tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54288082011-04-21T16:28:15.697-07:00This is my paper, my mind is the penRusshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.comBlogger421100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1125692657137811602005-09-02T13:25:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:02.108-08:00

Background Information: In late August, 2005, Hurricane Katrina devestated New Orleans and many other places on the Gulf Coast. Many lost their homes, and thousands are probably dead. New Orleans is in chaos and authorities are struggling to bring order and safety. This might be the most powerful thing I've ever written. I started thinking about what it might be like to be in New Orleans right

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1125616158502975812005-09-01T16:10:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:02.042-08:00

I'm back!I wanted to write a poem today about the New Orleans Hurricane Katrina situation. If you're reading this five years from now and have no clue what I'm talking about, Hurricane Katrina was a level 5 storm that covered New Orleans, Biloxi Miss. and many other areas in fierce winds and a LOT of water. This happened the weekend of August 27-30 2005, and it's one of the worst natural

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1120088463522787712005-06-29T16:42:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:01.978-08:00

Apologizes to those few who have left comments on this poetry blog in the past, but I have enabled the Blogger system comments, replacing the old Enetation comments. I don't know which posts before this one will allow comments, but feel free to add comments to any previous posting. Or you could just add your comments to this post, telling me what date and poem you're referring to. I like the

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1120086934829936702005-06-29T16:16:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:01.860-08:00

I've had enough of the silence. It is time once again for me to allow my creativity to shine. I KNOW I can do at least one poem a week, if not more. And I shall. Here's one I wrote after a pleasant afternoon stroll.Blue all aroundBlue to shine through your soulNot a whisper of white polluting the sceneSunshine warming you to the coreDry and wet all come at onceGentle breeze brings the reliefJust

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1106020310049183932005-01-17T19:52:00.000-08:002006-11-02T16:35:01.793-08:00

Random Poetry #2 The site I clicked on: www.youngna.com The word I highlighted: see Just a disclaimer: this poem isn't about anyone in particular, or at all. I just wrote what sounded good and it's more from the perspective of a character than anything else. The poem: See what you get when you fake it? You're only fooling yourself Your expiration date has passed I'm putting you back on the

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1106020237161612572005-01-17T19:51:00.000-08:002006-11-02T16:35:01.731-08:00

Random Poetry #1 The site I clicked on: www.collegehumor.com The word I highlighted: day The poem: Days of wisdom, strength and light Turn to cold, seductive night When darkness comes you lose your sight Let life's hope be your guiding light Days of sea, storm and rain Turn to years without your pain Take one step out, see what you gain Your day of light will come again

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1106020118457723212005-01-17T19:49:00.000-08:002006-11-02T16:35:01.665-08:00

Random Poetry Explanation I'm baaaaaaaaaack! Today I started a new way (at least for me) to write poetry. What I do is I click on a random site on my blog, or anywhere really, and then randomly highlight a word with my mouse. I usually have my eyes closed to make it totally random, and I try to just highlight ONE word. If I end up highlighting only a portion of a word, which is how it seems

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1101452636421827772004-11-25T23:04:00.000-08:002006-11-02T16:35:01.606-08:00

Thanksgiving is here, as it is every year And this time around I greet it with cheer I'm thankful this year for so many things I'm thankful for the lovely way Joss Stone sings I'm thankful for music Thankful for Ellen Thankful for soap that smells of watermelon I'm thankful for Jessica Thankful for Beth Thankful for both of them, they love me to death I'm thankful for my parents Thankful for

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1101108490328577932004-11-21T23:28:00.000-08:002006-11-02T16:35:01.548-08:00

Inspired by a friend's dream . . . The Steps Of Life Take a walk on the steps of life Put one foot after another It might seem a long way to reach the top But keep on climbing, never stop Each step you take will show you The steps you took in life Before you take the next step up Take a look at what you've done Some steps will show the good Some steps will show the bad Each step will teach a

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1100923653928162022004-11-19T20:08:00.000-08:002006-11-02T16:35:01.476-08:00

I wrote this poem because lately I've been listening to a lot of bluegrass music, especially bluegrass collaborations with Irish and Celtic musicians. Bluegrass and other mountain music of America came into being, it's been said, out of the music that the Scotch-Irish immigrants brought with them from Europe. Somehow, the fiddle tunes and songs morphed into what we now know as traditional

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1096171865794799352004-09-25T21:10:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:01.416-08:00

The Painting Goth Queen The Goth Queen paints the flowers She paints the butterflies She paints the streets made out of bones She paints the blackened skies She paints the dog and cat She paints the setting sun She paints the murderous aftermath From the bullet of a gun The Goth Queen paints the carnival She paints the lovers' embrace She paints sense of utter despair On a lonely person's face

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1095993768643420782004-09-23T19:43:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:01.355-08:00

Fall From Grace Fall from grace You've been given your space You've lost your way, I can see it in your face Share your light You've taken flight Your whispers disappear Into the night Raise your head Rise up from your bed It's not yet over You're not yet dead Look at the sun Your dreams have begun Never give up Until you've won

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1094684843753949432004-09-08T16:07:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:01.292-08:00

Yes, it's been a while since I wrote anything. I DO want to meet my goal, but I don't want to force anything either. I want my poetry to come naturally, because then it will be more honest and more beautiful. I think this next poem, inspired by a nice sunny summer day, is definitely honest and beautiful. ----------------------------- Smile Sunshine sails on a wisp of joy Floating on your

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1092697064913433592004-08-16T15:56:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:01.229-08:00

This is a new poem I've written that is inspired by/written to the late musician Jeff Buckley. His debut album is being re-released next week, so he's on my mind lately. ------------------ A Hallelujah For Jeff I say a hallelujah for the beauty in your voice I say a hallelujah for the conviction of your choice I say a hallelujah for your guitar and its strings I say a hallelujah for the joy your

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1091605029296920282004-08-04T00:36:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:01.171-08:00

Butterflies taste the morning dew and fly to sunny spaces No one knows what joy they get from smiles on children's faces Flapping wings and swooping dips and scent of the mist in the dawn Taste the water on your lips Until your thirst is gone Butterflies know the calm of the night They know the joy of the dark They kiss the moss, they caress the petals They take a break on the bark Butterflies

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1091339007134442332004-07-31T22:42:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:01.116-08:00

do you? do you wish to dance in the dandelions? if you do I shall play a tune for you running fingers over the strings of my instrument while you shed your cares like other girls do do you wish to swing near the silver falls? we can listen to the rush of the river while I play my tune again for you watching as the wind makes you shiver do you wish to sleep under a rainbow? under the colors so

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1078043985971433142004-02-29T00:39:00.000-08:002006-11-02T16:35:01.063-08:00

Random stuff about I'm not sure what . . . --------------- Let us play in the gardens Let us slide in the snow We're children of destiny And nowhere to go Let us fly on a breeze Let us feel the heat Give us our bread Give us our meat We're children of forever Or maybe it's never If you give us a chance We can be very clever Let us dream a dream Let us pick a flower We can turns seconds and

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1077353443439389352004-02-21T00:50:00.000-08:002006-11-02T16:35:01.007-08:00

Randomness late at night... She She talks in her sleep She tells them all her secrets She's digging really deep Finding he who she has not met yet She dreams of all the world She'd give it all up if she had to She can't stand the strain of it all She's stretching like a string On an old violin She might sing you a tune But you've got to pay for it With a kiss, or a promise She stands at the

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1075608563681148932004-01-31T20:09:00.000-08:002006-11-02T16:35:00.954-08:00

A poem about one of my favorite musicians, Canadian fiddler Natalie MacMaster . . . For Natalie MacMaster In seemingly tame packages, there can be found great things. Like a light little fiddle all wrapped up with strings. Threatening it is not, at least not at first sight. But set a bow on those strings, and you'll be dancing all night. Just like the violin, you'll be dancing with Natalie.

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1072253735375917222003-12-24T00:15:00.000-08:002006-11-02T16:35:00.890-08:00

This is my Christmas/holiday present to everyone. Enjoy!! --------------- A true Christmas gift doesn't come in a box. It doesn't have a receipt, you can't take it back to the store. It doesn't come from a store. It's not wrapped in pretty paper. It's not topped with a big red bow. You can't see it. You can't play with it. You can't open it. A true Christmas gift comes from the lips. It comes

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1068961827272390032003-11-15T21:50:00.000-08:002006-11-02T16:35:00.815-08:00

The muse is failing me lately. I'm gonna have to be more reflective and thoughtful if I want to really get into doing these poems. I need to find some sort of inspiration. Until then, enjoy the archives.

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1068961046353686712003-11-15T21:37:00.000-08:002006-11-02T16:35:00.763-08:00

Inspired by listening to some dark Scandinavian music . . . -------------------- The dawn sneaks up on you Blood red sun on the cold arctic mountain Wake up and grab your rifle Eat your cold hard bread and drink down your liquor Go outside now and greet the chilly land you came from It's enough to drive you insane But here, insane is what's sane You have to go crazy to survive in this place!

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1067583538678278592003-10-30T22:58:00.000-08:002006-11-02T16:35:00.699-08:00

Just in time for Halloween!! . . . The Goth Queen at Halloween The Goth Queen pouts her lips To put the lipstick on "I think I'll use the black," she thinks As her left hand adjusts her thong The Goth Queen sets up the candy bowl Lots of goodies for girls and boys The Goth Queen gives herself a treat From her fun little syringe toy The Goth Queen plays the music disc Marilyn Manson cries out

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1066553403101013602003-10-19T01:50:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:00.638-08:00

Sorry! I know I've been slacking this past month. I'll try to do one or two before November comes.

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1064472765851076852003-09-24T23:52:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:00.582-08:00

This one is definitely gonna need some background. It's inspired by the song "Dark Moon, High Tide" by the Afro Celt Sound System (the song used when we first see Cameron Diaz in the movie Gangs of New York), which is a powerful, inspirational, uplifting sort of song. I was listening to it and thinking of it and "Gangs of NY" and it suddenly seemed to me to be a sort of call to arms, something

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1064202217355551502003-09-21T20:43:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:00.528-08:00

For the pregnant daughter of a friend . . . For Sarah If you're feeling lonely tonight And you struggle to stay in the light Just look up, way up above Past those walls And to the hearts of those you love If you wonder what's in store for you And lose faith in the face of all you must do Think of your mother And the sacrifices she's made And think of your lover If you get scared because the

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1064133702848411062003-09-21T01:41:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:00.470-08:00

For two special people . . . The Butterfly and the Raven I have a little butterfly Her wings are black and red I see her in my sweetest dreams I feel her in my bed My butterfly flutters in my heart She's there to comfort me When she flies to me she makes me happier Than I could possibly ever be I have a little raven Black as 3 A.M. Her words of wisdom ring in my head She's my lovely spirit

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1063783877851477682003-09-17T00:31:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:00.419-08:00

The Goth Queen The Goth Queen straps her leather boots and pulls her stockings up She drinks the bitter wine of loss from the ancient lordly cup The Goth Queen grabs her purse and fills it with her pills They take away the pain and help to solve her mortal ills The Goth Queen turns the music up The speakers push and pound The Queen forgets her sorrows in the screaming, soaring sounds The

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1063530206464430042003-09-14T02:03:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:00.366-08:00

I'm writing this very late at night. It's for a friend of mine who's going through some stressful times and I want to give her this poem as a gift, a prayer, a promise . . . -------------------- My arms, your home My tears, your blood My blood, your soul My soul, your love My love, your jewel My hand, your grace My kiss, your breath My breath, your life

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1061865583425621812003-08-25T19:39:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:00.315-08:00

It's August 25, two years since the incomparable singer Aaliyah left us. In her memory, I have of course written a poem. To Baby Girl Your hair, your skin Your voice, your style We're missing you, and it feels strange. You were truly an angel on earth and, well, Nothing's changed, baby. Nothing's changed. You improved it all. Everything you touched, and everyone you knew. Every pair of ears

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1059547328052385072003-07-29T23:42:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:00.262-08:00

The Camping Trip poems These are poems I wrote during our family's camping trip from 7/25-7/27. I was inspired by the places we went to. I was going to write a third poem, and I might still write it, but for the time being I'm too lazy. Anyway, here's what I wrote during that trip: The Creek What violent explosion of earth and anger made this place? Rocks grow upon rocks, Fighting to be

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1057042141766537662003-06-30T23:49:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:00.205-08:00

Inspired by a phrase used in a chatroom . . . Emotional Knives Emotional knives Cut so deep You bleed til you die But everything stays dry Sharp edge not of metal, but of words Feel it get thrown into your vulnerable skin No matter how deep it goes, you must take it out Only you can tend the wound Don't let them make it worse Emotional knives are hard, solid, cold But you can soften the

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1056952634085978462003-06-29T22:57:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:00.148-08:00

Your hair So brown and lovely Long and flowing Like a dark river Tumbling into a waterfall Tumbling down your shoulders I want to drown in that river of gothic softness Ride the dark waves down to the double peaks And make myself a home in the deep red firey core It takes me there Makes me stop and stare It is beyond compare Your hair

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1056840805291814172003-06-28T15:53:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:00.096-08:00

Yay, a new poem to read!! But it's not a happy poem. I'm writing it because I miss a good friend of mine. She's an online friend, and is at a work conference in Las Vegas. I do not know when she'll be back online, and I miss her very much. When you're gone When you're gone There's something missing from my life When you're not here I can't stand it Every second I wish you were back again

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1055117673927384792003-06-08T17:14:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:35:00.037-08:00

New poem written!! I wrote it today, when I went out to the Willamette River footbridge. The Willamette River flows through Eugene, Oregon (my hometown) and it's one of the most popular and important natural resources in our area. I've lived at the University, just five minutes away from the river, and it has inspired me. So, today I went there and looked and listened and felt and wrote a poem

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1054375098895578762003-05-31T02:58:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:34:59.980-08:00

This poem is written by me for/to/about the late musician Jeff Buckley. If you don't know who Jeff Buckley is, I highly suggest you go read Jeffbuckley.com and learn more about him and his music. So, here is the Jeff poem I wrote in early October 2002: To Jeff Step in The water's fine You've stumbled upon a night divine Love is all around you You call it out by name Lay back, take a breath,

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1054025664381182362003-05-27T01:54:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:34:59.930-08:00

I have NO clue where this one comes from. I just randomly wrote it one night from some image in my head. It's untitled. The coldness creeps like a black widow spider dark and harsh, without mercy. The frost on the ground crunches against the weight of hard soled boots, you bought them only a week ago. Breathing hard, disoriented, hoping the light will come. Where is the light? Is it coming for

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1054024974737087392003-05-27T01:42:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:34:59.875-08:00

This one was written on the one-year anniversary of the 9/11 tragedy. 'Nuff said. I know you've felt the pain You feel you've been done wrong But if you'll give me a minute, then I'll sing you a song The vulture tore the curtain The red silk cover of life The eagle tried to stop it And paid for it with his life The skies were black with poison Belched and fouled by hate The Towers took the

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1054024450523162732003-05-27T01:34:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:34:59.823-08:00

This next poem is one I wrote on the spot for a good friend of mine. I think she knows who she is, and if she doesn't -- it's B.L. So here's the poem, no title: Dance with me in the moonlight, let me see the glimmer in your eyes Let me peer into your soul and hear your breathless sighs I am your haven, your Dream Brother Let me be a home for you Know that you are loved no matter what you do

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1054024172462675942003-05-27T01:29:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:34:59.772-08:00

This one was inspired by the Willamette Valley Folk Music Festival, held here at the University of Oregon every year. We get lots of counterculture people out dancing around. But we also get parents taking their kids, so that's cool. Lots of good folk and world music is performed at the festival, local bands and regional alike, and a few larger groups as well. I really love going out and

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1054006683440389852003-05-26T20:38:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:34:59.720-08:00

This Poem is called "The Piper". It's definitely one of the longest poems I've ever written, and one of the best so far. I wrote it from May 20 to May 25. Usually I write poems in one day, but I wanted to take longer on this. It was inspired by a vision I had of a Highlander bagpiper standing on the highlands and playing his song. Enjoy! THE PIPER Upon the bonnie highlands In olde Scotland

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428808.post-1054005006018092972003-05-26T20:10:00.000-07:002006-11-02T16:34:59.657-08:00

Welcome to the Poetry Pond. My name is RF Duck (well, not really, but that's my online name). Those of you who are reading this from the link on my main blog need no introduction to me. For everyone else though: I am a 23 year old near-college graduate who loves music, reading, and enjoying the quieter moments in life. I also love to read poetry, and I read it for the mere pleasure of it.

Russhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13331871460930436253noreply@blogger.com0