|
Will I ever get those precious seconds back?
Do I need to? Do I want to? Does it matter that I spent the day dreaming? I could have worked this morning if it weren't for that excuse I found Maybe I'll spend the rest of the day reading Though I feel too consumed by the lazy fog of hash As the mind is content to wander Immersed in the scattered jazz rhythms of heart Each book nothing more than a window So river, here I come again Another hazy participant in the shallows of your contemplation Destined a death of love, peace and patience |
Wed. Feb 7, 2010 -
Black Keys
by xXunspoken-wordsXx
As I play my piano of life
I can never seem to avoid
those black keys of strife.
Dodging my worries aren't helpful
because they always get in the way
taking a turn on my melody
and causing me more dismay.
I try to be perfect
and do well on my piece
but after awhile
my luck seems to decrease.
I want to keep on playing
this crazy song of existence
but I'm never good enough
I never have the persistence.
What realm As your sullied touch seeks deception. Are you now rebirthed Yet my sight is foresworn Sun. May 31, 2009- It is 3:30am, Saturday night, asking why anymore she responds. by Lowell Poe Wayward Child
Poem of the Week - POW - 3 each Month -
Sat. April 17, 2009 -
My Eyes Uncloudy
by MyLoveForThem
Poem of the Month - POM - 11 each Year
Sat. January 31, 2010 -
Home
by Kristin93
dased
confuse
i stare at my reflection
faceless
and unknown
who is this person
where have i gone
i long to be me once again
but afraid to let it be shown
so i walk in a place far away
where the sky is never gray
where kids roam freely
and no one is alone
how i long to call this place home
to walk these field everyday
to have someone to listen to what i have to say
but i live in a dark place
were dream are no more
then just that dreams
and yourself is only what others wish to see
i long for a place to be alone
so my mind can drift to my special place
i want to be me
but i am afraid
so i continue to stare
faceless
Sat. Feb 28, 2009 -
Death of a King
by Floorboards
Act I.
The dreaded dry season.
Ruminants roam
with parched pachyderms
as together they leave the tropical savannah
in search of food and water.
Act II.
Scavengers.
In the stark glare of this African summer
a pride of lions
pad slow across the sunburnt desert-
weakened by the strength of the sun
and their own inherent will,
seeking sustenance on the sand.
Act III.
Death of a kingdom.
An underweight warthog
offers a fleeting crumb of comfort-
but one by one,
the king and cubs are left behind.
Golden bags
of broken bones
lie dead and alone-
in the shadows, wind, dust and rocks
of this brutal,
but entirely natural world.
Tues. March 31, 2009 -
As the Sky Swallows
the Crescent Moon
by Black Narcissus
Moments of dust spiral upwards,
in anonymous passing,
as the sky swallows the crescent moon
Children of Saturn pray
comet trails fasten to their eyes.
Pulsed solemnity of faded novae
snares on jagged rock.
Reaching out, ever, I yearn
consuming broken galaxies as a rabid sun.
Seconds fountain before my eyes
shedding droplets that soar on pendulum wings
as time and self became one.
Still I hunger, I am behemoth
insatiable,
until the furthest reaches implode through awareness
and I am free.
Yet I behold another universe
then yet another
infinity through infinity
as forever becomes within understanding.
I learn humility of smallness.
Vastness mocks desire
as sombered, I wait.
Thurs. April 30, 2009 -
Serpent?
by Black Narcissus
this travesty ?
As my eyes pain mockery
that taunts the essence of womankind.
Serpent ?Banished from this place
belly cast down to mother earth.
Yet I see your coiled reach
clawing.
in feign of gods hand ?
So twisted have you become.
Venom seeps from open pores
as you taint this fair land.
Still you cast bitterness
hoping for salt tears.
for I have beheld beauty.
And man that has known woman
has known life.
Forever Inked
by Paloszoo
only bottled ashes on nightstand;
teddy bear once hugged weeps.
Smoking gun,
long, drifted to Heaven’s skies,
mixed with forgiveness,
transgression liberated.
But what of me?
Eyes seep blood,
taste of salt lingers;
forgiveness escapes me,
as death stains my skin evermore.
Nowhere to kneel,
but curse you, I cannot.
Absorb you into my flesh as one;
serenity will be mine.
Ink into my skin,
colorful memories of you.
Words of remembrance and love,
beauty once known,
forever with me.
Tues. June 30, 2009 -
Tails, You Lose
by Ryanosaurus Wrecks
Dragged behind matching rayon blends,
a helpless wagon pulled by waistlines;
simply a compliment to projected towers,
surrounded by those blackwater moats.
Lost in portraits, stocky legs a blockade
to the winking eyes of great aunts' cameras.
A napkin to crumbs, frosted and smeared,
on corners of rented fold-out chairs.
So few lines spoken in this leading role,
a latter servant to The Great Coat Parade.
Only once benefited, wait, lusted,
at glimpses of a nyloned thigh.
Soon to be misconstructedly forced
into a plastic zippered body bag,
after four more Hey Macarenas,
(alright)
and a slumber with a motel doormat.
Fri. July 31, 2009 -
by blondone
Because of the love you give
My world has changed,
From loneliness and despair
To warmth and comfort.
Once I was lost
Always wanted and needing,
You give me more than
My wants and needs.
You fulfill my dreams
Of hope and happiness,
My eyes have been opened
To a whole new world.
Because of the love you give,
My heart skips a beat
When you enter the room
I tingle when you kiss me.
I was in the darkness,
Sitting in anger and fear
Hating all things that
Came close to me.
In coming to know you
You have become a part of me.
Forever changing me
Because of the love you give.
You have become more of a feeling
Than just a face, my heart has
A brand new home, this is where
I shall live until my last breath.
Because of the love you give
Mon. Aug. 31, 2009 -
Being Introduced to "Why"
by Matt E. Smith
I call her drunk
we never talk
"this is why"
Wed. Sept. 30, 2009 -
if a clock could run backwards
by I.am.the.sun.
and knives only to cut bread,
the world would be a safer place.
if poison were only a word,
and words were only nice,
the world would be a nicer place.
if history stayed where it was,
and never repeated itself,
the world would have a bright future.
if a clock could run backwards,
stop time, and rewind,
then all those second thoughts
of better judgement
would come to light.
there'd be no 'what if's,
and no 'i should have's.
only 'im glad i did's,
and 'i've done what i can's.
if a clock could run backwards,
and bring all the soldiers home,
home to grow old,
home to find love,
home to live.
if a clock could run backwards,
we'd have time to say goodbyes,
time to say hellos,
to meet new people,
and say farwell to the ones we've met before.
if a clock could run backwards,
tears would fall upwards,
and hearts would unbreak.
if a clock could run backwards...
i'd have known what to say,
i'd have tried to be me,
i'd have known who you want you wanted me to be...
Sat. Oct. 31, 2009 -
The Wild Ones Dance
by SignifyingNothing
(Gold Winner)
Beneath the branches, shadows darken
to me, children, you must harken
'Tis not a night to wander, no
for in the dark, the wild things know
It's the night of the Masquerade.
The wolf prowled out this hot spring night
and he prayed to the moon to give him light
With a flick of his ears, a twitch of his tail
he followed the haunted music's trail
to the place of the Masquerade.
The creatures, great and small they came
in masked costumes, not two the same
and under the pale cool moon they danced
beneath a canopy of stars they pranced
on the night of the Masquerade.
The fox in red did bare his claws
and reached for his vixen's silky paws
The black wolves howls wailed and rose
to join the music's frantic throes
as they danced in the Masquerade.
And child, here in safety sleep
protected from all things that creep
that slink, that pounce, with fang and claw
Safe there, but you will dream in awe
dreams of the Masquerade.
The night beasts' Masquerade.
Mon. Nov. 30, 2009 -
Now That You're Near
my spark inside
wakes to find
a dream of reality
that was always there.
My table,
filled with gold and rum,
but it still hurts
to be lonely,
it's so sad
to be alone.
My pity passion play,
pathetic and pale.
My spark inside,
it will ignite,
and singe the evening star,
past the morning moon,
searing a new beam,
to my enlightenment.
Setting all the suns,
on my darkest hour.
My table,
filled with wine glasses
and star gazers,
their long stems
lie across,
and tower over
my poetry and sheet music
scattered upon the white linen.
My bus tickets,
used as bookmarks
and coasters,
as island wind chimes
sway the native children
to dance beneath
the catcher of dreams,
who's web is empty,
now that you're near.
Poem of the Year - POY
Sunday Dec. 31, 2008 
(To all those who say you need graphics
or prompts to be gifted by creativity)
by Cupcrazy
If the moon was caught
with grasping fingers,
would it choke the mystery?
Or if the sun was circled
and did not expectantly burn,
would it then lose its enigma?
And if wind was tamed
into quiet obedience,
would it dispel its forceful myth?
Shackle her not with chains of
such dry definition,
'Tis naught but human folly.
Leave her be, to wallow within,
the depths of woe
or to rise with glowing expectancy
of bluebirds, tasting freedom.
Let lips be mute,
while fingers nimble
and silence be,
a thing of beautiful description;
As emotion soars or dangles,
from precipices of truth’s making.
Let her crawl along borders
guarded by society,
sneaking under suspicion's wary eye
with a thief's wily determination.
Or roam across life's valleys
covered in frosts of the past,
where fact and fiction
are layered seductively in thin ice;
Where trees are backbone,
bending with a world's displeasure
and leaves are stories scattered
within the corners of a mind's,
wandering quest.
Let her be, to defy logic
yet rail against illogic
and man's smoothly practiced ideology,
to carve nuance
upon stale language,
creating distortion
of too familiar perception;
Let her safely swim
in the waters of brain's churning canals,
where she is exhilarated
by the depths
of unexplored expression;
Yes, damn not her tide,
disturb not the ebb and flow
but be thankful for
her gluttonous streams,
teeming with imagination;
as well as her frugal economy
of trickling words.
For poetry is ferocious wind
and scorching sun,
a thoroughly tantalizing moon
and the most wayward child,
of all our aging wombs,
who constantly reconstructs the language
we humans try so wordily
to paraphrase her within.
Poem of the Year - POY
December, 31, 2009
Dead Winter, Dead
by: Xianaria
Since our dawn, I've stood vigilant, unmoving ~
footsoldiers from every generation have tested my will,
never out-lasting my stone-hardened glare.
I have witnessed a millennia Siberian winters;
my body, weathered, ravaged by time.
From this post, I've stood watch over God's children --
...but that was before...
Dawn became dusk, on this morning's eve,
as hellfire rained from heaven's skies...
A wrathful, bloody fury swept over my city's streets,
but my accursed wings could not move ~
...helpless, with people dying, crying out for salvation.
I would look up to God, with grief-stricken tears,
I would cry out my prayer for these souls --
but I am unable,
for these eyes cannot weep, nor can this mouth speak...
I am but a hopeless, useless guardian,
upon this belfry, my mount for a thousand years
~ listening, as church bells toll another senseless death.
