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Noah Thall

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  • Can you help with a title for this poem that doesn't give away the ending?

    they scurry at night

    i hear them

    not real footsteps just

    faint scrabbling sounds

    on low pile carpets

    they hide from me

    somewhere under the furniture

    unseen

    i see movement

    out of the corner of my eye

    was it them or just

    a twitch of the dog's tail

    i don't see anything now

    and the dog is

    nowhere in sight

    imagined

    quiet nights i could swear

    i hear giggles

    from under the recliner

    where i am reading

    i stop to listen

    was it imagined

    or is it them mocking me

    nothing

    they escape all efforts

    at detection

    but i know they are there

    those minutes of life

    that add up to hours

    then days and then years

    they are the last ones left

    escaping

    4 AnswersPoetry9 years ago
  • A poem. Did I achieve my goal?

    The goal is to write a poem in the classic form of a sonnet that is also a short story with characters, plot etc. Here is my attempt. What do you think? Care to give it a try and post it as a reply? Just to review, 14 lines of ten syllables. One quatrain introduces the subject. Second quatrain expands. Third quatrain introduces a new take or twist in the story. Final couplet brings a conclusion. In my poem, I chose not to rhyme. I also varied from the tradition of iambs somewhat.

    "She Begins Again"

    The spider, living in her solitude,

    sits waiting at the corner of her web;

    The new one that she worked on all day long,

    With never a pause in her endeavor.

    Now comes the new dawn of a bright new morning.

    She waits with the patience instinct demands.

    Dew drips from new spun strands of heavenly silk.

    She waits for that all-telling vibration.

    He, not knowing her, unaware of her,

    He, not caring to know her or her kind,

    He, who lives in another world only

    Different in scale but still part of hers,

    Opens the garage door, destroying all.

    As the sun warms her, she begins again.

    6 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • Is it cold where you are today (poem for c/c)?

    “Cold Outside”

    streaks of phosphorescent dawn

    skim the snow like darting swallows

    oblique bands of January sunlight

    dance with youthful grace of motion

    clear air bites like hungry wolves

    where wind and wilderness meet

    like the two halves of a muffin

    baby it’s cold outside

    8 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • Would you like a poem for a lazy Sunday?

    "Where Did You Go To Church Today?"

    tall grasses

    form a stockade at

    the margins of the marsh

    they murmur in slow winds

    like a congregation

    in humble prayer

    one frosted old pine

    stands before all

    and whispers the homily

    shoulders drooping

    under the weight

    of overnight snows

    a choir of cedars sings psalms

    from their crowns

    clumps of snow they shed

    drift silently down

    dimpling the drifts below

    it’s sunday

    5 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • A New Years poem for your comment?

    "New Years"

    fine old New Years with snowy hair

    ruddy face and all the other

    colors found in rounded sloping drifts

    piled up from a year of living

    a season that seems to mean well

    but one that can fool you with tricks

    of time that flow in dark rivers

    filled with mispent days and hours

    choirs of hopeful human faces

    singing supernatural songs

    at that magic hour of midnight

    to a fickle old man New Year

    Time with his mighty slow-beating heart

    never made a promise to spread

    his blessings of another year

    evenly to every hearth and heart

    3 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • How about a poem that doesn't involve any blood?

    ...that doesn't involve anybody bleeding, crying, dying. No boyfriends leaving, disappearing or lying. No hearts torn asunder or ripped from any chest. Just a simple poem with imagery and some meter.

    "A Book I Found"

    I picked up a tattered volume

    missing cover and title page

    an amazing antiquity

    at first glance not an enthralling

    book but of generous margins

    suited to notes made in pencil

    dog-eared corners missing pages

    one abandoned not on purpose

    a book that must be read slowly

    with complex tables, charts and

    illustrations to be studied

    and poured over late into the night

    exposing pear-shaped mysteries

    I’ll read it, study it, think on it

    memorize parts that seem essential

    ‘til at last it explains you

    9 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • Poets: Want to play on this snowy day?

    I posted a simple photo essay earlier today. Each photo was given a caption and when I strung the captions together they sounded quite poetic. In my essay they read:

    Winds Subside

    .....Calm Ensues

    .............Trees Relax

    .....................Marsh Sighs

    So this form, which has no name, consists of four lines: Noun Verb/ Noun Verb/ Noun Verb/ Noun Verb.

    So write me one in your answer and see if you can think up a name for the form.

    Here's the link to the original photo essay if you want to see it:

    http://lookingforwisdom.tumblr.com/post/2188530602...

    4 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • New poem for comment: Does Your Species Have A Name?

    "Does Your Species Have A Name?

    The Earth spins and spins

    on wobbly legs,

    a drunk careening

    down a badly lit sidewalk.

    With each wobble

    comes cold,

    comes ice,

    comes a new round of extinctions.

    The Earth doesn’t care

    if your species even

    has a name,

    never mind who your god is.

    3 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • Still working on this poem. See anything that might help me with it?

    Scratch and Dent People

    They're the scratch and dent people

    With thrift shop

    Bargain basement dreams

    They carry in black plastic trash bags,

    The pockets of oil stained winter coats

    Or orange back packs

    Salvaged from

    Salvation Army racks.

    Dumpster diving denizens

    Of alleys and streets

    Named after presidents,

    heroes and trees,

    They sit warming in libraries,

    Stand smoking hand-rolled humility

    And rest on benches

    Covered with snow and futility.

    They're from everywhere, nowhere

    And points in between.

    They once had fathers and mothers

    Sisters and brothers

    Some have forgotten who

    Doesn't think about them anymore.

    Most never will trust us

    With their dreams from before.

    How did they land here

    And Why do they stay

    In freezing cold climates?

    Who are these hungry

    Scratch and dent people

    We see on the bus?

    If you want to know their story

    It's the story of us.

    7 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • Good morning poetry friends: Illustrated Haiku. Have a look?

    I'm sorry we can't post this sort of thing here. I like to caption my photos with poetry. Here is a Haiku for your comment. Both photo and verse are from this contemplative morning.

    3 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • I need to explain this poem, but read the poem first, then the story behind it. Comment?

    I mean I don't think this poem can stand on it's own without your reading the explanation of what it's about. Read the poem first. Does it make any sense at all? Probably not. Then scroll to the bottom and read the explanation. Got any suggestions on how to make it make sense?

    "Death Chime"

    I carry a death chime with me

    Everywhere I go.

    A gentle chime that chimes,

    With two tones softly, often after midnight,

    A favorite time of dying.

    Bong

    Bong

    While I’m asleep

    It sits patiently silent

    On my bedside table.

    Then when it’s time

    It gently awakens me,

    Bong

    Bong

    It signals the passing

    Of mortal men and women

    Who have been waiting.

    It lets me know someone’s

    Wait is finally over.

    Bong

    Bong

    The chime is not a morbid sound

    When I hear it

    I know there is rest somewhere

    For someone and think how

    One day I’ll wait for it to chime for me.

    Bong

    Bong

    .

    .

    .

    .

    Okay, here's the thing. I work on-call 24/7 for a Hospice agency. I wear a cell phone that has both phone and email service. The chime is the email alert. During the day there is often just regular old email traffic between nurses, aids and social workers, but after hours the only email that comes through would be about a death. We do that right away so that when the work day begins anyone who has a scheduled appointment with the patient would be aware and not go to the home. So how much explaining to do or just abandon this now?

    7 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • Where do you live and what is the best thing about living there?

    I live on the coast of Lake Michigan. Every day I get to see the mood of the lake change.

    8 AnswersOther - Society & Culture10 years ago
  • Not feeling good about our chances for survival. Short poem for you. Comment?

    Dead End

    Makers and users of tools

    Miners of Earth’s treasure

    Burners of carbon

    Creators of bizarre gods

    Founders of agriculture

    Husbanders of animals

    Workers in stone and metal

    Conquerors and murderers of each other

    Harnessers of the universe’s power

    Writers of history

    Thinkers of great and wonderful thoughts

    Evolutionary dead end.

    http://lookingforwisdom.tumblr.com/

    8 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • I just finished this very short poem. Have you ever read anything sadder?

    Grief

    Loss floats on the slow

    Current of bereavement

    For life taken from us.

    The Earth, broken by grief,

    Sits half in darkness

    And moans very low.

    8 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • Tonight's effort, a little nostalgia. Have a look?

    Matriculate

    Sleep late

    Read Kerouac

    Demonstrate

    Dylan song

    Glass bong

    2-S

    Viet Cong

    SDS

    War mess

    Black Power

    Herman Hesse

    Chicago’s Daley

    F. Lee Bailey

    Gene McCarthy

    William Calley

    Kent State

    Peace or hate

    Draft Card

    Incinerate

    Get it straight

    Girlfriend late

    Take the final

    Graduate

    Finish class

    Bust your %ss

    Take a job

    Middle class

    2 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • Poetry friends: My contribution for tonight is called "Nothing Lies..." Comments?

    Nothing lies

    Better than a mirror

    Or more often.

    I don’t look like that.

    I’m not old.

    My cheeks don’t sag that way.

    That’s someone else.

    Who is it that’s wearing that stupid look

    On a ruddy face that resembles

    The full moon in shape?

    Not me.

    The expression on my face

    Doesn’t look like that.

    The expression on my face is wise.

    If you saw it you’d want to talk to me.

    And my neck is longer too, and thinner.

    With one chin less than that and a nose

    That doesn’t look like it was shortened

    On a grindstone.

    My eyes look nothing like those.

    They aren’t dull or tired looking.

    My eyes betray my intelligence,

    Not hide it.

    I know my own face

    Better than any mirror does.

    Nothing lies

    Better than a mirror.

    Nothing and no one.

    4 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • End of the world haiku. Who wants to play tonight?

    I'll start

    Dark near-Earth object

    I know your out there somewhere...

    Waiting to get us

    3 AnswersPoetry10 years ago
  • My contribution to poetry this night. Commentary?

    Khyber Rifles

    Cyrus the Great, Alexander the Great,

    Chadragupta, Demetrius I, Mahmud Ghaznavi,

    Muhammad Ghori, Genghis Khan,

    Outlugh Khwaja, Tamerlane,

    Babur the Tiger, Ranjit Singh,

    Humayun, Shah Jahan,

    Ahmad Shah Durrani, Nader Shah Afshar,

    George Pollock, Sir Donald Stewart,

    Valentin Varennikov, David Petraeus.

    Nothing’s there but stones soaked in blood;

    Everybody’s blood.

    Why the %uck should we add

    My son’s or yours?

    Can anyone aswer this question? My son leaves for Afghanistan the first of the year. Why?

    http://lookingforwisdom.tumblr.com/

    1 AnswerPoetry10 years ago