The mind is a cistern
a cesspool of thought
occasionally inspired
usually not.
Poetry is the art of imagination mixed with the language of choice, the creativity of the mind, and the effects of the senses. Poems do not necessarily reflect the personal thoughts or beliefs of the Poet. I think when you browse a Poet's page, you should take the poems for what they are and not what you may think they reflect. Like an Artist who paints a canvas and creates a scene of heavenly beauty, that painting does not mean he is religious. As you browse my poems, remember, they are just reflections of my desire to be poetic at that point in time and not necessarily an accurate nor descriptive reflection of my beliefs or thought processes. I do allow my daily life to infulence my poems, but that does not mean it is an accurate reflection of my existance, thoughts, beliefs, or intentions. Nor does it mean I'm directing them towards anyone. Often I will send my poems out for some feedback. Sending them does NOT mean the poem is written about anyone. All artists desire feedback no matter the medium they are using. No matter what happens somebody will find a way to take it too seriously.
"You see, but you do not observe."
Arthur Conan Doyle
(1859-1930)
Errors and misconceptions no doubt remain, and are my own.
Now please enjoy yourself here.
"The weight of a burden of life can exceed the benefits of living but then our family and loved ones enter our sight and that makes living worth enduring. " Me.
This site may not be reproduced anywhere else. Copying is prohibited
" The Poet makes himself a seer by a long, vast and reasoned derangement of the senses - every form of love, of suffering, of madness." - Arthur Rimbaud
a cesspool of thought
occasionally inspired
usually not.
Poetry is the art of imagination mixed with the language of choice, the creativity of the mind, and the effects of the senses. Poems do not necessarily reflect the personal thoughts or beliefs of the Poet. I think when you browse a Poet's page, you should take the poems for what they are and not what you may think they reflect. Like an Artist who paints a canvas and creates a scene of heavenly beauty, that painting does not mean he is religious. As you browse my poems, remember, they are just reflections of my desire to be poetic at that point in time and not necessarily an accurate nor descriptive reflection of my beliefs or thought processes. I do allow my daily life to infulence my poems, but that does not mean it is an accurate reflection of my existance, thoughts, beliefs, or intentions. Nor does it mean I'm directing them towards anyone. Often I will send my poems out for some feedback. Sending them does NOT mean the poem is written about anyone. All artists desire feedback no matter the medium they are using. No matter what happens somebody will find a way to take it too seriously.
"You see, but you do not observe."
Arthur Conan Doyle
(1859-1930)
Errors and misconceptions no doubt remain, and are my own.
Now please enjoy yourself here.
"The weight of a burden of life can exceed the benefits of living but then our family and loved ones enter our sight and that makes living worth enduring. " Me.
This site may not be reproduced anywhere else. Copying is prohibited
" The Poet makes himself a seer by a long, vast and reasoned derangement of the senses - every form of love, of suffering, of madness." - Arthur Rimbaud
- Last seen 9 hours ago. Member since December 18, 2003.
- I'm a pyrite eye poet for 1148 comments.
- I am a man from California (United States)
- Visit my homepage at www.charlesallenjohnson.com
- I support the site as a silver member
(24)- I am in the groups Army Supporters, For The United States Military Only, In Support of the United States Military, Military Passion, Niaish Ma eno from all your Children, Poets Short Form Group, Soldiers and their Families, War In Iraq
- I have 1,148 comments, 3 contests
My Lists
- Adventure
- Family & Friends
- Humor
- Inspirational & Spiritual
- Military & War
- My Trophies
- Nature
- Personal
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- Romance & Love & You
- The End
- Tributes
Poems I'm focused on
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The monsters live among us
in the hearts of women and men
61 lines, 43 comments, January 18. In Society
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Where is God on the battlefield
Where is a lost soul to go -
She enticed me with her beauty
She intrigued me with her words -
There are very few women in the world
who have been truly beautiful. Very few.
50 lines, 103 comments, October 31, 2005. In Love
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That night as I walked the field of battle once more;
Stepping over the dead, in my mind, evermore; -
Whoopi Ti Yi Ya! I'm lonely you know.
Sittin' in the middle of the desert, long side of this road. -
Now the end is near I feel its icy touch.
“Please God!” “Stop our suffering, is it asking so much?” -
I don't want no dang Christmas Presents.
I don't want no dang Christmas Songs.33 lines, 17 comments, December 30, 2003. In Humor
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The dog drooped his tail and looked wonderously sad.36 lines, 37 comments, December 18, 2003. In Humor
My Poetry
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When the dark angel decends upon your life
and announces the end of breathing19 lines, 1 comment, August 10
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When the sun sets and its shadow lengthens
and the tint goes from pink to gray -
When the walls sweat
I can almost taste their tears
My Stories
1 - 4 of 2
Show all at storywrite
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It was dark when she spoke to me. I was sound asleep. That cry in the night as her water broke woke me up. We were miles from the hospital and I had just fi782 lines, 6 comments, May 25, 2005. In <200 lines, Other
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A single tear escaped his eye. The first of many more tears to come. His dirty hand wiped his face but it only smeared the mud around. The night was
Visitor Book
1 - 2 of 2
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Mark Rickerby on March 21Hey Chuck,
I just read A Friend Departed and was so touched by it. It reminded me of a song by David Wilcox. He basically sung a poem written by a nurse in a hospital in the Philippines during WWII. It's called Let Them In, Peter. I thought you particularly might enjoy it. Here are the words -
Let them in, Peter.
They are very tired.
Give them couches where the angels sleep
and light those fires.
Let them wake whole again
to brand new dawns
fired by the sun,
not wartime's bloody guns.
May their peace be deep.
Remember where the broken bodies lie.
God knows how young they were
to have to die.
So give them things they like.
Let them make some noise
Give dance hall bands, not golden harps
to these, our boys.
And let them love, Peter,
for they've had no time.
They should have trees,
birdsongs, hills to climb,
the taste of summer
in a ripened pear
and girls sweet as meadow wind
with flowing hair.
Tell them how they are missed
but say not to fear.
It's gonna be alright
with us down here.
Let them in, Peter.
Let them in, Peter.
Let them in, Peter.
-
AnnD on December 21, 2007
