inner self does not blow in the wind. I took your hand to shuffle and to deal, shuffle and deal. I split the deck. You never teach me tricks nor do you show the joker. Summer is over, autumn storms are looming, I gather my whitening face, hide the dark in my lap.
Archived comments for Love in idleness
Corin on 06-11-2006
Love in idleness
Yutka - I am not sure if I have read this correctly, if I have this a great tragedy and even if not it expresses love and sadness and unbearable pain so eloquently:-

Sonnet 116


Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

Warm Wishes

David


Author's Reply:
Hi David, yes, a sad kind of love, you sent me the right conclusion "But bears it out even to the edge of doom". Shakespeare knew it all.
I am thrilled that youy felt my poem.

By the way, did you get my private message?

Yutka:)

royrodel on 06-11-2006
Love in idleness
I don't know much about Willy Shakespeare, but I enjoy this more without the headings. For me anyways it is a great read

RODEL

Author's Reply:

Kat on 07-11-2006
Love in idleness
Yutka, what a well-crafted, clever, moving and so perfectly laid out poem - great it's got a nom - might see it in next year's anth then too! :o)

I was interested to read your bio in this year's and see you have a poetry collection in German - I'd be very interested in buying a (signed) copy, if possible?

Best wishes

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:


Entrenched (posted on: 27-10-06)
.....an entrenched river is unable to easily alter course.....

A rift has settled between us. erosion dug deep into the limestone of feeling, a riverbed formed out of hard rocks, cliffs are now hanging precariously - Canyons, they say, are much more common in arid areas as loneliness and absence has a greater effect in already arid zones. An entrenched river is unable to easily alter course, once a river is busy grinding pebbles, depositing more and more past. When I walk towards you I have to tread carefully, each step further, my feet sink deeper into the mud. You know my words too are heavy with clay. You cannot keep up with your words your strength dragging, and that is difficult like a door opening into water, or the painful push of an unborn bearing down the amniotic fluid. Mute fish know their path, small children carry back what they know. But I never know how much sunlight will penetrate water, how far it can reach deep down, if it can divide dark from light, or clarify a picture. We are losing touch, elodea spreading. What lies beneath is disintegrating. We are swamped by and by unable to see things anymore for real, only convex , concave, in rising and falling bubbles.
Archived comments for Entrenched
Sunken on 29-10-2006
Entrenched
Hello Ms. Yutka. Hope you are well. Don't worry about the low comments, the site is running at a snail's pace. I constructed a set of flat-pack draws whilst waiting for this page to download. Some great descriptive lines, as always. You are are more swell than... no, I better not go there. Top stuff Yutka.

s
u
n
k
e
n

lost in mace

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunky,

I like "top stuff". Very grateful indeed for your 10. Makes life worthwile, doesn't it?
Yutka:) still smiling

bluepootle on 29-10-2006
Entrenched
Hi Yutka, I thought this was very good in the first three verses, and then tailed off a bit when we got into the 'I/You' stanzas of the poem, which felt a bit sprawling and less well thought out to me. Then it pulled it back together for the final lines. I wondered if an edit of that middle section might make this already strong and interesting piece really tight.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your comments. I am thinking about what you said. I wanted to explain this relationship, which has become also kind of "sprawling" to use your word, may be that's why the "sprawling " stanzas?
Yutka:)

Zoya on 29-10-2006
Entrenched
The metaphor of river-bed, water, cliffs, mud, and stagnation of water, very aptly and beautifully describes the rift in the relationship...I think you have very effectively used the 'River' and carried it to its logical end...
(((hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Author's Reply:


Kazia for AOL (posted on: 27-10-06)
(I tried to phone her again, but a John answered.)

Olive skin, a well shaped face, hair like rivers in the sun with her eyes full of wisdom, dark like charcoal, sparked with fun - that's how I imagine Kazia, when I phone the AOL helpline and I hear her voice from India cheerfully to answer mine. My computer, when I log on, has become a stubborn mule, not a stallion to rush head on but an awkward useless tool. Kazia promises hope, but her voice runs fast and faster and her accent spells disaster. Do I get it? Will I cope? Slowly, she repeats suggestions, tells me to unplug a wire and I follow her desire to correctly answer questions. I restore AOL's connection, I repair AOL's dissection I log on after corrections but resign with new infections. Shall I phone the lovely Kazia? Her advice comes dear to me: I pay 50 p per minute for her Indian sunshine laughter, for her voice of ebony.
Archived comments for Kazia for AOL
reckless on 28-10-2006
Kazia for AOL
I like this, but I can't help thinking it would read better without the close rhymes, or so many. The first 3 verses read well, the rhyme scheme seems to change, making the rhyme a bit more obtrusive. These days I prefer rhyme to be subtle, unobtrusive, but then that's just me. Can't always do it myself. Liked the way this made a poem out of a moment in time.

Author's Reply:
Thanks very much for your comment. I just wrote this poem as a silly poem (and very silly poems should rhyme....)out of frustration. To tell you: my aol has recovered miraculously. It has been the BT line all the time. 2 people climbed a mast and: EUREKA

Yutka:)

Zoya on 29-10-2006
Kazia for AOL
Computers can be a pain in the neck, when they start acting up... And of course the Kazia factor is interesting...
Thanks Yukta for this witty piece!
(((Hugs)))
Love,


Author's Reply:
thanks, Zoya, for your sweet answer to my silly poem. Kazia was indeed utterly charming. Actually, is this a common name in India?
Yutka:)

SugarMama34 on 04-11-2006
Kazia for AOL
Hiya Yutka,
A humerous piece here with the added bonus of Kazia who helps you sort out youyr problems with your computer when it goes all stubborn on you. I know that feeling! I liked the structure of it and I thought the flow was good too.

Hugs.

Sugar. x

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Sugar, for your nice words. I think many of us can identify with computer problems. They make your blood boil (at least mine) as it is such a waste of time, it seems, one has to spend resolving them.
Yutka:)


Inner Things (posted on: 23-10-06)
....With all the anguish of a juicy tale...

October; when the last horse chestnuts fell, some still in their spiny green coats. You called me prickly, when I sulked last night. I fell out with this year, you know: I found grey hair, I put on weight, the house; ten months for sale, remained unsold; My lover nearly died, whilst an acquaintance longed for death; planned it meticulously; No one could stop her. On my doorstep, yellow begonias still hang in vibrant bloom, the last tomatoes, passionate red in their ardour, cling to a withered bush. Mushrooms, showing their rigour overnight, soon multiply. A thorny rosebush lets me pick overripe rose hips for the jam I love, pricks my finger, mixing blood and sap With all the anguish of a juicy tale, the story of my life; I wear my many spines, some blunted, the seams split, To use an image; just an image, dear.) Beneath a chestnut tree I find an oiled, brown nut; I carry it, a perfect inner thing, within myself, a shiny thing, to light me through the months. You have less need for all those inner things, for you protect so many of your shells.
Archived comments for Inner Things
Romany on 23-10-2006
Inner Things
I stand corrected Yutka - juicy tale does work! As usual, a deep and sensitive write from you.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Great you agree, Sue. I couldn't have done it without you....
Yutka:)

Kat on 23-10-2006
Inner Things
A juicy poem indeed - some great juxtapositions, like:

'My lover nearly died,
whilst an acquaintance longed for death;
planned it meticulously;'

= very effective. A piece of work to read over and over and peel of the layers each time with pleasure.

Kat :o)



Author's Reply:
thanks, Kat. I did not write it for efectiveness though, the illness and suicide both happened. The suicide just two weeks ago. I had to get it "off the chest"
Yutka:)

reckless on 24-10-2006
Inner Things
Some lovely imagery in this and I think the way it's written, the run-ons etc, give it a lovely melancholy feel. Don't understand why it hasn't got "Great Read' on it.

Author's Reply:
thanks reckless! My poems are mostly not a "Great Read" only the funny ones. Unfortunately I do not feel like writing many funny poems . And the "sad " or "near to life" ones do not find many readers. Especially when thought is involved ...Am I unfair?
Yutka:)

eddiesolo on 25-10-2006
Inner Things
This is a wonderful write, mixed sadness with lovely imagery.

I agree, should have been nibbed.

Si:-)

Author's Reply:
thanks for your appreciation, Eddie!xx
Yutka:)

Kat on 25-10-2006
Inner Things
Yutka, in view of the 'truth' of and in your poem I'm back to say again what a great write and read this is. There are too many good bits to single out, but:

'I fell out with this year, you know...'

seems to be pretty much on the nose. Really fine work and please accept my sincere condolences.

Best wishes

Kat x

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Kat!
I never had two messages from one person. It shows me you really liked my poem and it makes me happy.
I tried to submit more poems but cannot do it anymore. The boxes of "genre" and "cathegory" are constantly blocked and I can only think it is just something to do with my pc. Cannot solve this problem. So for the time being I will be "quiet". Wish me luck to resolve this one day. I am quite sad about it.

Yutka:)

Sunken on 26-10-2006
Inner Things
Hello Ms. Yutka. Have you noticed the sky today? It seems bigger to me for some reason. Anyway, that's not important right now. I just wanted to say that I like your poem more than Tropicana pure orange juice. I hope this helps. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

working my way back to you babe - do you want a take away?

Author's Reply:

reckless on 26-10-2006
Inner Things
Well Yutka, that's poetry for you, and that's people for you too. I've noticed people tend to read things by those they've read before. Humour is easier than thought too, so it gets read more. I still think this should be Great Read though. Not that it matters I suppose. I wonder how they choose these things? I would like to and will read more of your stuff, though time is pressing, what with the WANIAY and everything. Promise though, I will.

Author's Reply:
You are right and also nice to praise my poem. What for some is a Great Read, is for other boring stuff. I know what the majority of people like, but I do not oblige ( I could...)
I think, I mostly write for myself and am delighted if others pick up feelings and identify.
Yutka:)


The Future of Monopoly (posted on: 16-10-06)
...no one wanted his game then...

As a child I'd play monopoly for weeks, I monopolised the whole family, sent them to eat out, while the dining table billowed under the paraphernalia of the game. We played in the bath, the tree house. I kept hotels and houses hidden in my socks and underwear, so no one else could build them. Not keen on the cheaper places, I snubbed stations, only Park Lane would do. Money laundering was a virtue, not a crime. Encouraged by success I grew rich in paper money and business acumen. That man in the Thirties, who crafted the first game would get high, knowing what I know now, as no one wanted his game then, but later two hundred million bought it, a few paying dear for gold and silver houses, even a chocolate version fed the greedy. Spies would use it, smuggle maps, compasses and files, slipped real money for escapees into the packs. Pity . Castro did not fancy the joy of capitalism destroying all Monopoly sets; the Russians, far better, made off with the samples at an exhibition. Times are changing, we now play an electronic version , my new charge card asks me to take out a second mortgage to pay for school fees. Waterworks are owned by a fat Saudi boy and the utilities operated out of Berlin. My early experience has paid dividends. Since I drive around in London in a Monopoly cab fitted with GPS, I won a million in prize moneys, my rent paid for years. A lot has changed since the early days. Parking is replaced by a congestion charging zone stretching all the way from old Kent Road to Mayfair. But nobody sends me to jail without passing go, as it is overcrowded now and the easy-get-out tags are free.
Archived comments for The Future of Monopoly
Sunken on 16-10-2006
The Future of Monopoly
I'm crap at board games. I even cheat at solitaire. I know, the only person I'm hurting is myself. A very interesting poem Ms. Yutka that requires more than one read. This is usually a good sign as it means it's 'deep'. I tried 'deep' once and nearly drowned. I just stick to arses and tits now, it's simpler. I hope this helps. Thanks, isn't it grey out?

s
u
n
k
e
n

turn left by regret and keep going until you come to a standstill

Author's Reply:
thank you Sunky,
Thought that you could not match me in Monopoly. Nevermind though, yoiu must be good at something.
It's poetry! and giving reviews.... Yeah yeah!
Yutka:)

spongemonkey on 18-10-2006
The Future of Monopoly


I always wanted to be the ship fancied myself as a Captain but my bully of a big brother never let me, he always took it and I was the boot. I think he was trying to tell me something.
nice piece very nostalgic well done. The sponge

Author's Reply:
Thanks! Yes, weren't they lovely, all those little tokens..I remember bullying mylittle brother..Yutka:)

wfgray on 20-10-2006
The Future of Monopoly
Hi Yutka, do you know the world is just a buig Monopoly Game, We have lost the the water companies, then the gas and electric, Now its our steel companies. I wonder when the sign 'Britain for Sail' Nice read Will.

Author's Reply:
Hi Will,
Good thinking! That deserves a poem. Why not write it? Isn't it India, who opts for the Steel? And the telephone sevices? And now my wretched AOL helpline. What next?
Yutka:)


At last (posted on: 13-10-06)
...at last I knew what the oak tree knows....

At last I knew what the oak tree knows. My blood ran slower, my hair fell lankier and as the flowers in my basket withered, happiness spilled out, fell from my eyes like acorns. My hunger ebbed away, my throat tightened, my body lifted and grew upwards in search for the light, loneliness was no more. I learned to branch out into green shelters, read the chakras of birdsong and the tarot of leaves against the drifting clouds. I was there for my husband still to melt his tears in the touch of memories but my heart curled beneath, where the dead whisper and console. I live like this now, my marriage elongated and bent as a peacock tail, above, the clouded sky of my life, where the wind sings of forgiveness. With its echoing sound, I reach downwards, the silent ground feels soft like homecoming, a womb opening up with the promise of sanctum, rebirth.
Archived comments for At last
Macjoyce on 21-03-2008
At last
Lankier? Or lanker?


Author's Reply:
Hi there! Look at http://www.thefreedictionary.com/lankier

you had me worried...
regards
Yutka 🙂

Macjoyce on 22-03-2008
At last
Yeah, lanky means tall, as in a person. It's not a word we really use to refer to hair. We'd say lank when talking about hair.


Author's Reply:


Japanese Moon (posted on: 13-10-06)
to Haruki Murakami

I was living in deep darkness during my teenage years, with my soul in chaos in a newly formed ocean of mud, the light hidden behind clouds. I had knowledge without love, embraced the wind without precaution. I knew nothing about contraception. I became pregnant by the moon. Abortion was good neither for body or spirit, the minute I had taken my clothes off, the wind blew them away and left me naked in the moonlight. I had knowledge of the moon and my child was born. I named her Tsukiko. I brought her into the world in the true light.
Archived comments for Japanese Moon
Romany on 13-10-2006
Japanese Moon
Stark and melodramatic. I love 'pregnant by the moon.'

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Sue. That's why she was called Tsukiko (Moonchild in Japanese) isn't this pretty?

littleditty on 14-11-2006
Japanese Moon
Yutka -i missed this one - Moonchild, Tsukiko is pretty, and has the light of the innerchild about her - i liked this one - Japan 1990-92 for me and the moon in Tokyo xxxldx

Author's Reply:
Thanks Little Ditty! You were lucky: the moon in Tokyo sounds cool....any poem about it?
Love from Yutka:)


Death in slow voices (posted on: 13-10-06)
.....maybe the moon is a slow tune carried throughout time by the green-winged Quetzal bird....

1 New moon, face-down, drowning or crescent: an arthritic knotted finger, furiously wagging or full: a scream for the sun's remote fire, Munch's envy in limbo. 2 in the dead of the night I wake in a nightmare. I feel chased by a shapeless terror up and down an unending staircase of an Esher print, down up down up down up in the house I was born . 3 A Native Indian smoking, looking over the prairie, grave of the buffaloes, Manitou, great spirit, where are you now? "I am tired of fighting from where the sun now stands, I will fight no more." Death will call always out of season. 4 Way out of the door, an exit, not always an entrance. Walk in the church yard among the tombstones, here lives white-shrouded Harry, his wedding band still on his bony fingers and pretty Julia killed by a car crash, and tiny Amy, who entered the world for no more than two hours. A coffin is a memory box holding what has been given, a body and a past or a wide open eye that has closed its lid. 5 My young father resides on top of many others in the cold Russian earth, his beautiful eyes closed a long time ago, November 1943. He never stopped whispering, still speaks to me and listens. My mother is looking for him forever in her dreams. Where is my Dad, Mum?" I ask "wherever we go." Tell her: Death is not always an exit but an entrance. 6 Maybe the moon is a slow tune carried throughout time by the green-winged Quetzal bird - What else ages when not tended to: memory, the Amazon forest, ozone, a marriage, the night in which my young daughter suffered a stroke, papers of my grandfather's death and burial, the call of the nursing home to say that my grandmother had just "passed away." For over half a century, my grandfather's bones waited for his widow, waited in a plot of earth underneath a willow tree and an ivy covered cross for those papers to authorise my grandmother's request, while she adjusted her new hearing aid. Down by her cold feet, he's still the man she tries to hear.
Archived comments for Death in slow voices
Romany on 13-10-2006
Death in slow voices
Yutka, I have pm'd you. What a piece! Title is fabulous.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Sue! will look at your message
Yutka:)

Sunken on 13-10-2006
Death in slow voices
Yutka, this is more smashing than the day I realised that I could make myself feel good by phoning up complete strangers and telling them that they were live on local radio and that they had won a hamster. I actually did that once. I have issues don't I? Loved this piece Ms. Yutka, especially 4. Please spend your 10 wisely.

s
u
n
k
e
n

its not how love's supposed to be

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunky, I put your 10 in my piggy bank. If that is not "wisely"....
Yutka:)

MiddleEarthNet on 13-10-2006
Death in slow voices
Er...WOW. I probably didn't understand everything in this piece but I really enjoyed it. There's just something haunting about it.

Author's Reply:
Hi Middle,
Don't know what you did not understand. The Quetzal bird?? Otherwise: see it all as a scrap book about death. OK?
Yutka:)

Kat on 13-10-2006
Death in slow voices
Fantastic work - a piece to come back to again and again - it's ethereal, eternal, everlasting and grounded in very real reality with wonderful diction, images and poetic skill. Glad it's got a nom!

*bowing very low*

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:
Thanks Kat! Praise from you -very welcome!
Yutka:)

Corin on 14-10-2006
Death in slow voices
A wonderful piece Yutka - some great lines:-

New moon, face-down, drowning

Death will call always out of season.

Maybe the moon is a slow tune
carried throughout time
by the green-winged Quetzal bird

My 10 is not to be saved but gobbled greedily so that it can be remembered.

Warm Wishes

David

Author's Reply:
Thank you so much, David! I am thrilled you liked the Quetzal Bird, I found it so much more intriguing than the Phoenix....and your 10! I am still gobbling it up, deep into the night....
Yutka:)

littleditty on 21-10-2006
Death in slow voices
Hi Yutka 🙂 i've come back to this again and again -it is a compelling write -and i liked the Questzal bird too- as others have said, some great lines, running through the generations - really good write xxldx

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Ditty,
I also follow your many entries everywhere and very much love what you write. So coming from you, it really makes me feel good. Yutka:)


Pensioned off (posted on: 06-10-06)
..we are pensioners now...

In the morning I put on my coat I snap out of my habit of yoghurt and fruit and take to the sea in my boat, have sushi for breakfast and catch my sardines in a net. I let house cleaning be a thing of the past, but keep my boat in top shape, attack the scruff marks with soda and borax and polish the hull with bee's wax. I spray on the fairy in circular motion, then flush and blow dry it. I rub all the seats with my bristly old brush. At noon I fix lunch for my husband, who does not like leaving his cabin, for he thrives on computers and gadgets - we are pensioners now. Cost puts him off. That's why we never eat out. He says crowds are too loud, the food is no good, and tobacco smoke makes him cough. As he does not like fish, he eats my sardines with a frown, wipes his mouth on his dressing gown. I say: "sorry there was nothing else for a catch!" and I whisper: "next time you catch us a sheep." and he says: "yes, the fish stock is very much down, and, at least, these sardines have come cheap. My afternoon passes too soon. I drop the anchor and swim round the boat. I use my harpoon for the shoals of anchovies and later take pictures of clouds, a lagoon, some sea gulls afloat, a remote sandy dune. I am keen on sunsets and snaps of the moon. At night fall we sail home, and I make a dish of pot noodles with spinach and steak, for my husband is starving and feels a bit weak. He talks of old age and the minimum wage. He yawns, rubs his eyes and keeps hardly awake. I put him to bed and hope, not for good, then I start knitting my diving suit.
Archived comments for Pensioned off
Gerry on 06-10-2006
Pensioned off
Yutka, nice one--raised a smile...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
thanks, Gerry, smiling back
Yutka:)

Sunken on 07-10-2006
Pensioned off
Well I would like to thank you on behalf of the Pot Noodle appreciation society for using said delicacy in your wonderful poem. I like to dip chips in mine, it's a most satisfying meal and no mistake Ms. Yutka. Another smasher with, as Ms. Li or Tai fame says, a precious ending. A kind of rainbows end in poetical form... I know what I'm on about if no one else does Ms. Yutka. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

lives in a cardboard flat

Author's Reply:
hi Sunky! I knew you'd be fond of my potnoodles. Thanks for your kind words and don't catch cold in your cardboard box. It is freezing here.
Yutka:)

Corin on 08-10-2006
Pensioned off
Great last line, and anyway good for you all that fish!

David

Author's Reply:
Thanks, David! Yes, those omega oils, what would we do without them!
Yutka:)

Zoya on 08-10-2006
Pensioned off
"A day in the life of the pensioners"- I have yet to read a piece, on the mundane life of pensioners, described in a more interesting manner...
(((Hugs for sharing)))
Love,
Zoya


Author's Reply:
thanks for the hugs, Zoya. We pensioners need them, all the time. More than fish anyway.
Yutka:)


Jazz is the music (posted on: 29-09-06)
....Cut it with the edge of your mind....

Tangibly, the web of silence grew, where angry words flew some moments before, now settled in the creases of the curtains, anchored to the nooks and crannies of the walls, the piles of the Persian rug. You ducked at the hit and miss, resigned to the dull residue in the wine glass. The words are gone, but you are trapped, caught in a web woven by the spider of loss. Reach out, touch this silence. Cut it with the edge of your mind. Escape before the beast pounces. Cheat it out of its own satisfaction, kick-box its stronghold and launch at its superiority. Step on it, dance on it, rid it of its power! Crash its ugly black feet. Jazz is the music that kills it off.
Archived comments for Jazz is the music
Sunken on 29-09-2006
Jazz is the music
Hello Ms. Yutka. I can't claim to like Jazz, but I is lovin' your poem. One of your strongest to date, in my primate opinion.

s
u
n
k
e
n

now available in pants

Author's Reply:

reckless on 31-10-2006
Jazz is the music
So much to like here, so many articulate and original phrases, an I do like your style. Elliptical, that's how I think of it. You say a lot, some of it tinged with hardness, but wrapped up in beautifully mellow lines. Plus of course I like jazz. John Coltrane, Stan Getz, and the lovely music from Cuba.

Author's Reply:


Egyptian Love Life (posted on: 29-09-06)
...Meet me at the Ashmolean....

Take me for a ride past the patchy shades, spells from the Book of the Dead, or the words I misspell masking their meaning.. All life is hidden. You said. You find it in red wine, sweet grapes and also in the bitterness of wild plums Look for me at the Ashmolean. Your Nefertiti, filled with my lapis lazuli life, stacked in the locked cabinet next to the turquoise and onyx rings, the jade and jasper scarabs. For you hold the key to all my faience. But do not believe my words or trust in what pours from my alabaster jar that is in my unzipped bag. Listen instead to the water music that falls through footbridges, black hulls, willow trees, while we are afloat. Remember, the singing is not for us, my own Akhnaton, We take what is given, the pure melody, as long as my sunset lips engulf you.
Archived comments for Egyptian Love Life
Kat on 29-09-2006
Egyptian Love Life
I really enjoyed all the textures and sounds in this poem - a hearty piece!

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Kat! I love "hearty"!
Yutka:)


Immigrants (posted on: 29-09-06)
...through to a money-spinner in the inner circle that ripples outwards....

Snap out of your inner ice caps and walk through the door of virgin flatness, through to a money-spinner in the inner circle that ripples outwards: run your hand over it. The surface of bridal sheets, where a couple tucked in for satisfaction, shaking in the unheated room stacked with suitcases, heaps of clothes, empty beer bottles. You will leave again tonight for your pub job, and he will be the hospital porter calming the mentally insane. Junk grows around you daily, but your long-term project grows inside helping you, one day, to escape.
Archived comments for Immigrants
bluepootle on 29-09-2006
Immigrants
I loved this, particularly the unheated room stacked with suitcases, and the junk growing around them daily. Good stuff.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Bluepootle!
Yutka:)

Sunken on 02-10-2006
Immigrants
Hello Ms. Yutka. How did I bloomin well miss this then? I blame the following - Pot Noodle (beef and tomato flavour) - Shirley Bassey's warble, and of course - turnips. I realise that none of this is constructive but, to be quite frank Ms. Yutka, I can only do constructive when the moon is in a certain phase (Jennifer Aniston also has to be in a happy relationship and watership down has to be playing at the local cinema). These things very seldom come together Ms. Yutka, so I am afraid that constructive comment is out for now. I know that this is a great poem tho because I get twitches in a place that I dare not mention... oh go on then, I will mention said place - it's Margate. Thanks. I hope this helps, I doubt it does, but please don't tell Andrea that you think I'm a pest. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

doesn't agree with wigs

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunky,
may I consider you my fan? everyone needs one and I gladly adopt you! Especially if you go for potnoodles (another thing we have in common, as I mention it in my new poem: Pensioned off) You will see...Thanks thanks thanks to the Lord ( as my grandmother said) for your sympathy..
Yutka:)


Oxford for me (posted on: 22-09-06)


A theme of spires in a light blue haze and evensong in a beautiful place. A crowd of students in a college hall, and a small ancient door in a stone-built wall. A flock of geese by a dark green stream, where punts glide along and life becomes dream. A rush between lectures in the hubbub of time, a dance on may morning with music and rhyme. Learning and knowledge during three terms a year, that lasts you a lifetime like a wood with veneer.
Archived comments for Oxford for me
Romany on 22-09-2006
Oxford for me
Lovely! I only moved to Oxford in 2005, but I could identify with this no problem, particularly the second verse which, although it maybe a cliche, is what sums the feel of that lovely city up nicely. Don't you just love those little doors set in ancient walls? Fascinating...

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Romany, I know, many cliches, but still...that's Oxford, isn't it?
Yutka:)

orangedream on 23-09-2006
Oxford for me
Love the last verse Yutka - so beautifully put!

"Learning and knowledge
during three terms a year,
that lasts you a lifetime
like a wood with veneer."

... to but put in a nutshell.

regards
Tina

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Tina, appreciate your word.
Yutka:)

Sunken on 24-09-2006
Oxford for me
Hello Ms. Yutka. You might be relieved to hear that I have never been to Oxford. I did once go to Ofam tho where I purchased a lovely pair of purple jeans with holes already in the knees. They were a snip at just £2.50
I hope this helps. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

i have been to oxfam, but i've never been to me

Author's Reply:


Ground zero (posted on: 18-09-06)
...no space for skies....

And then there was the noise and the matte grey of the hull filling our vision, no space for skies, only the white dust remembered. In New York the flames had called us out of our rooms, out of our lives, their orange screams and smoke tugging at our minds. There were birds, of course, and the hazy sun: perhaps the birds were white, or grey-white perhaps the sun was hiding in terror of the falling bodies in agony of the ebbing lives we would be unable to recognise it. Nothing could distract from where the ground ended, our cameras snapping the towers as they disappeared into depth and dust Nothing but the rubble filling the broken skyline could convince us, we were at the edge of the world.
Archived comments for Ground zero
deepoceanfish2 on 22-04-2007
Ground zero
Yutka,

I've no idea why this piece has received no comments. This is tragically beautiful:

'...There were birds, of course,
and the hazy sun:

perhaps the birds
were white, or grey-white
perhaps the sun
was hiding

in terror of the falling
bodies
in agony of the ebbing
lives

we would be unable
to recognise it. ...'

The final lines kick the bottom out and leave you free-falling. Very nicely done!

A def fav for me.

Best wishes,

Adele


Author's Reply:
Thank you Adele! What made you look at this poem I wrote quite a long time ago? Just curious. Thank you for your comments, you left me surprised. I thought nobody reads me anymore.
Yutka


Married life (posted on: 18-09-06)
...a passionate thunderstorm sent orange warnings...

The year we married, a red hot summer lasted so long the garden burnt. We were betting who was hottest you or me; our wedding marquee was used as a sun shelter, tempers ran high that summer, then out of the blue, a passionate thunderstorm sent orange warnings across the skies. The land became impassable; rain poured down in waterfalls, ponds filled up and spilled over. That night, we woke, when the foundations of the house began moving, we clung to each other at the storm's pounding, felt a soft shudder like a boat taking off, then there was a comforting silence and we fell back into sleep like slow moving fish tasting the salt of the open sea. In the morning, a scaly sky hung over the house, the radio confirmed the flood. You wore your herringbone suit, your salmon shirt, rubber boots that tackled the slippery grounds. When you waded across the liquid kitchen, I noticed the ducks landing on the roof. Two wild swans flew past the chimney, calling out warnings I ignored. Or were they to reassure us? That life would go on anyhow, like the ducks around us, now swimming in circles?
Archived comments for Married life
Romany on 18-09-2006
Married life
Excellent! Don't know what else to say.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your kind words, Romany.
Yutka:)

Ionicus on 18-09-2006
Married life
Very descriptive, Yutka. A wise choice by the 'nibber' and rightfully nominated for the anthology.
Top marks from me.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Ionicus. I am surprised about the nomination. I thought: How does he know this, until I saw the flashing words....great! Thanks!
Yutka:)

Sunken on 20-09-2006
Married life
Blimey. Is it a true story Ms. Yutka? I never had a duck in my kitchen, but I did once have a CENSORED! Well done on the nib and nomination. Muchly deserved.

s
u
n
k
e
n

sponsored by dave

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunky, Thanks for the 10.You are a naughty boy! You should breed ducks, they become very tame
Yutka:)

reckless on 31-10-2006
Married life
Mellow style, original approach and very smoothly written. If I hadn't made a decision (for quirky and individual reasons) not to have any "Favourite Authors", you'd be the first. Very much like this. You're a good poet.

Author's Reply:
Hi Reckless, (are you really?) thanks for the "good poet" and not even English....now I am curious about the "quirky and individual reasons"... you got me there, and my ears are wide open....
Yutka:)


The sea gull (posted on: 18-09-06)
....And though you say they all look the same....

It was only part white; the sea gull that swooped down on us nearly brushing us with its wings but in my head I saw this ghost of a bird, shadowless, a white absence, blind negative in the light of the lake. No reflection glides over the water where it flies, weightless, no sound from its beak. And though you say they all look the same, for me it is unique. I see how it speeds out of the distance gathers weight, and darkens till it meets its own blackness, grows into lustre; mew, gull, seagull that quickens the heart as it sweeps towards the sunset, its shape ringed with gold.
Archived comments for The sea gull
Sunken on 18-09-2006
The sea gull
Hello Ms. Yutka. A lovely poem from a lovely lady. You put me in mind of the late Olivia Newton John for some reason. I don't know if Olivia ever wrote poetry or not but, I bet if she did, it would have been something like your wonderful sub to uka (europe's number one writing site). I hope this helps in some small way? Oh Sandy... Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he hasn't eaten properly for two full years due to a fridge infection

Author's Reply:
thank you, Sunky, for the twice lovely.Watch it! It might go to my head.....
Yutka)

MiddleEarthNet on 19-09-2006
The sea gull
I've certainly never thought of a seagull in the way you describe. Next time I see them, I'll try and picture them in the way you describe. Great poem.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, I see it as an achievement to alter people's views....Yutka:)

Kat on 20-09-2006
The sea gull
Really enjoyed your poem, Yutka!

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Kat

Yutka:)


A Hospital Story (posted on: 25-08-06)
To Gemma, who went through pain unscathed

She took a large sheet of white paper and on this she made the world a hospital with rows of beds and corridors and she painted two nurses running between the patients and a doctor in a floppy white coat walking with a stethoscope that looked like a gun towards a child with a monkey toy and to fill in the gaps a mother holding a baby. She worked all day, went to MacDonalds with her Gran, this was Saturday, on Sunday she put in more beds in the hospital and a fat man in a wheelchair next to a great big guide dog and a woman with a white stick. In the open window she drew a blue sky with a green-feathered pigeon , made a smudge on the wings and drowned the blue flowers on the table with the rest of the green. She put Grandma and Grandad on chairs by the table and roses on the bed of her mother, even Barney the cat by her feet and in the left corner smiling Paul the postman on his bicycle that would squeak, when he put the brakes on and the kind police woman in the top right corner, who gave her a sweet when she asked what daddy had done to mummy after he shot her and what did he do with the gun and then she got the bus with Grandad to the police station to hand it in and the policeman at the desk said: thank you, Gemma. That looks very pretty.
Archived comments for A Hospital Story
Zoya on 27-08-2006
A Hospital Story
'In the open window she drew a blue sky
with a green-feathered pigeon , made a smudge on the wings
and drowned the blue flowers on the table with the rest of the green.'
What a story!
And how skillfully you narrate it.
The end kind of bowled me over.
The anti-climax has the right punch to it,
gives me goose-pimples in the end,
and a sigh invariably escape...

Congratulations the well deserve nomination dear Yukta.

Love,
Zoya


Author's Reply:
Thank you, Zoya for your lovely words! Highly appreciated! Sorry me answering so late, as my pc crashed twice and to make it even better I caught an awful flu. No, not the birdflu, thank god.
Love from Yutka:)

Zoya on 27-08-2006
A Hospital Story
Sorry forgot to rate.
Zoya

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 27-08-2006
A Hospital Story
I agree with Zoya, this really does deserve the mighty nib. It also deserves more comment. Well done Ms. Yutka.
You might be interested to note that I am wearing a bacofoil hat whilst commenting on this piece. Apparently it helps lessen the chances of being abducted by aliens. I think it must be true as I am still here. I hope this helps. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

does everything stop when the old tapes fail?

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your interesting comments. Glad you are still here! Otherwise I'd miss you for sure. Lots!
Yutka:)


Forced Dreams (posted on: 18-08-06)
...thinking about all the war deads ...

Outside my window falls the night, rain runs, an owl cries from the treetops, stops, again a cry across the muddy lawn and more than eighty dead in Lebanon. Beirut in flame below its cedar trees, and like a game the fight goes on. More die than people are aware in Washington or London. I think of them between a war and words and their continuous dying. They reach out with broken hands, their bloody eyes are terrified: " we've been left out, here, in the cold rain, left out to avoid the bombs and shells. We're left in shame. Where is our home? Where houses stood is dust and rubble now. Do not forget us." Think. This just happens. Sit back. Mix memory with discovery and find your own garden full of the dead, who are like you, still out for food, a bed. The old and young with babies, and lovers who just yesterday were strolling arm in arm, now with torn faces pressed against your screens. You think. The rain will wash them out. It won't, it can't. It is not meant to. You sit, your face pressed against theirs. Life against death. You have no choice. The children howl. The babies, with their wounds still bleeding red show transparent eyelids over their dead eyeballs! Wind-blown, rain-drenched, stuck to the glass, their lips are now dead leaves. Offer them sweets, a featherbed, warm milk! Their faces have the angel look, the garden is awash in begging angels. Nothing could deny them dying. Their eyes insist: here we are, more real than your trees, your pond, your trampled rosebushes. And I say silly things like: you are forced dreams of my imagination. And they agree. They do apologise for frightening the dog and they are leaving now. The dollar falls, religions boast their creed. And petrol goes extinct. And still they run their faces, visceral, as they are, deep down into my eyes. That is tonight. I see them hold their hands up, yet again, to keep their skin from falling off the bone. It is not time yet, but I ask: Who of us, you said, is innocent? We all give up. We all.
Archived comments for Forced Dreams
Romany on 18-08-2006
Forced Dreams
This is powerful. It hit a chord with me because you are right; to us in our safe little worlds it does seem unreal. It touches us of course, and some of us even weep for this desolation, but that is the limit of our grief, for most of us. It doesn't mean we are bad people, it just means that, thankfully, for most of us it is beyond our scope of experience. The detached reality of this piece is well-placed, brought out especially in the line:

Their eyes insist:
here we are, more real than your trees, your pond,
your trampled rosebushes.

And I like the image you conjure up in the first lines, of nature and all things natural themselves seeking to run and hide from the conflict (at least, that is how it read to me:)


Outside my window falls the night,
rain runs, an owl cries from the treetops,
stops,

Sad that you should have to write such a piece, but a sign of these times that are all too human and inhuman all at once. Thought provoking work.

Incidentally, whilst it does undoubtedly work as a poem, I think it would work just as well, perhaps even better, if written as prose. Just a thought, offered with respect as always,

Romany.


Author's Reply:

Yutka on 18-08-2006
Forced Dreams
thank you for your thoughtful reply, Sue. I appreciate the time you took.
Yutka:)

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 19-08-2006
Forced Dreams
A very moving piece, which deserves more reads.

kind regards
orangedream

Author's Reply:
thank you, Orangedream. It's holiday time. Not many about.
Yutka:)

reckless on 20-08-2006
Forced Dreams
It is a terrible thing, what is happening in Lebanon, and I think your poem captures the indiference of many to war in general. It is as though its not real. People do care though, its just you don't hear much about it, you only ever hear the government line. We have an egomaniac warmongering tyrant for a prime minister, and the Americans have a regime that's a bit akin to the 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Well done.

Author's Reply:
I love your imagery, reckless...you are right, we are living in difficult times, albeit in safety and cannot easily identify with the victims.
Yutka:)

teifii on 13-09-2008
Forced Dreams
Wonderful. I didn't see it first time round but have to make it a fav.
My I read it too at the poetry evening?
Incidentally, I am a bit puzzled by the structure of the line
'Who of you said,
is innocent?'

Not sure how to read it as the 'is innocent' has no subject
Who of you / us/ is innocent makes sense but not with the said. Could you help in order to aid the reader. Reading aloud shows up inconsistencies and I would want to do it justice.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Who of us, you said, is innocent?

Sorry for that. Hope u can read it. Tell me how it went.
Just came back from the jungle in Africa....had an incredible holiday
Love Yutka


Where belonging is (posted on: 07-08-06)
...waiting for your touch...

Do not fling yourself carelessly into one moment of night in a hurry, without preamble, but free yourself from thought, from memory, from the passing seconds, from the world around you, when you follow me into the hollow of darkness, where I lie, your soft mammal, waiting for your touch in a ritual of affection, where we push for warmth, comfort, safety. Our limbs cross in the consolation of dark that refracts time and sense, remote from consciousness as dream or as water is from earth, another element, where belonging is without question.
Archived comments for Where belonging is
orangedream on 07-08-2006
Where belonging is
Wanted to pick out a couple of lines that I particularly liked - but I particularly liked every single one.

A beautiful write, Yutka, pure poetry!

Thank you
orangedream

Author's Reply:
sorry, I am a bit late with my answer, but no less appreciate it. Thank you for your kind words.
Yutka:)

Sunken on 09-08-2006
Where belonging is
*Pushes Tai-Li aside - gently of course*

That's just what I was going to say too young yUtKA.

A very lovely, melodious write indeed.

It put me in mind of the blond one from Abba (she would have been fit if she shaved the beard off)

Hope this helps.

Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

doesn't trust vicars

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunky, never knew Freda (the blond one?) had a beard...so, you are not yet going on holidays? Most of the "members" have flown the nest, I think.
And thanks for your comments!
Yutka:)


I put her into care (posted on: 04-08-06)
...I told them to be kind...

I combed her hair and put her into care, not far, nearby. I told them to be kind and keep an eye on her, told her to eat. Her dress sagged from behind loose at the waist, she had no appetite, she said, had lost her taste. I was too late to hear that silent tap upon my heart when she slipped out I was too late to see her softly wrap her memories around her like a shroud, on her way out.
Archived comments for I put her into care
Albermund on 06-08-2006
I put her into care
Very well done, Y. So moving and with so few words - (don't think you even need to mention shroud). Think I'll break off for a wee blub now. all the best, Albert

Author's Reply:
sorry Albermund for my late answer. Thanks for liking my poem. I thought about "shroud" but still am not yet ready to alter it. Any idea?
Yutka:)


Death in the Afternoon (posted on: 28-07-06)
Death in the Afternoon - 15 ml Pernod - Fill glass(es) Champagne - 1 cube Sugar Place sugar cube in glass, add Pernod, crushed ice, a slice of lemon

High-spirited, each time we come, she gets her past out and twirls it with her tongue. She brims over with mirth, when she explains her ex-husbands, gives us the low-down with crushed ice in high-stemmed glasses, "no tumblers" she says putting in slices of lemon for a Death in the Afternoon But her husband plays dumb, drinks himself numb, when she says: "Wasn't our affair great?"
Archived comments for Death in the Afternoon
Jolen on 29-07-2006
Death in the Afternoon
Oh wow! I didn't see that coming. Congrats on the nib and well done. Too true, I think..

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 29-07-2006
Death in the Afternoon
Hello young Yutka. I really like this. I think I like it more than watching my neighbors knickers fluttering in the breeze like a butterfly caught in a net. She has some great pants. I can't understand why she needs to hang them out to dry tho? They are so miniscule. Surely they would dry indoors? Women are so strange. No way I'm hanging my pants out for perverts to ogle at. Do you think perverts would be interested in my boxer shorts...? Maybe not. I'm not a pervert by the way. Did I mention I liked your poem? I really do. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

in charge of laundry

Author's Reply:


Fast moving Time (posted on: 28-07-06)
You carry the same possibilities, but differently

Fast moving time, you drift through already forgotten moments. You carry the same possibilities, but differently, as if you were living in many of the same rooms. We cannot catch but your afterglow, feel loosening skin and eyes turned to opals. And the young dead, at the first state of timeless indifference, must learn to adapt. They are nudging their empty chairs and self pity spreads into the furniture, which mills of the dark pour out into finely-ground dust. But you are the soil. You are summer and for you presence is past and also what's coming, as we foresee permanence always in fear of an end. You are growing with us: our winter-lasting foliage, our mind-green time of the year, you inundate our whole innate landscape risen from earth, inhabited by aquatic creatures, water birds hiding in the reeds. Nothing touches but out of the great circle this mute gravity pulls us to count down time. We are woken at night, you break into the special moments, when we are with the people we love, Talk to us , ancient spirit. Explain. We hear you. Now you are trees, roaring louder and louder in storms then again you are water rustling past. Your words are not meant for us, who do not last, who cannot win. Fast moving time, lie with us. May we hold you, find in you kinship, rest, sleep.
Archived comments for Fast moving Time

No comments archives found!
When we see we are growing old (posted on: 10-07-06)
I am your Snow- White

It is there, in the strong light, when we see we are growing old. Loneliness is a glance over a darkening lake. Let's play kiss chase. I send my looks deep into the willow tree. Grope me there. I am your Snow-white. Break my cold lips into tiny sunsets cups of pale moonlight, silent waterbirds. Give me a second chance. I will ride your swan, its feathers the fluff of dreams. I am naturally lonely. I cannot stop fondle you in the darkness. Draw me a water lily in the misty water, a shell between my lips, pearls in my eyes. Fly away I say, when everything turns white.
Archived comments for When we see we are growing old
Gerry on 10-07-2006
When we see we are growing old
Y, this was quite beautiful--well written...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Gerry!:):)

orangedream on 11-07-2006
When we see we are growing old
Commented on this earlier - but it seems to have got lost with change of server. To reiterate. Agree with Gerry - a truly beautiful piece, - especially liked the penultimate stanza:-

"Draw me a waterlily in the misty water....

Thankyou Yutka
🙂 orangedream

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind comments. Yutka:)

orangedream on 11-07-2006
When we see we are growing old
orangedream ...again. Forgot to re-register my rating.
Here goes. Bye:-)

Author's Reply:


When I told you of my death (posted on: 07-07-06)
None

You stood in the garden when I told you of my death. You shook in the wind like a tree and the rain dropped the tears you could not shed. I looked without fear, knowing I would not hurt you anymore. How could the dead still have this heartstopping power? You looked at the trees, custodians, lifelong friends to get answers. They moved all spirit, still you could not hear their reply but the rustling sound of their shadowy ghosts. I talk to them daily, brothers now, hear what they say, telling it to you in the twitter of birds, in the hush before storms.
Archived comments for When I told you of my death
eddiesolo on 10-07-2006
When I told you of my death
This is a really good piece, were are all the comments? This deserves far more than just me!

'You shook in the wind
like a tree and the rain
dropped the tears
you could not shed.'

I love this stanza.

Well done on the nibby on a most excellent read!






Author's Reply:
I am grateful for your nice comment! Someone else must have liked my poem, why do I get a nib? Is it Andrea?

Yutka:)

eddiesolo on 10-07-2006
When I told you of my death
The great nib pixie...a mystery of UKA.

Si:-)

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 11-07-2006
When I told you of my death
Hi Yutka - do you not fancy a comma after ...'without fear' ? I like your poems! xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
Hi Little Ditty, Yes, of course! You are right. And also: where is everyone? Seems lonely here...
Yutka:)


Novice to death (posted on: 07-07-06)
....Is she asleep or listening?....

The churchyard hems the novice in. The earth is cool, the grave is deep. Is she asleep or listening? The wooden casket feels her pain, now quiet, but still lingering. It tries to hold her caringly, wraps her pale shape in gentleness. The cruel sun has chosen her to celebrate death's peacefulness, seeks out her grave. It scatters gold with messages: hold tight! Be brave! Yet it sends warmth, by teasing her, a chance to feel alive again, to urge her move her lips, her hips, to stretch her toes, to smooth her hair, get up, try her new lipstick out.
Archived comments for Novice to death
littleditty on 08-07-2006
Novice to death
Hi Yutka - where is everybody? It's awful quiet around here - perhaps everyone is out playing in the sunshine...I really enjoyed this gentle, tease back to life - it's a clever, well written poem i reckon - xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
thanks, Ditty! I don't know where they all are. In Germany watching football? Did u see that game today Germany/ Portugal? Quite enjoyed it.
Yutka:)

eddiesolo on 08-07-2006
Novice to death
A very interesting piece and LD is right very clever.

I liked it.

Si:-)

Author's Reply:
Thanks Eddie,
you boast my ego "very clever" Si!Si!
Yutka:)

Sunken on 09-07-2006
Novice to death
I have an urge to try lipstick out Ms. Yutka. Don't tell anyone tho. Another Yutastik poem. It reminded me of a girl I once knew named Cheryl, she would do anything for an after eight. I hope this helps. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

after nine

Author's Reply:
thanks Sunken, for that lovely new word "Yutastic" suits me!
Yutka:)


Are you as light as the dead now? (posted on: 03-07-06)
...Time is a dimension....

Neither will skies arouse storms nor storms are encouraged by seas. No, winds blow free from both, tearing through space as you fleet through my mind. Am I an island or sea or a plain for your feelings I yearn? Where did you go since and where from, did you as night wind return the dark scent of yourself? Transparent, translucent you are! Have I to mourn you, your change? Do you feel shadow and light still under the fast growing trees? Also for me out of range: you arrive and escape, you stay long and you pass. Who of us died? Oh we remember, console one another, lie down on the grave of your sound! Are you as light as the dead now that you walk through the walls undisturbed, so unhindered by touch? Look. I still see you even if you are no more, as I am no more as you know, for I live in the depth without touch but a signal is sweet... and I'll move, not in air but your breath. Do I excite you again? Will you breathe softer in me ?
Archived comments for Are you as light as the dead now?
narcissa on 03-07-2006
Are you as light as the dead now?
Wow. Wow wow wow.

Forgive my unhelpful response, Yutka, but this piece is incredible! Bring on the nibs, say I.
This builds and builds as you layer image upon image. Your use of the formal language is beautiful and reminds me at some points of the style of Wilfred Owen.

The only thing I'd say is sometimes there is a little grammatical confusion. For example, the first two lines struck me as a little bit jumbled and I had to go back and read them again before progressing with the poem.
I think you'd either have to have
"Neither will skies arouse storms
nor storms encourage by seas. "
or
"Neither will skies arouse storms
nor storms be encouraged by seas."
The only other example I can find on looking through it again is "Who of us died?" - forgive me if I'm completely wrong because I may well be, but it made me stop and go "is that right?" - "which of us died?" I do like the use of "who" so I'm not sure how you could work that in and keep it from standing out.

Anyway, this is stunning. Thank you.
Laura x




Author's Reply:
Hi Laura,
You seem to be someone who likes my poem, that makes me more cheerful!
The grammar, as far as I see, is correct. Your version slightly alters the meaning, doesn't it? and "Who of us died" might be not as much used as "Which of us died" but the grammar is ok and I prefer this "Who". But thank you for pointing this out to me. I am always grateful for comments and to see the way others read my words. I find it refreshing to get criticism and not, as in some forums, people sucking up to each other and never telling what they really think. Much nicer here and more helpful.
Yutka:)


Hymn to the goddess of time (posted on: 30-06-06)
.....As soon as you lay your hands on us....

Oh goddess of time, where you are nobody knows, but we know you. Your present is past and future alike and you pass through our eyes without trace As soon as you lay your hands on us you are no longer. we only see your effects on our flesh: shapeless faces, loosening skin and those slow opaline eyes. I beg you to pause. For a while, let dreams and feelings remain, not take them as a spider takes prey the unmerciful ogre Please: be understanding, just once! Nowhere I find any resting points, places where permanence stretches its limbs and nothing else will move, nothing, all silence will stay, only the birdsong go on for ever. And those lovers! For once, let them be speechless and happy. Nothing to disturb the incredible joy of first meetings. Endless the light in their laughter. Clouds in their sky will not drift anymore and thin air must no longer be thin. Let there be no void but manifold layers criss-crossing the world on all levels, and for us, at home, in a landscape, at work, that can be seen, felt and lived in but instantly crossed. May there be no impossible valleys, no mountains to climb but a steady pass laid out with bridges for easy cross over. May answers arise that always escape us on a new-installed clockwork, newly invented from time-warped material, that will hold you together, like genies are held in a bottle locked with the cork of the eternal.
Archived comments for Hymn to the goddess of time
Zoya on 30-06-2006
Hymn to the goddess of time
What a beautiful poem, full of metaphors an allusions.
I love it.
"Nowhere
I find any resting points, places where permanence
stretches its limbs and nothing else will move,
nothing, all silence will stay, only the birdsong
go on for ever. "

Love this piece!

Thanks for sharing this very philosophic and thought provoking piece of work.

Yes, Time never stays!

***Hugs***
Love, xxx, Zoya


Author's Reply:
Thank you Zoya,
Your comments are always so encouraging and sweet.
Hugs,
Yutka:)

littleditty on 30-06-2006
Hymn to the goddess of time
Zoya said it - may i just agree? This poem asks to be read again - very much enjoyed the thoughts spun. Cheers for the moments! No nib yet? xxxnicky x

Author's Reply:
Hi Little Ditty, thank you! There is so much more one can say about this subject. Just trying to get in it a bit deeper...but it will take a while. May be nib next time...
Yutka:)


I went away (posted on: 26-06-06)
....DUMPED is t word

Hi nasty sweetheart, not a day without a prayer for your death. I guess that you, by now, have a great time, when I, locked in my flat, can only watch tv. Dumped is the word, I smell. For a whole week I could not face my face, my red brimmed eyes, the lanky hair, I try hard to pull out. I shout. I broke the hateful mirror, as it showed not me, someone I do not know, a horrid scarecrow was exchanged for me. I went away to sunny Italy. I smell those orange blossoms, take a ride on donkey carts, I 'll also see Capri. Have a good time, beloved bastard mine, have a good fuck, I wish you all the luck of Singapore. Stay with your whore, next time I'll trip her up, should I bang into her at the Wild Boar.
Archived comments for I went away
orangedream on 27-06-2006
I went away
Strong piece - your bitterness comes through loud and clear. I feel this piece was written straight from the heart. Maybe it would be wise for me to avoid the 'Wild Boar'!!

Author's Reply:
haha! You better!
Yutka:)


Old Navajo Games (posted on: 23-06-06)
....Weave on child, weave the universe in motion...

Spider Woman taught string games to keep thoughts in order, yet only in winter, when spiders sleep, or else will she tie your eyes shut. You will learn about the night sky, concentrate on star clusters, find planets in your weaving patterns: the earth is your mother, the sky your father. Star pinching the pattern to follow: Female Arrowhead,Big Snake, Lightning, Cloud. Weave in the sacred four colours: white for dawn, blue for the day, yellow for twilight, black for the night. Weave on child, weave the universe in motion, play your string games, your sand games in perpetual regeneration. Breathe child, breathe the sacred act of breathing! The Holy Wind is in all the living, nothing exists in isolation. You long for he good and the evil, the natural and supernatural in balance, connectivity to all living things. Follow the stars constellations, Scorpio, Cassiopeia, The Pleiades, Aldebaran, Canis Major, Ursa Major, Sword of Orionthey all touch your body, each one its part assigned, filling the space of your transitory nature. Learn them, chant them, weave them into your memory!They will remind you how to live your life, not the emotionally overpowering, the materially oriented, the spiritually depleted. Seek your escape from the fast paced world! Walk in beauty, not the outward appearance, but order, pleasantness, everything that lifts you. Reach an old age by living in harmony with the universe. Breathe, child, breathe the holy act of breathing! On breathing, the powerful wind will enter. Fingerprints and toe prints are its signals. The whorls at the tips of your toes hold you to the Earth. Those on your fingertips hold you to the Sky. This wind carries thought at conception. When it ceases to blow inside you, you become speechless. Draw your string figures, child, move and complete them until Spider Woman will help to dissolve all.
Archived comments for Old Navajo Games
Micky on 24-06-2006
Old Navajo Games
so much wisdom in this weave and write
"walk in beauty"
intriguing

Micky :>D

Author's Reply:
Thanks for liking my poem
Yutka:)


What will remain of them? (posted on: 23-06-06)
...each one uncertain....

Poppy seed capsule, bare now without its bright crimson petals a wind has ripped out, like our children, so often forsaken and each one uncertain. Many are taken. Faster than eyes can blink strikes the disaster. Down the abyss they sink, pale alabaster. What will remain of them who are no more? Their untouched things behind a closed door. Something unspeakable, someone we cry for, mountains of memories most of us die for.
Archived comments for What will remain of them?
Gerry on 23-06-2006
What will remain of them?
I think many will relate to this--very sad but well written...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Gerry.
Sometimes it is necessary to express sadness.
Yutka


My daughters (posted on: 23-06-06)
... I hear but hardly see them...

One leaves early in the morning, with the clickety-clack sound of her stilettos, size seven, the other stays in bed, next to her glass of water, mars bars and world music cd's. I hear but hardly see them. Their lives are evident by signs they pass: food gone from the fridge, a briefly switched on tv, a phone ringing, A brush with a door, a rush of wind, remove their traces, but not the heady vanilla-jasmine scent, the crumbs of burnt toast, scattered letters from the dole office.
Archived comments for My daughters
Romany on 23-06-2006
My daughters
Lol! I jusst love this! What a realistic take from the pov of a frustrated but loving mother. I remember being like them, breezing in and out of my home, taking it for granted because it WAS home and I knew I could be loved there (lucky me eh?) Sounds like your daughters feel much the same. I am sure they are unaware of their own absence in your life, as it were, because as far as they are concerned they, and you, are totally in it, together. (And I do not mean 'totally' as in the fatuous phrase that graces just about every Amercian teenage girl tv show these days! I mean it in its literal sense.)

At least, I hope that is true for you Yutka. I have boys, a little younger I think than your girls, but I know what you mean about hearing rather than seeing them. The following lines particularly moved me:

Their lives
are evident by signs they pass:


Lovely, lovely piece of writing!

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your lovely comments and the time you took about my poem.
Yutka:)

orangedream on 23-06-2006
My daughters
Could really identify with this little gem. Especially the line:-

"a brush with the door - a rush of wind..."

Used to call my two 'mini-whirlwinds. Mind, both my daughters are way grown-up now - but they both breeze in now and then - fortunately. Thanks Yutka

orangedream

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your comments and rating, orangedream (Lovely name!) Yutka:)

Gerry on 23-06-2006
My daughters
Yutka--been there, lol. Mine are both grown up lovely young ladies now. Loved the way you wrote this...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Hi Gerry,
Mine are also grown up but still living at home. Would you believe this? Thanks for your nice comment.
Yutka:)

Micky on 24-06-2006
My daughters
going through this currently and it drives me crazy.
All I'm left with is the worry.lol

You've captured it perfectly.
Well done !
Micky

Author's Reply:
Don';t worry too much, Micky! Time passes too quickly and when they're grown up, they will feel like you do now.
Yutka:)

Sunken on 24-06-2006
My daughters
Hello Ms. Yutka. Will you be my mum? I promise to leave your daughters alone and I only require three bananas a day to keep me going. Lovely poem Ms. Yutka and well worthy of the nib. Have your daughters seen it by the way? Take care and mints.

s
u
n
k
e
n

banned from promta-print photo developers

Author's Reply:
I don't think I could cope being your mum, Sunken....three bananas? Really? But thanks anyway.
Yutka:)

Kat on 24-06-2006
My daughters
A great read, touching and beautiful with that last line giving a hefty kick up the bottom of romanticism. lol.

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:
Even when I "kick romanticism", I'm a romantic at heart. Aren't we all deep down?
Thanks for your comments, Kat!
Yutka:)

ruadh on 24-06-2006
My daughters
Am going through the same with my three eldest sons. You've captured it beautifully. Nice piece.

ailsa

Author's Reply:
Wow, Three sons, Ruah! It always has been my dream having more than one son. I find girls are so much more unruly...Thanks for you nice words!
Yutka:)

blackdove on 24-06-2006
My daughters
Oh so recognisable! I have three of them.
It's like they have been so much part of you for so long then suddenly - ghosts - wafting in and out. You've caught that lonely bewilderment we all feel, so well.
Great read!
Jem x

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Jem! You are right with "bewilderment". Fits it perfectly! Great comment, thanks!
Yutka:)

RoyBateman on 27-06-2006
My daughters
Definitely a slice of real life here, as opposed to the idealised sort...I have daughters, too, and I know exactly what you're saying here. Short, but oh so true!

Author's Reply:
Nice to feel understood, Roy! Thanks!
Yutka:)

Zoya on 29-06-2006
My daughters
Yes, I know, my Mom, who is a poet too, wrote a beautiful poem about my elder brother, getting married and staying away, coming once in a blue moon to meet her, that too like a stranger. It was very moving; We grow up move away from our parents and forget all they do, and did for us.
And even if we stay with them we just live like strangers in the same house, taking each other for granted.
**hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

Author's Reply:
Would like very much to read that poem by your mother, Zoya. Does it exist in English? It makes me think of my son I only see in a blue moon too! Thank you for your friendship.
Yutka:)

karenuk on 01-07-2006
My daughters
I really like that, it's very cleverly done with beautiful use of language and imagery.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Karenuk.
I enjoy your comments
Yutka:)

Lare on 12-07-2006
My daughters
Hi Yutka...yep...you got this perfectly...growing up with my older sister and twin brother...yep...love this writing and the imagery you laid out...perfect...

Lare

Author's Reply:


Prelude (posted on: 09-06-06)
...Seduce my mind .....

Sing me your own unique music and play me the sounds of silence, that silence that must be deserved: repetitive notes of intensity in all the spheres of being and becoming. Change consciousness through the inner nature of acoustics unheard of. Seduce my mind with your harmonies, and I will be yours. Easily I succumb to you entering into the immanence of your sound, the touch of your spirit. Seek out my soul just by listening and I will be yours forever.
Archived comments for Prelude
Zoya on 09-06-2006
Prelude
Dear Yukta this is a deeply spiritual and philosophic piece. Most people look for that physical chemistry in love. Blessed are those that seek that union of spirits. Mental communication is very important in love and friendship. This a fact realized by very few.
Interesting, last night posted a piece 'Hark the Silence Speaks' on another website, and almost simultaneously you post this prelude of yours.
Bravo, Yukta!
***hugs***
Love, xxx, Zoya

Author's Reply:
Thank you so much, Zoya. For us women, emotions, feelings and mental communication is essential in love. The pure physical is possible but stays earthbound. We strive for greater heights that gives us the final fulfillment.
it is interesting that you chose a similar theme. I will have a look

Love from Yutka:)xx

Can you send me 'Hark the Silence Speaks' ? You did not post it here, did you?


Abel on 09-06-2006
Prelude
Wow. This is so powerful Music has such an effect on me, too...transports me, takes me inward.

Great write!

Ward

Author's Reply:
Thank you Abel
Yutka:)

Yutka on 09-06-2006
Prelude
Thank you so much, Zoya. For us women, emotions, feelings and mental communication is essential in love. The pure physical is possible but stays earthbound. We strive for greater heights that gives us the final fulfillment.
it ios interesting that you chose a similar theme. I will have a look

Love from Yutka:)

Author's Reply:

teifii on 11-06-2006
Prelude
I really like this. At first I was not sure if it was addressed to a person or to poetry itself. It would work for either. And it isn't a case of do as I say and not as I do, because it is full of music.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Daff. I wrote this after hearing a modern composer in the Sheldonian Theatre, at Oxford. His name was Jonathan Harvey. I had never listened to this kind of music before(electronic) (actually there had been a prigram change and it came all unexpected...) After digesting this, I thought about it very long and came up with this poem, where I used musical terms forthe poetic. It might have worked, otherwise you would not have written to me....
Yutka:)


Monkey puzzle (posted on: 02-06-06)
....that lies within his eyes like hidden scars...

So tired from his bars his eyes, that nothing more can crowd into his mind. He feels as though a hundred bars give rise to many more to bar the world behind. He paces up and down, his wrinkly face stares haughty. On his nose two pinkish stripes are painted expertly which gives him grace not to deflect his manners, when he swipes his hairy arms. His hands rattle the bars and try to prise them open in a rage, that lies within his eyes like hidden scars and flares whenever he is taking stage but quickly dies. He sits, inspects his thumb, pees in the sand and shows his red behind. He turns his back to all, up with his bum, defiantly he slowly passes wind.
Archived comments for Monkey puzzle
Sunken on 03-06-2006
Monkey puzzle
Lol. Top stuff Ms. Yutka. Love the injection of humour at the end. I tried to get Munky's opinion on your poem but he's hungover. I just found him in bed with a pelican. It must have been quite a night. I blame Carling, strip clubs and of course - turnips. I hope this helps. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he patrols his neighborhood in the early hours wearing nothing but a menacing grin

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 05-06-2006
Monkey puzzle
You have sure painted a picture for us. Sorta strange what humans and apes have in common, eh?

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Hi Jolen,
It is surprising how close we are, the monkeys and we.I feel very sorry to see them in cages...
Yutka


Whisper your words in my lap (posted on: 29-05-06)
....those sweet syllables.....

Whisper your words in my lap those sweet syllables that melt under your breath and pour onto my skin in a warm and sticky trickle. I clamp your body between my thighs, bend over you, let my breasts pour into your mouth. You lick them with your tongue, bite softly into my nipples and bind me to you with the strings of pain, suck me into the sea of your mouth soon to emerge again, sky-faced, I am drifting on to foreign seas, never to know where the voyage will take me.
Archived comments for Whisper your words in my lap
Sunken on 31-05-2006
Whisper your words in my lap
Oh my bloody good god Ms. Yutka. I hope that you realise how finely balanced I am of late? A poem like this could, and probably will, send me over the edge. There are bound to be stains and I shall blame them all on you (-; I'm not surprised you got a nib, I bet the editor got a right boner on him - it seems like a fair exchange. Having said that, the nib is much deserved. You also deserve a bit more attention (I don't mean sexually, I mean for the poem... oh balls, I'll just shut up and knock one off) Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

last night he dreamnt that he had sexual intercourse with one of Abba - the one with the beard - pff.

Author's Reply:

Yutka on 31-05-2006
Whisper your words in my lap
Thanks Sunky...sorry to write an erotic poem on this site (you all will get excited now...) not so much my style normally. And I have been told no magazine will touch it...but then, it is private, isn't it?
Yutka:)
And thanks for your 10! Feel vindicated...I thought I would get nil points...

Author's Reply:

Zoya on 03-06-2006
Whisper your words in my lap
Wow! Yukta, that is a real erotic piece of poesy!
**hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

Author's Reply:
thanks, Zoya!
Yutka:)


Change (posted on: 26-05-06)
....She takes her pick....

When she was small and weak and white, he was like her shining knight. Hymns and prayers were sung nightly and God was still seen as Almighty: Life was well Now she is big and strong and tanned. She takes her pick, in fact he's banned from their pink bedroom and gets lonely. The marriage works but in name only: Life is hell His bed is now down in the basement. He has resigned to his replacement. Anna-Marie has taken lovers yes, indeed, as she discovers: Life is swell
Archived comments for Change
Ionicus on 26-05-2006
Change
I like this Yutka. Good rhythm and well rhymed. Mind you I can't help feeling sorry for the bloke. It must male solidarity. What did he do to deserve the brush-off?
Best wishes, Luigi.

Author's Reply:
I think, I was told, there was no communication, Ionicus. He could not find the right words...No poet here!
Yutka:)

Abel on 26-05-2006
Change
My how things can change...all things. Like Luigi, I enjoyed the rhythm as well.

Fine write!

Ward

Author's Reply:
Yes, indeed, Abel. True story. I saw it happening. And I lied to Luigi. He was infact a poet. But not Anna Marie.The poet hid behind the booksherlves and immerged himself further into his verse, when it happened.
Yutka:)

Sunken on 27-05-2006
Change
Hello Ms. Yutka. That Anna Marie sounds like a bit of a sauce. Do you have her number? I don't think there's anything wrong with her husband liking a bit of basement action. Live and live I say Ms. Yutka. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

in charge of soap

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your generosity! I knew you'd like it, Sunky. Thank God you see the point. Indeed: live and live! I think you must tell my more of your fancies, sauce, ketch up, soaps, water bottles, etc. May be I can make a new poem?
Yutka:):)


Infernal combustion (posted on: 22-05-06)
".....gagged and bound willingly....."

They told me that my daughter kept a young lover in the loft gagged and bound willingly on a bare mattress, waiting in the nude, on stand by for the whim of her moment and that he was left patiently in a permanent state of arousal, a handsome victim, ready, his ears honed to any sound and his mind open for her call to come at anytime while my daugther slowly and deliberately weaned him in her boredom from a passion that had faded, as her outside love life took on more colour until a week to her wedding day, when I, without warning, looked for my hat box in the loft, and found what I thought a strange smouldering heap, man-shaped. In its centre upright a phallus, full in its splendour and oh horror it pulsed, it gyrated, it wept.
Archived comments for Infernal combustion
Macjoyce on 31-01-2008
Infernal combustion
Ah, yes. That would have been me. Sorry about that. Did you find the hat box?


Author's Reply:
No I didn't...
How the heck did u find this "old" poem??? It got "nil points"......Do you realize?

I am chuffed someone is still reading it.
Yutka):


Cloud chase (posted on: 22-05-06)
......Sky beasts float past and come back.....

I am plunged , head on, into the void until only a wisp of the moon remains. Wrapped up to the chin in my duvet, I fly except for one eye that I left in a flurry. I lift the other one towards the black. My ears host the ethereal winds. Sky beasts float past and come back. They boast star-studded skins, wing their way up and wink . At the blink of an eye they're snapped up by the moon who's approaching face on, now in at the chase, a lunatic to get me; he is out for a pillow fight. I hold tight to my bed, take spirals, cut bends, fluff up clouds, the cirrus, the cumulus, the stratus My neck cricks and aches, my eye scrunches and blinks when I follow the leaps of the silver-lined lambs pursued by an opaline moon. How they huddle and hunch on bright buttercup hills! When the noise of the rain fills my ears, brings me down with my bed in a crunch. I open my eyes and synchronise them to the wet.
Archived comments for Cloud chase
Abel on 22-05-2006
Cloud chase
I absolutely love this poem, Yutka. Brilliantly done!!

Ward

Author's Reply:
thanks for liking the cloud chase! It was fun!
Yutka:)

Sunken on 23-05-2006
Cloud chase
Well done Ms. Yutka. I really like how you wear your nib at that jaunty angle. You put me in mind of a young Joan Crawford... or do I mean Joan Collins? Oh balls, I'm all mixed up now. I may have to do a google. I hope this helps. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he's is responsible for triangles

Author's Reply:
Why, Sunky? Did she chase clouds?
Yutka:)


Captive (posted on: 22-05-06)
.. he ripped the colours you once wore...

The clasp of winter turns you cold, now tucks you under sheets of ice. The King of Freeze, glassy and old, now holds you captive to his vice. He ripped the colours you once wore, the pink of heaven, applegold. You lost your smile, the words of bold whispers of love, your dreams untold. I sit and wonder how to free you from that heaviness of earth, from cold, from darkness and to bring you back to bloom, feel young like spring. How can I give you back the green? Time's tilting slope does not give way. You tumble deeper down the chute drawn by oblivion's magic flute. You unfold wings in disarray. But suddenly you are away, no longer haunts the last good bye. You breathe out love, you breathe love in. Earth holds embraced its sweetest fruit, decides when seeds sprout unforeseen.
Archived comments for Captive
Sunken on 23-05-2006
Captive
Hello Ms. Yutka. I can confirm that your piece held me captivated. Did you see what I did there..? I usually pinch other peoples comments, but it's early and you haven't had any yet. I shall no doubt return when someone has said something clever, something I can pilfer. I hope this helps. Isn't it sunny. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

no, no! not the soda-stream!

Author's Reply:
Glad, that I held you captivated for a bit! As you easily get distracted...I think...
Yutka:)

Romany on 23-05-2006
Captive
I think this is beautiful - your best by far, in my humble opinion. So many lovely phrases that I don't know where to start, so I'll just pick this one, my favourite:

the pink of heaven, applegold.

Okay, maybe this one too!

You breathe out love, you breathe love in.

Lovely work.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Romany! I always appreciate your comments!
Yutka:)

Harpospeaks on 23-05-2006
Captive
This is gorgeous. The flow is mesmeric and the sentiment uplifting. A simple idea, beautifully expressed. I don't know poetry, but I love this.
Terry

Author's Reply:
Thank so so much. I am quite amazed that anyone likes this.
Yutka:)

Elfine on 24-05-2006
Captive
Great! Really evocative language and images, and the right amount of ambiguity so the reader can interpret the wintry metaphor for themselves. Like Sunken, I don't have a great attention span, but this had me interested right till the end!
Elfine x

Author's Reply:
Glad, Elfine, to have kept you attention! I myself have difficulties with very long winding poems. So I know what you mean.
Yutka:)


Discussion (posted on: 08-05-06)
for all those who aim to know...

Regarding our state of evolution we lack lucidity. Near comatose we aimlessly survive, seek pleasure, multiply. Yet you and I would argue we're aware. I do believe in wandering souls to live again. I bare my inner thoughts and let you know: "I hope to grow taking advantage of life's force to sow the seeds for better days, for everyone." But you go on telling me that, what happens to the others, is not important, only one's own life, belongings, family, beliefs and power is what counts. I say: "Those thoughts provoke the reason for conquests, for outbreaks of the dreadful sin of war." You go as far as to agree and wonder how to rid ourselves of many things but not of our knowledge that we came from God or who we are. I tell you : "Figure us to be as butterflies that fall and rise, fluttering aimlessly from place to place taking the sun , drinking from flower stamen without much thought. We pray to God, and feel that all is well, say Amen at the end, don't bother about hell or heaven, life or afterlife, get drunk from nectar and feel fit to roam the planet earth without a clue of home." You call it blind belief: " We are no butterflies, " you say. "Look at the grief when a beloved one's gone." I carry on: "Do we deceive ourselves? Is life undone without exploring open doors to death? We all too often are awoken late." "Too late..." you state "Doing what's planned for us, feel motivated, living with a purpose, care for one another grow in consciousness and help humanity as a wider community. We think of brotherhood and family, accelerating thus our evolution and the fate of others." You validate my words, lucidity of conscience, energy is needed, on a deeper level empathy, involving forces that will never drain the energy of others, so we search for guardians, protectors, mentors, guides. We pray for silent angels who'll perform unselfish tasks, far in the background, secretly, helping the world at higher levels, at a further stage of wakening, through extra-physical projection in and out of body, through meditation, all to teach the lessons of a deeper conscience, of inner light reflection, spiritual reanimation.
Archived comments for Discussion
Zoya on 08-05-2006
Discussion
I like the spiritual angle that you take in the end.
"living with a purpose, care for one another
grow in consciousness and help humanity
as a wider community"
I completely agree with this, and this I think is the crux of the matter.
Congratulations for a very thought provoking piece.
**Hugs** Love, xxx, Zoya

Author's Reply:


Fame (posted on: 08-05-06)
....a toss with the luck of an instant....

From constant longing rises the real occurrence like fountains timely and quivering falling. But then in the deep lies the glitter, for the price of the scattering feelings dispersed in the dancing tears. Throwing the coins of abandon ruffles the water for moments and circles fade out into smoothness. Yet strong stays the value in coinage of bargains, of cost and of waste, a gloss in the depth of the hours, a toss with the luck of an instant
Archived comments for Fame

No comments archives found!
Your Picture (posted on: 05-05-06)
...it could be a little song...

I paint you with the greenness of gardens and the silent blue of skies, mix in silver dew from the hedgerows, put the sunrise in you eyes. I keep you safe in my wardrobe of never changing time wrapped in white silken bedsheets scented with lemon and lime. I glaze you with moonlight and sparkle from the stars above the town and hang you up in my bedroom for no one but me to own.
Archived comments for Your Picture
Sunken on 06-05-2006
Your Picture
You hum it, I'll sing it... then again - I'll hum, you sing. Nice poem, terrible comment. It's all about ying and yang apparently (tho I thought that was a Chinese takeaway down town to be honest). Was that racist? I never know these days. I shall clear myself by saying that other takeaways are also available. pheww. Ya gotta be so careful. Take care Ms. Yutka. Do you know what I'm about yet?

s
u
n
k
e
n

making the most of sunday

Author's Reply:
From Yin and Yung to a chinese takeaway, you never stop to surprise me, Sunky, ou wonderful soul!
Yutka:)


Death of a Doll (posted on: 01-05-06)
....He swaddles her in emotions makes her blue eyes open....

He carries the china doll into the bottom of the garden, his way rightly-guided, digs out a shallow grave as it has been decided. He swaddles her in emotions makes her blue eyes open, bat her eyelids, say "Papa" and "Mama" with a flick of her strawberry hair. See you in heaven he coos, her china face glued to his breast. She cries real tears as it has been decided. As he buries her with her grief, a good four inches deep, Jesus swears "for heaven's sake!" she looks just like little Eve bitten by a snake. Her mama and papa ran away when Grandpa threw them out. Jesus always is left with the dirty jobs. He tucks her in, bids her fare well blows out her candle, as it had been decided.
Archived comments for Death of a Doll
Sunken on 02-05-2006
Death of a Doll
Blimey. This is a strange one Ms. Yutka. It puts me in mind of a goth I once knew named Mary. She had a pyramid phobia, but as she lived england it caused her very few problems. I hope this helps. Well done. Very inventive, like a wheel.

s
u
n
k
e
n

sponsored by death

Author's Reply:
thanks for the"inventive" Sunky.I don't know about the wheel. Did it keep rolling you over?
Yutka:)

Romany on 02-05-2006
Death of a Doll
This is a little odd, but it held my interest right through; something darkly compelling about it. Wasn't sure about the line;

his way rightly-guided,

As in guided by God/the Gods? Or something else?

Romany.


Author's Reply:
Yes Romany! As in guided by God. I wonder if you made sense of this poem. Just curious.
Yutka:)

potleek on 02-05-2006
Death of a Doll
I had to read this a few times before I think I got the picture, because the last verse threw me off, an interseting read...Tony

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Tony, for your comments. The last verse should have given you insight, not thrown you off. Or do I get that wrong?
Yutka:)


Shatter the dark (posted on: 21-04-06)
....He calls her, in whispers, my darling....

Elaine cannot wait for the chance with Bonnie, her dog, slipping out to the park beyond where the daffodils grow, flashing stars that shatter the dark. Around the corner, a park bench. Back home, in the foul-smelling kitchen, her mum. On each page of her memory, the invisible scrawl of screams, Daddy's smacks, a shove and a slam. In her mind still an echo, where misery spreads, she sees him approaching, and how he looks over his shoulder, pulls up beside her. She says hi with her very best smile. The dog is snarling at him. He kicks Bonnie aside making puppy-dog-eyes at her. He calls her, in whispers, my darling, when he is stroking her arms, legs, her thighs. Overwhelmed by the smell of her hair he sits closer, his hand tight on her shoulder. She tunes in to his honey-combed voice, while his other hand's getting bolder. He's swiftly unzipping his fly, as he follows her eyes, how she's shyly in wonder at the startle of red, at the flower, he tells her, that will grow just by looking at it. "Just look," he says. "Keep on looking!"
Archived comments for Shatter the dark
Jen_Christabel on 21-04-2006
Shatter the dark
This is creepy and very well done.
Jennifer :o)

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 22-04-2006
Shatter the dark
Very well told - feel a bit sick...strong poem Yutka -well done xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
thanks, ditty.
unfortunately it's a true story that repeats itself often.

Sunken on 23-04-2006
Shatter the dark
Very strong and very well done Ms. Yutka. The fact that it leaves the reader feeling a bit queasy just means that you were spot on with the way that you wrote it. Too serious for a flippant remark. A simple, well done and a ten will suffice. Well done.

s
u
n
k
e
n


Author's Reply:
thanks for the 10, Sunky... I think you like feeling queasy.
Yutka:)

stolenbeauty on 30-04-2006
Shatter the dark
A personal experience? Often these are the strongest sources of inspiration, and I know it well. This is an emotional piece that literally tugs tears from my eyes, it is well written and deeply thought out, I love it. Thanks so much for sharing
Stolen xx

Author's Reply:
thank you very much for your comments.Yes, It is part of a personal experience. You got it right.
Yutka


All the files (posted on: 17-04-06)
A "modern" poem

Give me all the files to your heart so I can use my spy ware skill's, - scan your system with the tools of my intuition - get all the tell-tale signs after items processed, -find the results of infections found. Fixing them will be easy. Show me the complete URL to your mind so I can explore the various links that might lead to an explanation of your sight, -understand your feelings after a careful study, -shift the meaning of past and present. Evaluating will be hard.
Archived comments for All the files
Apolloneia on 17-04-2006
All the files
A 'modern' poem indeed and a good one!

Author's Reply:

shackleton on 17-04-2006
All the files
I foresee a future whereby we link up a URL in the back of our heads and can instantly communicate with anyone, anywhere... trouble is that we lose our souls and the use of our limbs in payment. Interesting poem - got me wondering.

Author's Reply:
interesting thought, shackleton! I tell you a little secret: I am having nightmares with "copy and paste". Several times I wake up in the night and am sure it is essential to copy and paste. For heaven's sake! What and what for??
Yutka:)

Sunken on 17-04-2006
All the files
Tell me, is there a helpline I can get stuck in if I have problem with your poem? (-;
Nice one Ms. Yutka. Long may your files remain unsullied.

s
u
n
k
e
n

Author's Reply:
You are always welcome to MY helpline, dear Sunky. Just tell me all your troubles, I copy and paste them into my memory and will come out with a reply.

Thanks for the rating!
Yutka:)

Apolloneia on 19-04-2006
All the files
Yutka I hope you don't think I rated this anonymously. I don't rate anonymously. Cheers.

Author's Reply:
Hi there! I never understand these ratings anyway. Isn't it a good thing? And who is rating anonymously? Is it important? Thank you anyway, Appolonia, for your nice comments.
Yutka:)


You will find (posted on: 14-04-06)
...their whispers take the night out.....

You will find my house of memories hiding behind hedges of longing. Lights in the hallways of love invite to the inner rooms. There are still splashes of dream foam holding on to the old bath tub; you climb the cracking stairway, encounter tonguing shadows. Their whispers take the night out like window blinds. There is the repetitive sound of the rain splashing against the glass, a prayer wheel of lovers' promises. The open book beneath the soft lamplight tells a tale of two people who tried but stumbled on the cracked floor tiles.
Archived comments for You will find
Sunken on 16-04-2006
You will find
A 'great read' and no comments? I'm simply not having it young Yutka. Oh I know you would rather have 'no comments' than a rambling string of rubbish from a munky who is only online because everyone has mysteriously disappeared on some bizarre easter related egg hunt. I never get invited to these things because I always ruin them apparently. Not that I want to hunt for eggs anyway - I'll leave that to my sperm (chance would be a fine thing). Anyway, none of this is important right now. Well done on the nib Ms. Yutka. Wear it with pride. All this talk of eggs has made me hungry. I may contemplate omelets. I hope this in-depth critique meets with your approval. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

windows xp shed edition

Author's Reply:
thanks , Sunky! Hope you got lots of easter eggs, you are generous and deserve generosity!
Yutka:)

Romany on 16-04-2006
You will find
We all stumble on those cracked tiles to some extent. Nice metaphor,
Romany.

Author's Reply:


The Ghosts who pined for kisses (posted on: 14-04-06)
in memory of the two pale sisters Else and Amanda

From where I stand I see their silent-eyed and ghost-like faces through the stained-glass panes staring at me, a look that fades and wanes by memory held, by reasoning denied. I knew about the sisters full of life who all those years had lived here long ago, whose parents sheltered them from pain and woe and any man out there to find a wife. No suitor was encouraged in pursuit or enter gardens where the roses grew in long straight rows, no men who ever knew their inner garden with their secret fruit. Still in old age they could be seen about ripened , white-haired, with aching backs bent low, their lives construed, and with a fading glow their former beauty prone to peter out. One day in May, they finally walked out and side by side they left, as if one whole. A tremor in the landscape of their soul that, as they died, blew all the candles out. So many nights in May I see them still across the window, searching for the passion they never found in life. I feel the chill and shiver at their faces turning ashen. I light a candle , pray for both their souls, their sense of loss for what they had been missing: the love of men, the laughter of a child, the scent of passion in the thrall of kissing.
Archived comments for The Ghosts who pined for kisses
ruadh on 14-04-2006
The Ghosts who pined for kisses
What a sad tale. Loved the title.

ailsa

Author's Reply:
pity you only loved the title! this "sad story" is a true story as life is not always happy.
Yutka:(

ruadh on 14-04-2006
The Ghosts who pined for kisses
I realised it was a true 'story' by your introduction. I refrained from calling it a story as this generally implies a fictional event. Also, I liked the piece as a whole but the the title struck me in particular.

Author's Reply:

stolenbeauty on 16-04-2006
The Ghosts who pined for kisses
I really like this piece, gets a real sense of regret across. Just Lovely x

Author's Reply:

Romany on 16-04-2006
The Ghosts who pined for kisses
Very sad and sympathetic poem; puts across the message of lost opportunities and limited lives very clearly. The following two lines did not quite tally for me though:

whose parents sheltered them from pain and woe
and any man out there to find a wife.


But forgive me if it is just my poor tired brain!

Romany.


Author's Reply:

Yutka on 16-04-2006
The Ghosts who pined for kisses
the parents wanted them to shelter from pain and also men. Not clear?
Thanks anyway!
Yutka:)

Author's Reply:

Romany on 16-04-2006
The Ghosts who pined for kisses
Yes, very clear, but the two lines did not read and make sense to me, if you see what I'm getting at? I knew exactly what you were trying to say, but the lines themselves didn't quite gel for me. Clear as mud? Lol! I mean something like;

whose parents sheltered them from pain and woe
and from any man out to find a wife.

or similar. Do you see where I'm coming from? Anyway, it's your poem! Just a thought.

Romany.


Author's Reply:


When we are living in the void of heaven (posted on: 14-04-06)
(A Sonnet)

When we are living in the void of heaven, all definitions will have changed and died. There are no questions. What there once has been is but a dream in an outlasting night. We are the atoms gleaming throughout space along with stars, the moons and racing planets. There we belong without the need to place gods on pedestals or snatch worldly assets. We float through strings of music in the ether, the vibrant tunes that once had been ideas, the quests and aims that held mankind together. Those meanings have now wholly disappeared. We are the sound before a voice has spoken, a thought asleep before it has been woken.
Archived comments for When we are living in the void of heaven
littleditty on 14-04-2006
When we are living in the void of heaven
What a wonderful sonnet - last two lines are super, i like how you have simply described how it is - almost like an explanation to a child asking about death, lucky to have such a clear picture of how (i think) it is. I predict a great read and just so i am certain about something - i predict a favourite read too xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
Thank you, little ditty! My poems do not attract large crouds. Some are made "favourites of the month" elsewhere but here nobody notices them. And vice versa of course. It depends on the "intelligent" reader. Hint hint....

teifii on 16-04-2006
When we are living in the void of heaven
Very interesting view and so nice to read something well crafted in a recognisable form. Love the last two lines. Made me want to write a sonnet.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks Daffy. I am looking forward to your sonnet now. You promise?
Yutka:)

Romany on 16-04-2006
When we are living in the void of heaven
Lovley rythym to this, and an intriguing perception. Last two lines are beautiful and quite profound.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Romany. I appreciate your comments
Yutka:)


If energy be the soul of love (posted on: 10-04-06)
(A Sonnet)

If energy be the soul of love, give it to our world. Why should the lovers seek, where currents of the low and high waves go? Who listens to their feelings, measures change of air? How to breathe air to fill a heart with skies intent on echoes of the cosmic rays? Transparency tricks only human eyes, a lack of words still messages conveys. Meanwhile the planets and the stars above evolve within the galaxies of space in flux and change, as love changes from love, as oceans alternate by tidal race. Stones turn to fire melting in the blaze like smiles will melt a dark and stony face.
Archived comments for If energy be the soul of love
Apolloneia on 10-04-2006
If energy be the soul of love
Transparency tricks only human eyes,

I think opacity too, right? Very interesting poem, didn't count syllables etc, but I liked what I read it was deep.
Nic 😉

Author's Reply:


You said good bye on a cold night (posted on: 31-03-06)
......you left a warm glow that made me hug the trees.....

You said good bye on a cold night underneath an icicle moon, and you left a warm glow that made me hug the trees, caress stone walls, jump over the melt of iced-up feelings. Yet when I went inwards there was freezing darkness, no windows where moonlight could enter and bewitch me, but shadows of doubt enlarged by the lamp of my thoughts creeping, creeping without answers.
Archived comments for You said good bye on a cold night
Apolloneia on 31-03-2006
You said good bye on a cold night
Great Read Yutka.

Author's Reply:
Thanks my friend.
Yutka:)

Romany on 31-03-2006
You said good bye on a cold night
Funny how the goodbye moment often fills you with more love and genuine affection for the person concerned than you may have felt for a long time! Which is then fast followed by doubts, regrets, etc. You put this across beautifully.
Romany.

Author's Reply:
Good byes often are mixed with contradictory feelings.. I tried to express this and feel confirmed by your reaction. Thanks!
Yutka:)

littleditty on 31-03-2006
You said good bye on a cold night
written so well - the ending especially. Those shadows of doubt 'enlarged by the lamp of my thoughts' (great line) - those shadows eh? felt the insecurity they bring - great read xxxlittleditty x


Author's Reply:
thank you, dear ditty!

pinchus on 01-04-2006
You said good bye on a cold night
The excitement and apprehension is all there. Being ‘underneath an icicle moon’ , for me, gave it an old fashioned courtship feel.

Author's Reply:
Thanks! Do you mean "old fashioned" as good or bad? What is old fashioned about "icicle"?

Albermund on 01-04-2006
You said good bye on a cold night
This is very, very nice. I think a slight pruning would make this even stronger, but heck, it would be bloody pedantic of anyone to suggest such a thing. Cheers, Albert.

Author's Reply:
Will ty pruning. Thanks
Yutka:)

Leila on 01-04-2006
You said good bye on a cold night
There is a really nice feel to this...what's expressed and the language used...one tiny thing for me personally, I think I'd drop the word were from the second last line...Leila

Author's Reply:
You are right. Thanks

Yutka:)

pinchus on 01-04-2006
You said good bye on a cold night
Most definitely old fashioned as in good, for me it conjured images of goodnight kisses on the doorstep or at the front gate; that first kiss, of hanging around in the cold; as I always seemed to be in those circumstances, and old fashioned as in even that first kiss as being something a little daring and bold. Odd, only the previous day to posting my comment I had a conversation about not seeing icicles like we used to when we were kids. This must have been in my mind. Of course they still exist, but I can’t recall seeing any for years now. Then again come wintertime I do hibernate at lot these days.


Author's Reply:
Hi Pichus, I'm glad you like "old fashioned". I haven't seen icicles for a long time, but the moon could look like one, couldn't it?
Yutka:)

teifii on 04-04-2006
You said good bye on a cold night
I really like this. Both extremes of feeling so well expressed.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Daff, appreciate your comments.
Yutka:)


Out of Body (posted on: 27-03-06)
....a mummy might have guessed..... ....a mummy might have guessed.....

I sleep as the Egyptians died, my hands abreast and folded in a way a mummy might have guessed her soul to leave for afterlife. But I don't travel far, as life still holds me back. The thread a-stretch I rise to where my floating self can catch, while looking down, a glance. I see my empty shape, advance up in the room where, as in trance, I swirl and swoon, a flapping bird, no longer navigating by the stars, the moon. I bear down like a stone, as if my heart beats me into submission, pulls the strings of hard earned life and takes me back, assuring that sleep will drown and wipe all airborne memory.
Archived comments for Out of Body
Andrea on 27-03-2006
Out of Body
Sorry Yutka, I had to remove your image as it was huge and completely distorting the 'latest 100' page. Actually, I really would rather people didn't put images on that page (short description box) as it makes downloading even slower than it already is. On top of the piece itself is fine, as long as it's a smallish image, otherwise that page wil be distorted too, making you piece very difficult to read.

Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 28-03-2006
Out of Body
I see your point here, "I see my empty shape, ...But I don’t travel far, as life still holds me back." A good analogy of an astral projection where you see your empty shape while glancing down but still connected with the body something that indeed a mummy might have guessed. I think it's well-written and thought-provoking.

Author's Reply:
thank you Apolloneia. Have you ever done it? Astral projection, I mean.
Yutka:)

barenib on 28-03-2006
Out of Body
This is intriguing - are you just guessing here, or have you actually had the experience? It's well written too, I like the form you've chosen. It has an elegance and symmetry about it which somehow seems to suit the subject. John

Author's Reply:
Thanks, John. I do it most of the nights but it does not always work.
Yutka:)

littleditty on 29-03-2006
Out of Body
assuring
that sleep will drown and wipe
all airborne memory.

not always though, right? I liked the mummy pic - and the idea, how you have written this, sounds/rhymes especially. xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
Thanks little ditty. Pity you could not see my mummy picture. Go into my blog if you want to.
http://driftingdraftwood.blogspot.com/

Sunken on 29-03-2006
Out of Body
Why are they called mummys anyway? What's wrong with daddys? It smacks of sexism if you ask me young Yutka. I don't fancy being bandaged up when I die. I don't like the idea of my lunchbox being ogled at. I've had enough problems with irregular balls during my lifetime, I certainly don't want the mocking to continue into the afterlife. I hope this comment finds you well and in the reclining position. Thanks. Isn't it mild? Oh, good write by the way. It put me in mind of a Terry's chocolate orange. This can only be a good thing.

s
u
n
k
e
n

missing presumed broken

Author's Reply:

Yutka on 30-03-2006
Out of Body
You are right: I'd love to read your poem about mummy daddies....when will you act what you preach? Sorry, I know, you just expressed some thought...I like your meandering though, from mummy to bandage to lunchbox....hope you are still juggling the balls of your imagination for a long while. You are sweet as Terry's chocolates, my friend. And your orangey flavour lasts for some time...hi sunky!

Yutka:)

Author's Reply:

Gerry on 30-03-2006
Out of Body
Different and certainly interesting Yutka...

Gerry.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Gerry
Yutka:)

Apolloneia on 02-04-2006
Out of Body
Have you ever done it? Astral projection, I mean.


No, but I think it has happened to me unintentionally! It's scary. 🙁

Author's Reply:
Would like to hear more. Will you tell me?

Apolloneia on 03-04-2006
Out of Body
Sure! I will send you a message! nothing spectacular had taken place if it was indeed an astral projection 🙂

Author's Reply:

teifii on 04-04-2006
Out of Body
Reads aloud beautifully. I like the scattering of rhymea and half rhyme. Very well written, in my opinion. I've never had this experience but wish I had.
Daff

Author's Reply:
"Reading a poem silently instead of saying a
poem is like the difference between staring at sheet music
and actually humming or playing the music on an instrument"


Somebody said this once.

I believe poems are only enjoyable when they can be read aloud. I am glad you experienced this.Thanks.
Yutka:)

Jolen on 07-04-2006
Out of Body
I enjoyed this greatly, I agree it is wonderful when read aloud and the weaving of rhyme gives a real sense of 'out of body' imo.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolen, love your praise! xx
Yutka:)


The Search (posted on: 10-03-06)
....there is a place....

When darkness gets darker and despair fills your mind when fear like a mist leaves your search undefined then go to the waters lie down by the brim where the heron waits and the wild ducks swim, where the blackbird sings only for you and the sky and your life appears vaguely as dreams drifting by... then think of the stars hidden but there, let the wind play with you and ruffle your hair, then rest in the grace of the world around. By the waters lie down where your self will be found
Archived comments for The Search
Romany on 10-03-2006
The Search
A lovely rythym to this soothing poem, but I feel it is slightly interrupted in the line:

where the heron often sits

Perhaps you could omit 'often?'

where the heron sits

In my opinion it reads more rythymically and in tune with the rest of the poem like that .

Lovely poem.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
thanks Romany. Just got back...you are right. will edit.
Yutka:)

Apolloneia on 10-03-2006
The Search
If you don't really need 'often' (i.e. if it's not a 'cryptic' little word that means something important) Romany's advice, is a good advice. The 3rd stanza really touched me.

Author's Reply:

red-dragon on 10-03-2006
The Search
I do like this but agree totally with the omission of 'often'. It adds nothing, but its omission will add much (if you see what I mean!) Ann

Author's Reply:
thanks, Ann. Hope you like the edited version
Yutka:)

littleditty on 10-03-2006
The Search
i would snip 'only' too - but i am going to go and read it again because after the lullaby of this i feel woozy - very beautiful, calming, touching write - xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:


The absence of a female god (posted on: 06-03-06)
...his strict father on the throne stares past him.....

The absence of a female god in western religious beliefs has harmed us. We are missing: the soft arms of a Mother holding us, soothing us, protecting us, the warmth of her smile, when her hand is stroking the soul's white wings, her voice lifting us beyond the cruel earth. Nothing like her to stem the flood of tears. No Mary ever reached higher than the clouds. Her son always shivers with loneliness. His strict father on the throne stares past him, leafing absent-mindedly though the book of judgement.
Archived comments for The absence of a female god
Romany on 06-03-2006
The absence of a female god
Very clever to write of 'Them' as if of mere mortals.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
being ourselves "mere mortals" we can only percieve "them" as such, I think. Thanks for your comments.
Yutka:)

Andrea on 07-03-2006
The absence of a female god
Very good - and oh, so true.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea! But what is good, what is bad? All so very subjective. Some people might find this poem "blasphemous"..thanks for your comments
Yutka:)

Sunken on 08-03-2006
The absence of a female god
I have long suspected god to be a hamster. A more peaceful creature you'll never find Ms. Yutka. Have I missed the point again? I just can't get the hang of this commenting lark. I mean well Yutka, honest I do.

s
u
n
k
e
n

Prestatyn 3 - Pressure cooker 2

Author's Reply:

Yutka on 08-03-2006
The absence of a female god
Hi Sunky, I expect your next poem on a humster god. Really, I do. Can't wait!
Yutka:)

Author's Reply:


Egyptian Scarab (posted on: 03-03-06)
Scarabs (dung beetles) were symbolic of resurrection. The ray-like antenna on the beetle's head and its practice of dung-rolling caused the beetle to also carry solar symbolism. The scarab-beetle god Khepera was believed to push the setting sun along the sky in the same manner as the bettle with his ball of dung. In many artifacts, the scarab is depicted pushing the sun along its course in the sky. In fact, since the scarab was spiritually connected with the Sun-rise, it became closely associated with the Egyptian deity Khepri"god of the rising Sun." In every aspect, scarabs and Egyptian Solar worship were inseparable. During the time of the Egyptians, stone-carved scarabs were used as magical amulets, supposedly aiding its wearer with the power of "eternal renewal of life." Scarabs were also employed as talismans and royal seals. The winged scarab was used in funeral rites.

Hitherto the blue green beetle lulled into sleep underground brought out of the deep from a lump by the heat of the rolling sun. Unheard sounds in grave mode night and day vanished in the flood of aftermath light. There in the City of Stones, the magic amulets stuck to her chest, she lay, winged-scarab-protected. No locked door but royal seals safeguarded the lump. "O my heart which I received from my mother, my heart of my different ages, do not stand as a witness against me!" Blue green heart-scarabs clung to her breasts in turquoise and alabaster, glazed notes and echoes weighing against the feather of truth gleamed and smoothed her way into the circle of rebirth and death. Hitherto dreams became sheen brought by the gods from a lump.
Archived comments for Egyptian Scarab
littleditty on 04-03-2006
Egyptian Scarab
Excuse me while i read this again and again! The sounds and pacing = wonderful - will read again now to get used to the word 'lump' 😉 and enjoy the imagery of this story again! Great read xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
Thank you, dearest ditty! I am so very happy that you like my poem! Have you seen those lovely glazed scarabs, or pictures of them? I always thought them adorable and their meaning and symbolism most powerful aqnd thought provoking, hence my poem....


The Disappearance of the old Tapdancer from Oxford City Centre (posted on: 17-02-06)
(I tried to give it a staccato tapdance rhythm. Can you hear it?) By the way, this is a true story and happened in February 2006

Forever young he seemed to stay but old he was nearly a century. With his top hat, his bow-tie-flair he made the tourists stop and stare. Strange faces he would pull and pause ''that's gurding'' grateful for applause and cash for many a good cause. His music like prismatic glass took the light and all ranges through the moods that flew past giving people a glimpse of now long forgotten colours. His barrel-organ in full swing he hummed to it in his highland fling. In later years to the tune of a radio he still was seen hopping to and fro, the tall thin man of Scottish origin. But one cold day he disappeared nobody knew and dead he was feared, last seen in slippers near the station, without hesitation heading for London. Police were called. They checked and searched no stone left upturned by their frantic urge to trace him. Chances were dim. After eight days he was back in town, still walking in slippers, all on his own. He did not know what the fuss was about they all came out to greet him. His next door neighbour was full of ardour. Mrs Pottering asked where he stayed ''I just fancies a trip, and I slept near a tip and the banks of the river Thames. Then I saw many a churches, not aware of your searches, left my top hat with a man who was drunk, an Irish punk. I never was scared feel fit and well-aired.'' His wrinkles smoothed out in a smile for a while. ''A long time ago I lived in Soho I was once a living legend in London before I moved on.'' His neighbour was glad looked at the old lad did not know if to hug or to slap him. All were very pleased that he was not deceased He was famished for cheese and a sandwich He devoured lots of bread went to sleep in his bed where he slept, warm and well-fed, until next morning quite late. "
Archived comments for The Disappearance of the old Tapdancer from Oxford City Centre
Apolloneia on 17-02-2006
The Disappearance of the old Tapdancer from Oxford City Centre
Interesting subject! An original approach, your voice is very fresh here, at least that's how it sounded to me.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your appreciation, Appoloneia!
Yutka:)

red-dragon on 17-02-2006
The Disappearance of the old Tapdancer from Oxford City Centre
And to me, too - enjoyed the tale. Ann

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Ann! He is a character, larger than life and seems to go on forever.

Yutka:)

Jen_Christabel on 17-02-2006
The Disappearance of the old Tapdancer from Oxford City Centre
This is great :o) and I second the other comments too
I could hear the 'dance' by the way :o0
Jennifer x

Author's Reply:
Thankjs, Jennifer. I am glad you could herar the rhythm.
Yutka:)

Claire on 18-02-2006
The Disappearance of the old Tapdancer from Oxford City Centre
Yup, this deffo has a canny rhythm to it hun. I do like a piece of poetry that tells a tale. Thumbs up from me. ;^)

Author's Reply:
Thanks Claire, for your nice message!
Yutka:)

littleditty on 18-02-2006
The Disappearance of the old Tapdancer from Oxford City Centre
Enjoyed! *does a quick jig*- i am tempted to fiddle *gets violin*- i might yet - but this is unfiddleable with, because it's great:

His music
like prismatic glass
took the light and all ranges
through the moods that flew past
giving people a glimpse of now
long forgotten
colours.

(did you want fancies or fancied? and upturned or unturned?)

'many a churches' - would this be said? many a church, yes - what about something like - many fine/old/etc churches...

*stops fiddling*

Made me think about 8-fingered-Eddie - now 82, having lived the last 35 years in Goa, India, playing tennis on the beach - a permanent, well loved fixture - i liked the community feel to your poem.

:o) nicky x






Author's Reply:
Hi Nicky!

always I love your interesting suggestions and will think about the. Just back from the Carneval in Nice, still full of all those impressions and colours. Give me time!

Yutka:)

Andrea on 18-02-2006
The Disappearance of the old Tapdancer from Oxford City Centre
Loved this - heard the music too. And being an ancient ex-pat Londoner myself, I induged in a spot of nostalgia while I was at it.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea! There must be lots of those characters around. But not too many in slippers, I think.
Yutka:)


Again the halfway tunes (posted on: 10-02-06)
...the ancient magic never is denied...

Again the halfway tunes of sadness, my love! Listen! You try to ease this sullen flow, these waves that overrun and drown, to no avail. I stem them with the forces I have left. The special touch so often tried, (the ancient magic never is denied) I'm living on unchanged and yet within my mind, I own as many lives as you can tell, as colourful as you can find. Therefore, when sadness strikes, I'll only change my colours, choose the peacock-blue and fly up high, evanescent, across a starry iridescent sky.
Archived comments for Again the halfway tunes
Romany on 10-02-2006
Again the halfway tunes
Lovely poem. I read it out loud and it reads beautifully.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Romany. And great, I want my poems read out aloud.Thats important for me.
Yutka:)


Land, sky and the red moon (posted on: 10-02-06)
...did he cry out and sigh....

Land went asleep, her hills and valleys lit by early twilight moon. Her misty breath rose with owl's call into the shape of clouds that raised sky's passion growing bit by bit. Did he cry out and sigh when falling hard and heavily onto her naked hills? He moaned when entering her seas, with lover's skill he touched her cities, stroked her moonlit backyards. With gentleness he covered all her shapes hiding them with his precious coat of stars. Deeply they slept, two lovers there abreast yet land dreamt haunting dreams of lust and rapes. Soon land stretched out writhing in agony, her valleys bent in pain, contracting rivers swelled into pallid seas, her silent tears brought down the sky onto his heavenly knee. From the horizon sky plucked the red moon To lend a midwife's hand by raising hope. The moon on his ascent wiped blood away, on his descent brought land and sky in tune.
Archived comments for Land, sky and the red moon
Apolloneia on 10-02-2006
Land, sky and the red moon
The imagery is complete, Land Sky and the Red moon, I see... The last two stanzas are the best. I enjoyed reading it.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Appolloneia, I am very happy with your comments.
Yutka:)

Sunken on 11-02-2006
Land, sky and the red moon
Bloody hell. You often say that you don't know what I'm on about Ms. Yutka, which is fairy nuff, cause neither do I (-; I think I know where this is coming from tho. I need a cold shower and no mistake. The 'stroked her moonlit backyard' bit really did it for me. Have I misunderstood you this time? One day my dear Yutka we shall make sense of each other, until then I'm quite enjoying the mix ups. Take care and a brolly.

s
u
n
k
e
n

somewhere over the Volvo

Author's Reply:
After a hard day, dear Sunky, you make me laugh. Knew you would understand the backyard bit. Funny, isn't it? Thanks for always trying!
Yutka 🙂

Corin on 13-02-2006
Land, sky and the red moon
I know - women get the praise for all the beauty and we men get the pain for all the pain! As Shakespeare said of Cleopatra:-
Royal wench!
She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed:
He plough'd her, and she cropp'd.



Thankyou for the explanation of `mooning'

Warm Wishes

David

Author's Reply:
Hi David, Nice to hear from you. I don't think I have to explain anything to you. With a poet's sensitivity, you already knew it....
x


Life-tree (posted on: 06-02-06)
...in pigments of silence you sleep...

Heart fruit, core of a deep tree, honey balm in the amber kernel of the grave seeded centre. In pigments of silence you sleep during long winters, frozen husk in a husky wind until the light hits, a caress laid from outside onto your hesitant curve. You stretch, move feelings like feelers. You reach outwards. You grow into another world, where you live airy and wider with colour, scent and sound. Life-tree
Archived comments for Life-tree
Sunken on 07-02-2006
Life-tree
Blimey. What a lovely use of language Ms. Yutka. You are certainly making your mark of late on planet Uka. I have been told recently that the marks I make are to be scrubbed thoroughly using a mixture of highly concentrated bleaches ad industrial disinfectants. I can't see you having any such problems Ms. Yutka. Well done on yet another top sub. Take care and a sewing machine.

s
u
n
k
e
n

Wigan 3 - Wig off 4

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunky, Sometimes I must confess, I do not get what you are saying. May be I mislaid my hearing aid? But this time your voice sounded strong and clear!Thank you for your mark!! No bleach needed! I'm holding it high, proudly!
Thanks for the sewing machine. You need anything handy?
Yutka:)

Griffonner on 09-02-2006
Life-tree
A very nice mystical poem. Reminded me in some strange way of the "Battle of the Trees".

Author's Reply:
I value your comments, dear Griffonner!
Yutka:)

littleditty on 10-02-2006
Life-tree
Beautiful poem. Wonderful description - and i really like these lines:

In pigments of silence
you sleep
during long winters,
frozen husk in a husky wind

until the light hits,
a caress
laid from outside
onto your hesitant curve.

like your tree poem very much xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
Thank you you so much Littleditty!
Yutka:)

narcissa on 10-02-2006
Life-tree
What a husky, earthy piece this is. I love your curving use of description!
Laura x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Laura! You made me smile about the "curving use of discription"..what the heck is that?
Yutka:)

woodbine on 08-03-2006
Life-tree
I've only just caught this poem. This is dancing with words across the page, of a very high order. Bravo!
John

Author's Reply:
thanx John, I like yoiur "dancing with words"! Lets waltz!
Yutka:)


Those were the halcyon days (posted on: 03-02-06)
...until I found you...

Those were the halcyon days purpled and seared by love when I veered towards the unknown like a wounded bird until I found you, friend, and you listened to my sighs. From the dark I came to your arms, sought shelter from the icy winds. I came to life in your hands. I rose to joy from the torrents. No one can understand what I owe you, love. What I owe you is more than calm in the storm or an escape from the waves. It is the oneness after a fearsome night underneath a luminous sky.
Archived comments for Those were the halcyon days
Apolloneia on 04-02-2006
Those were the halcyon days
Very beautifully and peacefully written. I liked it

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Aolloneia, for appreciating my love poem!
Yutka:)

littleditty on 05-02-2006
Those were the halcyon days
beautiful love poem - brings to life how it is - nice xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Nicky!
Isn't it just right for Valentinesday?
Yutka:)

Andrea on 05-02-2006
Those were the halcyon days
Yes, liked this too - very moving I thought.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Andrea. Happy you like my poem. Wrote it for Valentines Day
Yutka:)

Sunken on 05-02-2006
Those were the halcyon days
It has been noted by the poet police that there is gender imbalance with regards to you comments Ms. Yutka. With this in mind I have been instructed by my chief in command to 'Have a go if I think I'm hard enough'. What this means is anyone's guess as he talks complete bollards. Yutka? What am I on about? A fine piece - the poem I mean, tho you don't look so bad yourself. Oh god, perhaps you were better off with a gender imbalance? I'll just leave quietly via the backdoor. Thanks. Eat your greens and try to drink at least one litre of water a day.

s
u
n
k
e
n

Bolton 3 - Being Boiled 2

Author's Reply:
?
Yutka:(


I ache, my love (posted on: 30-01-06)
...but grief enters....

I ache, my love, still in our own golden heart nut, the central seed centre where words break away like splinters of stillness when each of us stirs, for we feel the outside as too noisy . Our star aware mind circling our own orbit extracts us from people. You ache, when we want only love, adore one another, but grief enters to hurt, leads to mutations in our heartspaced capsule. Among all that grief it is fated that only we both should feel contempt from those who do not love, who are the empty chairs in a room beyond habitation.
Archived comments for I ache, my love
Apolloneia on 30-01-2006
I ache, my love
Yes, grief seems to like intruding into heartspaced capsules. You have written a very good poem on the matter.

Author's Reply:

Yutka on 30-01-2006
I ache, my love
thank you, Aolloneia. I liked your poem about truth also.

Author's Reply:


The Poets' curse (posted on: 30-01-06)
...transform stony indifference....

The poets' curse for those who will complain where they should show, who judge their feeling where they should develop, who still express their sadness or their joy as if they knew and were allowed their mourning or their praise. As if infirm they use the language of complaint describing where it hurts instead of mark their words like sculptors do with stone unendingly transform stony indifference.
Archived comments for The Poets' curse
littleditty on 30-01-2006
The Poets curse
I love the whole idea - 'unendingly transform stony indifference' - Art, but i may have been cursed - or am about to be - because i think i dont understand what you were doing with the language at the beginning too well! So, i feel i don't get it. I will think about it! From this position of ignorance, i also have the cheek to wonder about mark/marking or/and transform/ing - no ing? I will pop back and see if any comments help me understand more :o) xxxlittleditty x



Author's Reply:
I find it difficult to explain my poems but I tried a little explanation (to Appolonia) may be that helps? I know there is a policy amongst writers not to use -ings too often. But this is in general. In this particular poem, I have used it for the flow and rhythm, as for me, who reads all aloud, a good flow is essential to a poem. Thank you for taking an interest.
Yutka:)

Apolloneia on 31-01-2006
The Poets curse
What I understood is that the Poet's curse is to be too engrossed in or too defined by his/her emotional character/shape, almost inescapably.
Thought-provoking poem. Maybe you do need those -ing's as littleditty said.

Author's Reply:
I think you got that quite right. Yet emotions are needed for poetry but also a sharp sense of observation, introspection and skill with words, to find exactly the right one to express feelings and discribe things. It is, as I said, similar to the art of a sculptor. One needs great patience and also stamina to balance one's way into a final creation. And also the experience of life, having lived through a multitude of situations which leads to understand coherances. That is, of course, if one wants to be a serious poet.
Yutka:)

Sunken on 01-02-2006
The Poets curse
I like a good ...ing session myself young Yutka. Long may you continue. I need to read this a few more times. Those girlie types just get the gist so much quicker don't they?

s
u
n
k
e
n

tomorrow they approach the bench

Author's Reply:


You have come through (posted on: 27-01-06)
...again you guess your suffering...

You have come through, even the happiness you have surpassed, somehow, unsure. The tests were many. You could only guess their outcome, anxiously endure uncertainty. Nobody passed, for who can deal with life's infinity, but for endless attempts, repeating dreams once dreamt, re-claiming memory's peaks? - A night owl shrieks - Again you guess your suffering before it's felt. You wait for it in awe, you take it in - A bird keeps calling. Its call spelt your weakness out and your awakening.
Archived comments for You have come through
littleditty on 27-01-2006
You have come through
This is very direct - though the tone is difficult to gage - it is so matter of fact...the question is empathetic, this is unsettling, good i think. i liked this poem - the leap, anxious to the 2nd verse, liked it better on second reading, and there is an owl shrieking which makes this poem a favourite in any case 😀 xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
glad you like the owl, ditty. One of my favourite birds too.
Yutka:)

Griffonner on 27-01-2006
You have come through
The owl is everone's favourite, methinks. I liked this very much, Yutka. Those who guess the future are none-the-less ready for it when it arrives, sadly. Thanks for sharing this. It is very thought provoking.
*Thoughtfully*
Griffonner

Author's Reply:
I love it, Griffonner, when my words provoke thought, even a single one is appreciated.
I always believe that we receive our ultimate healing through nature. Whatever the future brings us, the birds, the winds, the waves all have seen it and known it before and through their voices they are trying to tell us, calm us, reassure us. We just have to listen.
With light
Yutka:)


Being nude was rude (posted on: 27-01-06)
.....With her bitter broom she cleared his shortfalls.....

A little crumb here and there he picked up wherever he found hope. He swore to cope, not getting under heaps of rotting luck, or being sucked into the vacuum of black despair. Still he showed defiance. Yet his wife ruled his life. Her alliance to hygiene as her paragon had showed from early on. All desire was banned. Playing with fire could get out of hand, she feared any approach like a cockroach that she would have to kill. Still he felt bound to his vows, standing his ground. All she saw was holy matrimony, church blessings, cook soup for the homeless, sing in the choir, shop with the old, but for him not to touch, no crap in the bathroom and not much noise with it and always wearing pyjamas. Being nude was rude. No bare statues, none of any exposed part, no fleshy art in pictures on the wall. No sex, no fart. All doom and gloom. A latent chill filled every single room. With her bitter broom she cleared his shortfalls, got rid of odours. The germs of his lust were swept firmly underneath the carpet where they lay cringing, unwilling to mingle with the heaps of ever increasing dust.
Archived comments for Being nude was rude
littleditty on 27-01-2006
Being nude was rude
Wow - enjoyed this -very uncomfortable humour. A poem with a fart in it should be nibbed, purely for this reason - but i expect it will be for the poetics - liked the clever internal rhymes - here is the quibble: hope/cope is really heavy at the beginning there, did you want heavy? Or really heavy? there - i said it. *runs away*

Author's Reply:
Hi thanks! I wanted it "heavy".It feels "heavy" to be in such a dilemma, doesn't it?

teifii on 27-01-2006
Being nude was rude
A sad case and probably unfortunately not rare. I like the internal rhymes combined with fairly prosy rhythm. It's unusual. But I too found hope/ cope a bit over the top. I felt cope was put in for the rhyme. On the whole though I really like the poem. Especially liked
All desire was banned.
Playing with fire could get out of hand,
she feared any approach like a cockroach
that she would have to kill.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Teifii!
I like the idea, that you, too, have come across situations as such. So it does not sound "alien" (as may be for others) I feel you understand this poem and that makes me happy.
Yutka:)

littleditty on 27-01-2006
Being nude was rude
Yes - it does and i agree with Daff - that its not rare, its cinematic what you did in this poem - With her bitter broom she cleared his shortfalls, is a great line - nicky x


Author's Reply:
Thanks, Nicky.It's nice that you liked the lines. It was fun writing it
Yutka:)

Sunken on 28-01-2006
Being nude was rude
Yutka, you continue to impress. Please stop it before I run out of superlatives. Thanks. Drink tea and get your electric blanket overhauled.

s
u
n
k
e
n

tomorrow they fix his grimace

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Sunky, for reminding me. That tatty blanket....and thanks also for the superlatives! Hate to stop you.
Yutka:)

Corin on 29-01-2006
Being nude was rude
She deserves the fate of Auden's Miss Gee.

Not sure about this sentence:-

Her alliance
to hygiene as its paragon had showed
from early on.

- as HER paragon?

Puck used to be "sent with broom before,
To sweep the dust behind the door."

Don't think he would have let the dust of lust lie -Surely he would have found a trick or two to sort her out!

You create the atmosphere of pathetic sadness very well and the ending has loud ring of truth - not a self portrait I hope!

David


Author's Reply:
No David, Thank God, no self portrait. Just some observations I made. And thank you for the "her" I will correct.
Yutka:)


We the white souls (posted on: 23-01-06)
Will waves remember? Do clouds recognise?

Come back with me to the lazy rivers that curl inland through dusky shadows, past rock pools fringed with pink flowers and the cliffs where the falcons nest. Enter the silent caves or fish with me on the lakes beside swans. Look where the heron is stalking upriver by the brackish waters! There starts the magical land. Pass along the scent of the fuchsia hedge, then turn left through the humming wild bees' music and follow the wind to the beach. Will waves remember? Do clouds recognise? Nothing can change us. I'll teach you forever how to pop the pods on the bladderwrack seaweed, dig up lugworms from sands for baits, and catch a crab without being nipped. We, the white souls are drying our wings on the rocks, Let's ride the winds together, run with the sandpiper, the oyster catcher, the lonesome curlew!
Archived comments for We the white souls
red-dragon on 23-01-2006
We the white souls
Lovely, lovely, lovely! What a treat on a foggy Monday morning. Welsh wishes, Ann

Author's Reply:
thank you Ann! You brought a smile onto a grey-Mondey-morning-face.
Yutka:)

Romany on 23-01-2006
We the white souls
This is an excellent, beautifully evocative poem. I want to go to all those places and see and do all those things! And the title is just perfect! And your opening line ...

Beautiful!

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Romany. I wished too I was back again, there, with someone I love.
Yutka

Elfstone on 24-01-2006
We the white souls
Some lovely images in this Yutka. A personal view I know but I think the 3rd verse might benefit from a wee bit of editing, if even just for the visual aspect.
It's quite a journey you take us on. Regards, Elfstone.

Author's Reply:

MLAllen on 26-01-2006
We the white souls
"The magical land starts" with the first line. Your phrasing conjurs such imagery as catches the breath, to fish "beside swans", "the humming wild bee's music", "follow the wind", and truly, if I picked out all my favorites this entire work would be highlighted. Wonderful! Well done. ML

Author's Reply:
That was praise indeed, thank you, I feel truly humbled.
Yutka:)


This pale picture that was our house (posted on: 23-01-06)
....nothing remains, nothing stays but in the memory...

Rain-washed, paint-brushed so many times crimson ivy bloom through the creases in autumn. Tough winds of winter storms lashing its pebble-dashed spiderweb-embroidered face but then again copper-seared lustre from long afternoons and later, lamp-lit windows in the dark blue - When the removal van came we did not talk to the men who carried our things, tied and packed for a future in tatters. What's left is burnt. Bonfires went for weeks, the smoke upsetting our neighbours. Now we stoop over, we unpick the burnt knots of memory to gnaw on in our weeping hunger. A snatch of blue in the mind. Eyes that still fill.
Archived comments for This pale picture that was our house
Dargo77 on 24-01-2006
This pale picture that was our house
Yutka, I love the way you have written this piece. You created a wonderful atmosphere with your memories.
Regards,
Dargo

Author's Reply:
thanks Dargo.
This is a poem to help me cope with reality. A look back from the future, if you want. the house is still for sale.
Yutka:)

Elfstone on 24-01-2006
This pale picture that was our house
This is a strong poem in which you really manage to conjure up a mood. I wouldn't change a word, but I wonder about the layout of the first verse. The final lines are powerful. I enjoyed this very much. Elfstone.

Author's Reply:
Hi Elfstone,
Much value your comments. What do mean about the layout? Explain?
Yutka 🙂

Bradene on 28-01-2006
This pale picture that was our house
This is a wonderful piece I love the atmosphere you have created. A great memory poem Love Val x

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Bradene. It makes me happy if someone loves my poems. So you made my day. Thanks also for rating.
Yutka:)


One Winter Night (posted on: 23-01-06)
...Both united in the treacherous darkness, shone guilt torches...

Do you remember, one winter night, that thin tongue-tied man who first saw the shards and suspected a break-in? And the pallid woman who smelled smoke and concluded fire? Both united in the treacherous darkness, shone guilt torches right into the eye of the rose beds, trampled the garden path to the summer-house, knocked the fence in defence against love. Then love knew it was called love and where to go. When I looked at you, my heart already had you snowed under.
Archived comments for One Winter Night
littleditty on 23-01-2006
One Winter Night
I think this is intriguing and beautifully written - will need to read again a few times to say anythng else... enjoyed - thank you, nicky x

Author's Reply:
Thank you, nicky!

Gerry on 23-01-2006
One Winter Night
Those winter nights have a lot to answer for 😉
Nice one...

Gerry xx.

Author's Reply:
yes, those winter nights, cold but steamy....
thanks, Gerry, for your thoughts.
Yutka:)

Sunken on 26-01-2006
One Winter Night
Brilliant Yutka. Very clever, and like that Dittsy girl, one I will need to read a few more times. Well done on the nib, much deserved.

s
u
n
k
e
n

unlike heaven

Author's Reply:
Hi sunken, knight in shining armour,dear to my heart's purple. Thank you for ratings. My flowers blossoming wildly.

Yours

Yutka:)

teifii on 27-01-2006
One Winter Night
Very clever and intriguing. It reads aloud beautifully but I kept thinking [because I read aloud] that they had gilt torches. Once you cross a wire it is difficult to uncross it.
Particularly like
'knocked the fence
in defence against love.'
Daff

Author's Reply:
Haha, your answer made me laugh as you are quite right with the gilt torches....I don't know how to pronounce it differently but I would not like them to be "gilt". Quite a dilemma, isn't it? For me it is very important to read a poem aloud (all my poems are meant to be read aloud) so there could be trouble with its meaning...Luckily it does not happen too often. But thanks for your comments. Appreciated!
Yutka:)

Apolloneia on 29-01-2006
One Winter Night
i have been reading your work, and this is a fine poem.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your appreciation.
Yutka:)


Winter rain on Boars Hill (posted on: 20-01-06)
...the sky had opened its vast theatre...

The winter rain falls on Boars Hill. With a lucid symphony full of beat the sky had opened its vast theatre to act the heavens out. A full house - the earth glistens in diamante, fulfils the sky's wet destiny with a thousand lips, eagerly sipping the heavenly moisture. Patio doors open wide after the dying finale, no more applause from the window panes. A call in the air. It weaves in and out of time, whispers, sings, grows in all the roots that are bursting.
Archived comments for Winter rain on Boars Hill
Elfstone on 20-01-2006
Winter rain on Boars Hill
A good description of a winter downpour. Congrats on the nib! Elfstone.

Author's Reply:
thanks! It was lasting forever, a bit annoying, put my poetic cap on to shut the noise out

Sunken on 20-01-2006
Winter rain on Boars Hill
Blimey! Is it me, or does this have sexual overtones? How I long to stumble across a lady with her patio doors wide open. No wonder you got a nib, you cheeky munky. Top stuff. Thanks. Take care and a roman.

s
u
n
k
e
n

Waltham 4 - Ballpoint pen 3

Author's Reply:
cheeky monkey yourself! who would think of patio doors as sexy...if you referred to the dentist with the "wide open" I would have understood. Sunken, don't sink too far.....
thanks for rating me

red-dragon on 20-01-2006
Winter rain on Boars Hill
Well done on the nib - can't help thinking it finished too soon, though. You just need, perhaps, a 2 line finale. Ann

Author's Reply:
How nice, Ann, that you want more....
But I think it was long enough, just to make room for a silent thought about the "bursting" in the end, the underground start for new life

Griffonner on 20-01-2006
Winter rain on Boars Hill
Well done with the nib. I really admired this piece. I particularly loved the picture painting in this. I sensed a contemplative mood. I seem to be seeing so many references to the 'nature' of things in people's writings today. I wonder if it is in the wind... or the rain in this case. *smiling*

Author's Reply:
Bien dit, M. Griffoner! Merci!

Aristotle: In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous.

Poets look into the nature of things, explore different grounds of opinions, are persistently thoughtful...what better than in the wind, in the rain...

Yutka:)

MLAllen on 26-01-2006
Winter rain on Boars Hill
You have an amazing ability to capture my breath. Once again, I hesitate to grope out favorite phrases as you have created another "magical land". I can't resist, however, pointing out the one phrase that caused my eyes to stare and blink: "applause from the window panes". Marvelous. I am very impressed, and grateful that I found you. Good work. ML

Author's Reply:
Hi ML, Glad I could capture your breath, nicely said that! I enjoy your praise.
Yutka:)


While I am waiting (posted on: 16-01-06)
...not everyone loves poems....

From this tree, look, I took the shining fruit of my inspiration hooked it up as stars in your skies. Now I watch you while I am waiting, your praise is reverberating with the riddle of unattached eyes. From this water, look, I took the precious fish of my imagination, served it well-dressed in surprise Now I watch you while I am waiting, your praise is reverberating with the riddle of unsmiling eyes.
Archived comments for While I am waiting
Romany on 22-01-2006
While I am waiting
No, not everyone does like poetry, but I do. And I really like this one; the double rhyme in the first lines work well. I love the first two lines especially!

Author's Reply:
Thank you Romany,

this is just a little ditty and may be attention grabbing. Glad you like it. I have a friend who tells me my poems are nice but he never remembers any and does not understand them either.
I think he is just biased (puts me on a pedestool)

Yutka:)


As the transient wind (posted on: 16-01-06)
...I must rise...

As the transient wind, as the escaping smoke, when many stay content I must rise into other fateful destinies, spill myself out when the ghost of the transitory goes right through us anxious receivers, fragile, adrift still thought of as a staying power of the divine.
Archived comments for As the transient wind
Romany on 22-01-2006
As the transient wind
I like the floaty, flimsy feel to this, but I am not sure that I understand the last two lines -perhaps I am just a bit slow today?!

Author's Reply:

Yutka on 22-01-2006
As the transient wind
Hi Romany,
It means the blasphemous thought that without us poor humans, God or its concept would not be.
And this is quite ironic as we are transitory, passing away like smoke, and we still can give God such an impact at all. God is very powerful in many peoples lives.
Any clearer? Sorry, may be not good in explaining..
Yutka:)

Author's Reply:

Corin on 04-02-2006
As the transient wind
THanks for the explanation - I have always thought the notion that God created humanity to worship and praise him smacked of hubris.

In the present climate I assert my right to insult and ridicule any sacred or divine being! 🙂

David

Author's Reply:
Sorry David. I put my reply to you in the next (wrong) box
Yutka:)

Yutka on 04-02-2006
As the transient wind
and may be print comics about a funny Mohammed?
It is unnecessary to poke into wasp nests, isn't it? At least, that is what I think. It always is a two-sided way: mutual respect for one's belief. We are born with a gene, so I understand, to look out for the divine.
Yutka:)

Author's Reply:


Death Wish (posted on: 16-01-06)
to the great unraveller

You promise silence after life's long race unless you strike before, carry away your booty noisily after a chase or be it, someone leaves one autumn day to choose the only and the lonely way that as he knows, will lead him to your base. The roads are never emptying of those who long for peace like searching for a rose that flowers only once a century. They, endlessly in rows, are following close your lead to quietness, your eternity. I saw their tracks, winds blowing through their coats giving them wings, majestic sailing boats, but when they landed, everything was still and when they lay, a silence, to fulfil your promise with a quiver in their throats.
Archived comments for Death Wish
Kat on 16-01-2006
Death Wish
Hi Yutka

This is so well-written and with a great rhythm - really enjoyed.

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:
Thanks Kat for liking it.
Yutka 🙂

littleditty on 19-01-2006
Death Wish
Whispered it out loud twice -how did you do that? The rhyme, sound and rhythm is beautiful - i wondered only about 'quietness' as a word choice....hmmm - stilness (i sound)... or peace, for an extra silent pause/rhyme with lead...but what do i know? *shrugs* i liked it! 😀 xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
I highly value your comments. But tell me, why don't you like quietness?It is such an evocative word (for me)
Keats loved it:
Thou still unravished bride of quietness, / Thou foster-child of silence and slow time
Yutka:)

littleditty on 24-01-2006
Death Wish
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:


(nothing against quietness - perhaps i am a littleditty with no tone -it just sounded odd in my ear! xxx:O)nicky x

Author's Reply:

Yutka on 24-01-2006
Death Wish
very witty, little ditty! I love Keats!!
Pity he died so young. What would he still have given us..
Yutka:)

Author's Reply:

Corin on 04-02-2006
Death Wish
I liked this very much Yutka, and consider it should be nominated for the Anthology. The pentameter and rhyme are beautifully handled and the subject is so indirectly glanced at that it hards when the reader grasps what you are hinting at. (If I read it aright of course - no I have just read the title so I see that I do).
Curious that the Keats discussion should come up, or perhaps not since you raised it - this seems to me to be inspired by the Ode to a Nightingale:-

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.

If this longing is yours think of Keats to whom rest came too soon and give to life something of what he would have given had he but had the chance.

Warm Wishes

David

Author's Reply:

Yutka on 04-02-2006
Death Wish
Thank you, David, very much for the Ode to the Nightingale, which, I confess, I did not know.
I have recently read this great book PASSION by Jude Morgan. Ever come across? It gives such a lovely picture of these great poets, Lord Byron, Shelley and Keats. I was utterly smitten by it.
Thanks also for liking my poem. It may sound rather sad, but in effect, it is quite peaceful.
Yutka:)

Author's Reply:


Magic Eve (posted on: 13-01-06)
....I try to decipher that you....

I touch you with my mind, I feel you with my dreams where in cool gardens unwind charmed feathered peacock themes: sparkling eyes, highly scented jasmine and their haunting cries- Are they allies to involve me in their love songs that life denies? I try to decipher that you, the you that was, yet now the blue spell that caught us is the magic eclipsed as a kiss. A kiss to make surer the choice is the seal to the dream within. You have touched me again by your voice and I feel your outpouring.
Archived comments for Magic Eve
tai on 13-01-2006
Magic Eve
A very beautiful romantic piece here Yutka. What is it about male poets and love? I know the answer, the problem is, often they can only express this way! 10 from Tai

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much, Tai, for rating me. And more, for liking my poem.
Yutka:)


Death of a father (posted on: 13-01-06)
....he thought there still was plenty of time....

For years now he'd been telling me it never was too late to do the things that must be done before the silver fish lay frozen between lake and sky, in blue ice midway between past and future, his wintry sorrow and defrosting spring. To ease my loneliness I planted snowdrops on my father's grave. I gave him less: not the confession that I heard him sing in the last candle light I lit for him. I knew the end and yet when it arrived I pinched the flower heads as if to send my future back and throw away my spring.
Archived comments for Death of a father
narcissa on 13-01-2006
Death of a father
You've made me well up with this one, Yutka. How simple and beautiful and sad.
The simplicity with which you lead into that second stanza with the statement, and the white/silver winter imagery of the flowers and the fish, etc, that you use throughout.
Extremely powerful writing.
The only bit that I had trouble with were the 3rd and 4th lines of stanza two, it seemed a bit jolted, like half a sentence, and I found the imagery less powerful in a way- taking the reader away from the beautiful outside imagery to a slight cliché of death. It's only a small thing, though.
So, a stunning poem, wow.
Laura x

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Laura, for your nice and very constructive criticism. Did you find the candle light and the singing a bit tacky? In fact, this I used as a kind of metaphor as he was cheerful to the very end and I tried to fill his life with light until it stopped.

I "observed" him dying, and he did not want me to.

I am thinking about what you wrote. May be there is a way to say it differently.
Yutka:)

Romany on 13-01-2006
Death of a father
I second everything that Narcissa said, except her uncertainty about lines 3 and 4 in Stanza 2.

This is a very touching piece.

Author's Reply:
thank you, Romany. May I ask you what do you think about line 3 and 4?
Yutka:)

narcissa on 13-01-2006
Death of a father
Tbh, it might just be the fact that it stands out as "interior" imagery as well as being the only traditional image of death that you give - it's expected. I don't find it tacky in the least (!!), the feeling certainly comes across... perhaps it was just not as articulate as the rest of the poem. I'm not sure, I don't NOT like it, it just felt to me a little out of place. It's hard to get back into the flower idea afterwards.
Pah, I didn't mean to sound negative, I really think this is an outstanding piece of writing!!
Laura x



Author's Reply:

Romany on 13-01-2006
Death of a father
Hi Yutka,

I like lines 3 and 4 in the second stanza. they add a shred of warmth and comfort, a humanity. Struggling to explain myslef here. The rest of the poem, whilst not bleak, has a wintry, distant feel to it. These two lines counterbalance that, I think, and lend a sorrowful voice to the very human feeling of grief and bereavement that you/the subject is feeling.The rest tells us of despair and sadness. Those lines show us there was love and compassion too, not just regret and sadness.

Does that make sense to you? I hope so. I know what I mean!

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Romany. I am glad you could feel the love. There has been lots and lots of it.
Yutka:)

e-griff on 13-01-2006
Death of a father
I didn't find a problem with those lines. This is an accomplished poem that says what it sets out to. It has a clear theme and touchable references. It is maybe 'classical' in the sense of some old-fashionedness, but it works, so what does that matter?

Putting aside my enjoyment of this artistically, my practical side wondered why the poor fish were frozen (if I understand you right - yes it's a metaphor, I know, but..) . To my knowledge, that doesn't happen in lakes. That, in a purely pedestrian sense, is my only negative comment. best, JohnG



Author's Reply:

teifii on 13-01-2006
Death of a father
Maybe I like it partly precisely because it IS classical. But all the imagery is beautiful. I too was a bit puzzled by the fish but soon accepted that they were metaphorical and such a lovely image that it didn't matter. The last line is superb and so sad.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks Daff. You are right. Many of my poems are "classical".
I think there will be a trend, sometimes in the future, to rediscover the old ways, may be not exactly as they were, but the feel of it. Modern poetry can be cold, manipulated, often very clever, but for me lacking something of an essence. I try to bring this someway back into my poems.
Yutka:)

tai on 14-01-2006
Death of a father
We so often miss that last chance Yutka! I have done it with both my grandparents, didn't get the chance with my father, and just wasn't in the right place for my husband. But they don't mind, cus you are always in their hearts whether in heaven or on earth. 10 from Tai

Author's Reply:
Thanks Tai.
We are reminded by death again and again to value
the present, not letting it be disturbed by insignificance (from hindsight), not taking anything fort granted and hold those pure moments safely in our heart.

Ionicus on 14-01-2006
Death of a father
A lovely touching poem full of good imagery. Liked it a lot.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your encouragement! Just back from my birthday hangover, that's why belated...
Yutka:)

Posy on 15-01-2006
Death of a father
I liked this poem, the scene it conjures up. Lake, snow, house. So much so that I've taken my own view of it as the basis of my own poem, which I've posted for tomorrow.
Hope you don't mind, Petra.

Author's Reply:
Not at all, Posy. Flattered!Thanks.
Yutka:)

Elfstone on 15-01-2006
Death of a father
I don't understand all of your imagery - the bit about the fish - but this is a lovely, lyrical poem.

Elfstone.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Elfstone. It would be futile to explain about the fish. It has various meanings for me. The nain thing is the effect it has on a reader, for each of them it provokes another thought.
Yutka:)

shackleton on 15-01-2006
Death of a father
Beautiful, Yutka. Take care.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Shackle (intriguing name! Hope u don't mind my shortening) You take care too!
Yutka:)

Lare on 17-01-2006
Death of a father
Hi Yutka...this touches me in a very personal way. I lost my father suddenly almost 2 years ago...I think about him every day...your piece reminded me how much I miss him...

Lare

Author's Reply:
Yes, Lare, that is why I had somehow to write this poem. Once we have lost someone, the irreversibility of life is overpowering and the feeling of loss near-unspeakable. Words just cannot tell all.
Y.


cockadoodling (posted on: 09-01-06)
...like the victim in a poetic travesty....

he stands a shaggy patchwork quilt on short feathery legs, his voice hoarse and cocky. At dawn my cockerel recites his poems brings up his feather-brained genius, and asserts noisily his importance amongst the living poets. He plucks up his plumage to crow about cheerfulness, how to start a family, ruffles my feathers with his insistence to rise early. When I turn in my bed, sleep-struck, his pitch gets indignant. I vow to promote the rights of single mother hens, find my feather duster to tickle him out of his wits, collect breakfast eggs to teach him a lesson, As he hurtles towards me I hold a broom to crush his attack, escape his outstretched spurs, duck his raised blood curdling cock's comb There will be no chickening out He flies at the broom, flops with a throaty croak like the victim in a poetic travesty. . If he should fall, cock-a-doodle-doo, I should fall too. High on purple prose he swears to peck me into order, wear me as a trophy in his feather boa. I call his bluff. go for breakfast make scrambled eggs.
Archived comments for cockadoodling
Sunken on 09-01-2006
cockadoodling
Your best to date young Yutka of cock fame. That sounds so wrong. Forgive me, I'm trying to keep this short as I am typing with a book on my head. It's good for posture apparently? Some very clever lines in this particular piece Ms. Yutka. You're pretty good for a girl (-;

s
u
n
k
e
n

noticeably shorter than he was before Xmas

Author's Reply:
pretty good for a girl? Am I hearing it right?

A girl now of cock fame! I should write that in blood.

Thanks!
Yutka:)

littleditty on 09-01-2006
cockadoodling
How fantastic! I loved the humour and wordplay in this - and humour directed at us arty types is my favourite kind -believe we should all drink two spoonfuls daily as medicine - stanza 4 particularly tickled my fancy! Nice one, hen xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
Hi littleditty!
Thanks! And who says we Germans don't have humour....pshhht! told u my secret!
Yutka:)

shadow on 10-01-2006
cockadoodling
I really enjoyed this - clever and funny, esp the last three lines.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Shadow. Thought more about canoodling than cockaddoodling. Has been a difficult birth.
Yutka:)

littleditty on 10-01-2006
cockadoodling
"Thanks! And who says we Germans don't have humour ....pshhht! told u my secret! "

Who says such things? WHO??? *shrugs* pshhht - vitha name like yours *pauses for dramatic effect* i think i had a little feeling 😉 xxxlittleditty x grandparents, Berlin x

Author's Reply:
Wow, littleditty (love that name!) welcome! Mine too from Berlin! xx Y.

Kat on 11-01-2006
cockadoodling
Morgen!

Was für ein Gedicht! Wunderbar! :o)

Ich wohne in Wiesbaden (in der nahe von Frankfurt), aber ich habe hier gekommen von Edinburgh.

Excuse the lifestory and the basic German...this really is a great poem and I just HAVE to put it in my 'cocktail' cabinet beside a fruity little Riesling!

Tschüss!

Kat

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Kat. Know Wiesbaden, quite a nice place. Have fun with your Riesling and thanks!!!Yutka:)

Leila on 11-01-2006
cockadoodling
ha ha this is wickedly good and a little bit different, well done...L

Author's Reply:
thanks, Leila. Great u found it different. Thats what I hope for.
Yutka:)

chrissy on 11-01-2006
cockadoodling
A very clever poem and very well written. I enjoyed this.
chrissy

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the "clever", Chrissie! I bathe in it.
Yutka:)


The Sculptor (posted on: 06-01-06)
.....His demand for well-lit space is legendary.....

He hates darkness. Light becomes essential. His demand for well-lit space is legendary. Holding the lump of clay he kneads, caresses, strokes it alive, turning an amorphous world into a globe. With iron callipers he measures from the top of the head to the tip of the beard. How fast he adds substance with every new handful of clay! Each time he works in more vision, devotes himself to a more accurate measurement, nose to back of head, ear to ear, from the top of the back down to the nape of the neck. With hawk-like swoops he raises ridges for eyebrows . Under his fingers a valley forms for the mouth, a nose lifts like a hill, a profile begins shaping in his image. Each measure of his gaze leads his hands further to balance the fragile borderline between too little and too much, between too shallow and too deep. All his senses are driving his inner solutions. He has no time for feelings, yet he smiles when he cuts the head with a wire. How well he knows what he is doing. By touching, smoothing frantically as if competing with time, he sucks in life forms, breath by breath. He fills himself to the brim with all the faces at once. Letting go he stands, still in doubt, whether or not he saw that it was good.
Archived comments for The Sculptor
Dargo77 on 06-01-2006
The Sculptor
Yutka, a very enjoyable read.
Best regards,
Dargo

Author's Reply:
Thanks Dargo.
I love doing sculpture
Yutka:)

littleditty on 07-01-2006
The Sculptor
This piece flowed and the voice seemed self assured and free to show this - so grabbed my attention. Very enjoyable, very descriptive piece - thanks xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
thank you for your comments like honey to my bee.
Yutka:)

Apolloneia on 09-03-2006
The Sculptor
I agree with littleditty, excellent flow.
Nic 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thank you my friend. I appreciate your comments
Yutka:)


Evening by a lake (posted on: 06-01-06)
....I arrive where, deep-down, I already am...

When I go for the evening skies I arrive where deep-down I already am, on the pink and orange wavelength where thought and feeling merge, where the currents of mind determine a heart's flight, undulating from the high to the low, before settling on the darkening waters, next to the cormorant or the silhouettes of dusky sea-birds against the flickering water. See how more and more flocks come in from the violet east crossing the luminous skies and how they glide softly without a noise and without even beating their wings, more and more swooping thoughts, they circle the light-rippled lake, put silent dots onto the sheath of glittering silver, as dots within a sentence that are awaiting conclusions, pending, pondering and gently welcoming meaning: the last sunrays. There, an array of possibilities, but always this tang of unlaundered light until I find it - the blood drenched hour, when the night shakes me awake. I suck it in, liquid spectrum, for I am thirsty as if I went for days carrying along someone's else's thirst that would dry me out. I do not think that a mouth other than mine would blister where I drink from the sky, where I bite out cloud shapes, nuzzle currents of tangible light to my heart's soft lips, where I taste the pure dusk, devour darkness and find, what I came for, in an explosion of geese, as I walk past, that lingers on for a mile in the sharp breath of the night.
Archived comments for Evening by a lake
Sunken on 07-01-2006
Evening by a lake
Blimey. You're a colorful writer young Yutka and no mistaking and to be sure. I can only assume that we have some color-blind ukaneers amongst us. I hope you get more comment, you deserve it. Take care and a bottle of water.

s
u
n
k
e
n

also available in summer

Author's Reply:
I will. Thanks friend.
Yutka 🙂

Corin on 10-01-2006
Evening by a lake
A wonderful painting of evening in he peace of quiet of natural beauty. I really liked this:-

There, an array of possibilities, but always
this tang of unlaundered light

until I find it - the blood drenched hour,
when the night shakes me awake.

I did however wonder about the first line and this :-

as dots within a sentence
that are awaiting conclusions,
pending, pondering and gently
welcoming meaning: the last sunrays.

- the meaning of both eluded me and the7 sentences temselves semed a little muddled.

Warm Wishes

David


Author's Reply:

MLAllen on 26-01-2006
Evening by a lake
Glory be, Yutka. With understanding and considerable skill you have caught what I experience "When I go for the evening skies". I smile widely at your comparison of flocks landing on the lake with "dots within a sentence / that are awaiting conclusions..."
I had never thought of it in just that way but I will hereafter. I find your poetry uplifting and completely satisfying. ML


Author's Reply:


Departing (posted on: 06-01-06)
...and finally leaves nothing there at all....

How have I felt the shape that parting takes? I still perceive it as the dark that wears and numbs all feelings. It awakes the conscience to a perfect bond, then tears apart how did I feel exposed by looking on what lets me still go calling, getting small and smaller, out of shape, near gone and finally leaves nothing there at all but waving? Was there still a link? A slight persistent waving unexplained, perhaps a branch from where a bird complained of dwindling light, time on the brink....
Archived comments for Departing
Sunken on 07-01-2006
Departing
I agree with Tai-Li (who apparently is great at hugging ya know?) This is indeed a little gem young Yutka. Long may you continue to sparkle.

s
u
n
k
e
n

missing presumed drunk

Author's Reply:
hope you have recovered, Sunken, from that drink, that is.
Get drunk by my words, no hangover there....
Yutka 🙂


A son is home for Christmas (posted on: 02-01-06)
no trifle left, Sunken! =====================================

He came down for Christmas eagerly awaited by both, dumb to each other for years but resounding for him, their very own City boy. They swaddled him in praise, cuddled his ego, him, love-befuddled, mollycoddled for days, stuffed with food, cream cakes, an oily fish dish, goose and turkey with added dollops of home made cranberry sauce. He gave them cause for joy: their home coming boy, an ally against each other, his silent father, his emotional mother. Dad watched with him Tolkien movies, Top Gear, The Simpsons, whereas Mum took him for a walk in the park, around a lake. ''For heavens sake, talk about your feelings, and do you still smoke dope? How often and how much? Will your brain cope? In fact you might be left brain damaged. The danger is such...'' His dad managed to stay out of it. In a way, it left him cold. Cold turkey they ate for the rest of the week. a leek casserole, broccoli, mashed potatoes. His mum made a weak soup out of the rest. The best was the trifle afterwards. And playing cards and board games until their boy had won everything: the two towers, the queen, in the end the king. ''Check mate'' he said to his dad and went to bed.
Archived comments for A son is home for Christmas
Sunken on 03-01-2006
A son is home for Christmas
I do like a bit of trifle to be honest young Yutka. I don't like those spongy fingers though that they put in jelly. I prefer those before they go in the jelly, when they are still hard. Did that sound gay? Anyway, yet again you have suffered terribly with your positioning. I don't mean that in a rude way. I mean on the latest subbed board. It is a very clever piece and yet again I find myself saying, 'Love the ending'
Oh, I also like those hundreds and thousands that they sprinkle on the top. Thanks. Was that my worst comment yet? It must be surely? Thanks. Take care and a spare jumper.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he likes girls more than they like him

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunken. Now I know your taste
Yutka 🙂


Are you as light as the dead now? (posted on: 30-12-05)
Time is a dimension

Neither will skies arouse storms nor storms are encouraged by seas. No, winds blow free from both, tearing through space as you fleet through my mind. Am I an island or sea or a plain for your feelings I yearn? Where did you go since and where from, did you as night wind return the dark scent of yourself? Transparent, translucent you are! Have I to mourn you, your change? Do you feel shadow and light still under the fast growing trees? Also for me out of range: you arrive and escape, you stay long and you pass. Who of us died? Oh we remember, console one another, lie down on the grave of your sound! Are you as light as the dead now that you walk through the walls undisturbed, so unhindered by touch? Look I still see you even if you are no more, as I am no more as you know, for I live in the depth without touch but a signal is sweet... and I'll move, not in air but your breath. Do I excite you again? Will you breathe softer in me ?
Archived comments for Are you as light as the dead now?
tai on 30-12-2005
Are you as light as the dead now?
There is great love and greater longing in this wonderfully surreal journey Yutka! Peace to you in 2006. 10 from Still looking for mine Tai

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comments.Wishing you a very happy 2006 too!
Yutka 🙂


YOU AND ME (posted on: 30-12-05)
we both are born tightrope walkers =========================

You and me we both Are born tightrope walkers Balancing the act Of living precariously. We are trained To look upwards Towards the blue skies And the airiness of being. One glance downwards Could annihilate and Start the spiral to disaster. Lift your balance stick Use it my love Keep listening To the applause around us We both will meet in the middle Changing places effortlessly. Judging comes easy when Decisions are dreamlike. When we do reach The end of the rope on either side In beautiful unison, Our somersaults downward are spectacular and the clapping is for the indomitable spirit only.
Archived comments for YOU AND ME
Sunken on 31-12-2005
YOU AND ME
Hiya Yutka. It's a shame that this got such a bad position in the 'last subbed' list. It deserves much more attention. Well done on the nib, well worthy.
Happy new year young Yutka.

s
u
n
k
e
n

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunken!
Never bother about bad position. Think my poems always fit into the smallest gaps...
Wishing you a great New Year, happiness, love, whatever you wish for! If you expect it, it will come true.
Yutka 🙂

span on 02-01-2006
YOU AND ME
Hello,
this drew me in and kept me there.
I really enjoyed the first stanza. Slightly unsure about the final line if you don't mind me saying. Only my personal opinion.
Not sure you need it, could end on 'our somersaults downwards are spectacular'

Happy new year,
top poem.
Span


Author's Reply:
Thanks, Span
for your thoughts. For me the end is important. Opinions , though, vary and I am grateful to you.
Have a good New Year too, we all need it looking at the tabloids' headlines....
Yutka


The illicit lovers' act (posted on: 30-12-05)
....the clever pulling of heartstrings.....

Moments in difficult places of access, more hideout than hidden, where lovers competing forever to perform their advances, the clever pulling of heartstrings, possessing their mind-enhanced buildings, and guessing the tilting of towers of lust. Upholding their quivering ladders they only lean hard on each other, their grounding unstable and muddy. By the water they're taking their chances, when they throw the flat stones of endurance thus rewarding each leap on the surface that bounces more often and further. But eyes all around in the bushes and trees of surveillance keep judging each act with suspicion. Approval stays far off their playground not sharing their brazen hot-air-ballooned daring, unable to pay them their tribute for smiling and beautiful gestures.
Archived comments for The illicit lovers' act

No comments archives found!
Being is change (posted on: 26-12-05)
...it does not terminate....

Being is change. We are but a return drawn to the source, on loan, conglomerating thought with rooted feelings, yet bemoan the ever floating self. We burn all bridges to the past, a past that dies as we advance, grow high and long for skies. The grasp to fly leads to eternal quest. We're searching prone to find the heavens, struggling alone to reach the stars, their brilliance, as they shine. Are they but stone? Preserve and serve as trees that fiercely guard their sap sending it up in vigorous dreams, branched out, forever rising in green wide worlds. Yet down below, they strongly know the earth. They hold it dear, by rooting underground, their place of birth. When storms unleash, all dreams are blown apart. Survival becomes art, as the days pass. Ominous skies are filled with night. A gust of wind, a desperate beating heart, extinguished light, we all foresee the fall. A brought down tree, the silence after all Yet deep below the new world germinates, though still concealed and only to be guessed. Being is change, it does not terminate forgotten faces, flames that have blown out. The stricken tree keeps growing heavenwards, the heart aims for the stars, to lighten what is stone.
Archived comments for Being is change
Sunken on 29-12-2005
Being is change
Some very rich use of language here young yUtKA. I am merely a munky so I need more time to digest. I very much like that last stanza. Keep up the good work and eat trifle.

s
u
n
k
e
n

his hair is made from discarded shoe laces

Author's Reply:

Yutka on 30-12-2005
Being is change
no trifle left, dear Sunke! Wait for my next poem: A son is home for Christmas
Love from Yutka
🙂

Author's Reply:


Countless clues (posted on: 26-12-05)
How I write my poems....

I need to be seclusive even more, not on my forehead carry all my thoughts but keep the longing hidden, not implore nor be intrusive with my words, before they're even germinated, take the core of all those heartfelt things, hide them away in far-out grasslands, where they grow and need only the wind and sunlight to proceed, where they burst into colour on birdsong and feed on starlight, where they flourish as countless clues in vivid isles among the weaving grasses, flaunting red poppies mixed with cornflower blues in scented seas of heaving camomile.
Archived comments for Countless clues
tai on 26-12-2005
Countless clues
Sweet word of poetic wisdom. 10 from Tai

Author's Reply:
Sweet words from you too, Tai, no sherbets but honey drops! Thanks

narcissa on 26-12-2005
Countless clues
This is a stunning poem, most certainly deservant of that nib! I especially like that last stanza, beautiful words and images...
Laura x

Author's Reply:
Let's be fan for each other, Laura! Love your poems too. Especially ENCOUNTERS!
Yutka 🙂

Sunken on 27-12-2005
Countless clues
Well done young Yutka. I agree with the ladies (I have evolved this way, it's best to agree with them as it makes for a quieter life). A very accomplished write. Well done on the much deserved nib. How will you wear it?

s
u
n
k
e
n

the anti-virus software that he purchased did little for his cold

Author's Reply:
you mean the laurel? Round my head of course, dear boy!
By the way, don't always agree with the ladies. You will attract more by contradicting them. Did you know?
Yutka 🙂

Ginger on 27-12-2005
Countless clues
Yutka,

What great imagery and also so true. Do all writers need to hibernate their ideas? I certainly do. Congrats on the nib.

Happy New Year, Lisa

Author's Reply:
Thanks Lisa! May the New Year be happy and prosperous( dreams and ideas) for you too!
Yutka
🙂

Hazy on 28-12-2005
Countless clues
Some truly great lines in this, Yutka, especially the last half dozen or so. I'm full of admiration and will rate a 10.

It's just so vivid. You turn the thoughts into physical images. I just love it.

Hazy x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Hazy! I am always meandering between the physical and the spiritual. But aren't we all?
Yutka 🙂

Jolen on 31-12-2005
Countless clues
Incredible piece!!! The imagery just takes the reader there and makes them never wish to leave while giving that 'Oh man I wish I had written this ' feeling...

Blessings and Happy New Year.
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Jolen, you are kind! I take it with gratitude! Have a happy New Year, will you!
Yutka 🙂

pencilcase on 02-01-2006
Countless clues
A nib-worthy poem with a suitable title. My favourite line is 'take the core,' which is built to very well and I think provides an effective slowing of pace to emphasise the heart of your poem.

Steve

Author's Reply:
Thank you Steve. Yes, you got it: This sentence tried to slow it all down, that is the moment where thought lingers and turns positive. All that should not be is put aside and action is taken to hide it all away and trust in good old nature...may be that is why my poem appeals.


Far from knowledge (posted on: 23-12-05)
When we think we're holding it.....

And suddenly in this tedious nowhere where too little feels too much, and all things hush, you look. How long? Mind! The eye of the pond stares blankly. Still dragonflies carry messages, on and on. Will you listen to the choice of the wind? All the ceaseless answers that form themselves out of silence? Oh, where is that place, far from knowledge but near to the heart's voices? When we think we're holding it, at last, we had it all along embracing us.
Archived comments for Far from knowledge
ruadh on 23-12-2005
Far from knowledge
I loved this. The third verse in particular gave me pause for thought. Great stuff.

ailsa

Author's Reply:
thank you Ailsa!

tai on 24-12-2005
Far from knowledge
A wonderful sentiment in your poem and heart, I would have used voice, rather than voices, but that's me. 10 from Santa's Tai Helper, wishing you a very merry Christmas

Author's Reply:
A Happy Christmas to you too, Tai! Thank you for your appreciation. A heart, and especially mine, listens to many voices all around, what I call: the whisper of truth


Night Birds (posted on: 23-12-05)
Does not your heart beat softer?

And does not the forest know you when you come searching, the deep night forest with those well-known calls protecting your sleep? Does not your heart beat softer when night birds are catching your dreams? Lifelong they follow your night's wing-beating heart that soars with them searching the woods. Oh such joy when trailing the sleep it guesses the trees all overgrown with the cries of owls!
Archived comments for Night Birds
narcissa on 23-12-2005
Night Birds
This is so very beautiful and soft, lovely dusky imagery 😀
And I love that uplifting exclamation at the end.
Laura x

Author's Reply:

Yutka on 24-12-2005
Night Birds
Thank you, Laura, for your encouraging words!

Author's Reply:


Self-Storage (posted on: 23-12-05)
what to do with feelings

I have a cold store for my feelings the unbearably painful ones colour coded in red, packed in ice, and kept in the deep freeze for the time being to retain my sanity. I froze the amber coloured ones, , my many fears of conflict, disagreement or disapproval, stacked them out of sight to defrost slowly, to be dealt with later when I am stronger. The ones in green that repress truths, avoiding the risk of change I hang near the door like plaited braids of garlic chains to ward off evil spirits of self delusion. They are continually aired by the cool breeze of reason, a constant reminder, to tackle them soon. 
Archived comments for Self-Storage
Sunken on 26-11-2006
Self-Storage
Shame on us for never commenting on this Ms. Yutka. As things stand, you may never get the notification of my feeble attempt to say something worthy, something other than 'great' and 'top' and 'nice one.' I blame rave culture and hula hoops. Top piece - see what I mean?

s
u
n
k
e
n

please sir, can I have a whore?

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunky, Amazed you found this. Yopu must have dug deep deep! Thank you so much for doing so.
Yutka:)

littleditty on 26-11-2006
Self-Storage
i liked this idea! mine, buried under the earth, so i only have had to watch out for tremors and earthquakes - i guess you may be watchful of power cuts! Now, i was never very good at filing and think i will adopt the Yutka methodology of colour coding if that is ok with you? Enjoyed, thanks yutka :o) xxxlittledittyx

Author's Reply:
Thanks Little Ditty! Please do adopt a well practised habit!
Yutka:)

Kat on 26-11-2006
Self-Storage
This is excellent, Yutka! We're viewing this through the 'Nib Classic' box on the front page (at least I am).

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:
Hi Kim, You are excellent to explain things to me (like my photo..) You know, I never knew the NIB Classic, silly me. Must find out...
Yutka:)

Ionicus on 27-11-2006
Self-Storage
Thank heavens for the boxes on the front page. They give much more exposure to pieces worth reading and this does not disappoint.
Original and well crafted and certainly deserving of the 'nib'.

Author's Reply:
Praise from you, Ionicus, goes down especially well...thank you.
Yutka:)

Macjoyce on 03-09-2007
Self-Storage
Wunderbares Gedicht, Frau Yutka!

Vor lange Zeit wählte ich es wie eine Heissgeschichte. Gefühle sind schwer, oder?

„später behandelt sein, wenn ich stärker bin.“ – Ja!!

Alles Gute,

Mac das Messer


Author's Reply:


Nietzsche (posted on: 16-12-05)
Nietzsche was a multi-layered individual whose thought, influenced by Schopenhauer, had a vast impact upon his time and still influences people up to today. In spite of his Christian roots (many of his ancestors were Lutheran vicars) he early abandoned the Christian God. This controversy in his soul between his upbringing and his denial of his God led to his mental instability and finally into madness. The Nazis have adapted his belief and exploited it for their own purposes.

Nietzsche When he was young he met a dangerous god, though never went to tell of right or wrong. Since then he kept his silence, learnt it long ago to listen inwards where no voices go. He grew on stillness knowing he must talk to own his silence. If a man would walk trailing his background he would show a foreground, if not for his own sake then for the others. He would use a mask to restore himself, making him possible for other lives as well. When he had grown he lost his words at will within his dangerous world where thought would kill.
Archived comments for Nietzsche
Romany on 16-12-2005
Nietzsche
'where thought would kill.' A killer line, if you'll pardon the pun. Very deep and difficult subject, which you have obviously considered at some length. Intriguing.

Author's Reply:


Against the low-hung skies (posted on: 16-12-05)
With open eyes well rise against the low-hung skies

Against the low-hung skies Dust on the surface - colourless the thought, no more for eyes sound which like deeper ears hears us who cannot rise, alone the inner voice out in the open, charcoal of despair, deep lines it scrawls from darkness in the air, cuts back dimensions, polished back to shine. With open eyes we'll rise against the low-hung skies where disbelief is glistening on all the breaking points of failure. See how in this slow light all becomes spirit. Into each other we mature and grow.
Archived comments for Against the low-hung skies
Sunken on 16-12-2005
Against the low-hung skies
Wow. It's good to see some new talent on Uka.

With open eyes we’ll rise
against the low-hung skies
where disbelief is glistening
on all the breaking points
of failure.

Very well written Yutka. Welcome to Uka (or should that be yUtKA?) I'm sure that if you keep posting subs like this you'll soon be getting nibs and comments galore. Top write.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he believes that messages from outer space can be found within the grain of all good hardwoods

Author's Reply:


I owned a bird with an ugly voice (posted on: 16-12-05)
one always know the beginning, seldom the ending

I owned a bird with an ugly voice whose song crackled the peace I had him barred in a cage outside till he learnt some tunes. I wanted his melodies, so I trained him on little tasks. singing him all the songs I knew. At first standing near his cage, I heard him croak like a frog, muttering, spitting out his seeds. then I reached him some lettuce, made him honey with peppermint tea for his throat. He kept silent. I schooled him in music, played him Chopin and Mozart, a hard apprenticeship in learning to listen. He flopped on his perch, wing-flapping. He opened his beak letting out sounds mingled with the patter of raindrops, the rush and the hush of the wind creating his own melodies out of tune. One night, after a long silence, the final test: I leant out of my bedroom window. A full moon. And then when it happened, first a secretive sound, low in notes, swelling into a crescendo, higher and higher. I stood motionless, struck with desire. I hardly slept. In the morning I put up the sign: Nightingale for Hire.
Archived comments for I owned a bird with an ugly voice
admin on 16-12-2005
I owned a bird with an ugly voice
Liked this a lot, Yutka - welcome to UKA 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much for your nice welcome. Still trying to get familiar with this site, that's why I'm late.

AnthonyEvans on 16-12-2005
I owned a bird with an ugly voice
of your three subs today, i like this one best. an enoyable tale. was it really a nightingale though, or a grey parrot? best wishes, and - i'm with admin on this - welcome to UKA, anthony.

Author's Reply:

Yutka on 16-12-2005
I owned a bird with an ugly voice
thank you very much. Unfortunately (fo readers) I do not write many funny poems. May be I should...

Author's Reply:

Lare on 16-12-2005
I owned a bird with an ugly voice
Sort of like the ol' saying...you can lead a horse to H20 but you can't make him drink...or...maybe...just maybe...this is good, Yutka....well done....

Just me, Lare

Author's Reply:

Kat on 17-12-2005
I owned a bird with an ugly voice
Hi Yutka

I enjoyed your poem very much.

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:
Hi Kat,
My reply comes rather late, not yet familiar with this site..but thanks anyway for your nice words
Yutka 🙂