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Another Path

As black as night the daylight flows
to nothing without you
I'm lost within the wilderness
that I am walking through

I have this record, old and scratched
with gentle words that pour
upon my soul a healing balm
a song that seems like yours

My breast redeemed with every word
I listen on and on
and deep within your flaming voice
my loneliness is gone

Your sun can turn the night to day
and melt the icy blood
my heart can leave the desert land
and join your spirits flood

And through the scratching noise I see
you lighten up my room
the shells of reason loosen up,
the history of doom

Oh night becomes another day
the birds they chant for you
I see a glowing path emerge
that I'll be passing through.

Liked the poem, sort of passing through..............
Georges

Where's all the porn gone?

p.

This one's beautiful and requires no justification-type analysis, Peter. It seems, at once, both a poem of longing and a tribute to Leonard. I like it a lot. It's the style and quality we're more used to with you. The romance returns .......
~Lizzytysh

Well, it has never really been gone, there is offcourse no contradiction between a straightforward langue of Sex, and romance, thats exactly what the feminists wants us to believe.

ps: a friend of mine pointed out that the right spelling is pour (not pours) is this correct, anyway I've changed it now

Peter, if it's the record that's doing the pouring it should be 'pours', if it's the words it should be 'pour'.

Dear Peter,

That's a whole other discussion, regarding descriptive language/romance/et al. I won't launch into it here. I understand the point you're making, yet would make some scalpel-, perhaps laser-like distinctions, in further discussion away from here. "Romantic" in its typical usage would have different tonality, perhaps different word choices. My emoticon was as much for Linda as for you, with her point of preferring the "romantic." I close with saying, I do understand the point you're making.

~Lizzy

Edit: I still see "Creation" as "Poem on a continuum...raw to refined, with love all the way [puns unintended]" ~ though not necessarily 'romance.' Probably the best thing for us to do is define our terms, with their connotations, at least here and with you. So far, I'm with Linda on her interpretation of the word romantic ~ erotic, loving, and romantic not necessarily the same, though they can be overlapping. This continuing discussion will probably be better conducted elsewhere.

Do birds "chant" (sic)?
They make lots of sounds, for lots of reasons, but as far as I'm aware, they don't design sounds in unison. Your line "the birds they chant for you" is an iambic tri-meter, standard in song-writing, but your construction of the line is archaic. Was this your intention? If so, it is consistent with an old-fashionedness both of tone and language usage throughout the poem/song. With a few word changes, it could be a hymn sung (chanted?) in a church service, attended by a congregation of twelve widows, circa 1910.
I hope you don't suffer any more assaults on stage by rampant feminists. With this song, you are perfectly safe.
Andrew.

I don't get the sense that safety is what Peter is seeking.....

For God sake let people breathe
creativity can be obtained for stanza's spent
and let yourself out of the tent of grammar
for here the word echoes and stammers
the river will flow despite the weir
and let the spirit fear
and the board will hill and heave
georges

I know your poem was addressed to Andrew and I never do this normally (suggest alterations to people's pomes, cos they know best) BUT.. I really enjoyed this and think it would be much better if you'd STOPPED after "weir". The last two lines sound like you just added them because you thought it ought to go on a bit longer. I think you'd said it all perfectly by the end of line 5 (and then it looks really punchy!)

Alternatively, you could have written another 5 line verse/stanza or whatever they're called (or several!), but what you did write just sounds a little weak.. and too much like other lines you have written in other poems.

What a gas this is - I'm going to stop right now.