__. I'm sorry__. I'm sorry8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
By Tony Tran
I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when it was your 5th Birthday. I wasn't able to see the happiness striking across your face, the anticipation running through your veins at the point of opening your presents. The blissful joy of all your friends and family around you as they sang happy birthday, that day was a memory I never had the chance to remember.
I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you had your first day at school. It was like a new world for you filled with friendship, independence and above all, fun. I'll always regret not being there to pick you up after school and having you run into my arms at
Chapter 4:The Story ContinuesChapter 4:The Story Continues8 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
Whats gone with that boy, I wonder? You NED!
The old woman pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the room; then she pulled them up and looked out under them. She seldom or never looked through them for so small a thing as a boy, or young man for that matter; they were her state pair, the pride of her heart, and they were built for style, not serviceshe could have seen through a pair of stove lids just as well. She looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still loud enough for the street to here:
Textbook RomanceTextbook Romance8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The beginning was sweet as any other,
Fresh with the smell of new-book.
It was as paradise.
I would serve thee seven years,
But it seemed mere days,
For the love I had to you.
Yet you sought to beguile me,
And through all of the time,
I was yet deceived.
As Aesop's lion I bared all,
A forfeit of my weapons,
I shed my defenses.
And still you set upon me,
Seeking to drive me away.
My chivalry of old time ricocheted,
Off of your demeanor as it was stone.
Ah!, what sad state am I in,
FateFate9 years ago in Scripts & Screenplays More Like This
A sunny day in the park. There is a single bench CENTRE stage. GOD is sitting on the LEFT side of the bench. He has long, white hair and a long, white beard, and is wearing a simple white robe. He is reading a newspaper. Enter PETER from the RIGHT. He is wearing black pants, leather shoes, a white shirt and a garish, comical tie. He is carrying a paper bag. PETER sits on the bench next to GOD, setting his bag next to him. He folds his hands and admires the weather.
PETER. Beautiful weather today.
GOD [focusing on his newspaper]. Mm-hm.
PETER. [Extending his hand] The name's Peter.
GOD [shaking PETER's hand]. God.
a bird in the skya bird in the sky8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
my heart is a bird in the sky
flying on the winds of love
soaring in the warm sunshine
of true beautiful bliss
AloneAlone9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
if i were to die
and leave the world
to carry on would be foolish
in a loveless lonely way
has life lost its colour to me?
off my head on my thoughts
i stop to think am i selfish?
Silently a part of me agrees
i wish depression, the firey ghost
would deposses my body
and be exocised from my soul
so i can stop the slow eating
and dissolving of myself
sick of feeling this way
i want to stop, get off the ride
escape from this nightmare
that has become my life
and make something beautiful
just to see if i can....
...if i still can
inspirational incongruityinspirational incongruity9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
awaken me from this nightmare
a chance to relive my mistakes
in painful reality i surrender
out of anger flies tranquility
screaming lights make eyes cry
distorted sounds make ears bleed
warped senses make bodies collapse
a head trip to watch out for
incongruity shapes the world
nothing fits, everything unique
timeless counts of configuration
lifeless times of misunderstanding
manipulation of world knowledges
i hate the imperfection
seemingly scheming doubts
gnawing away at spinal thoughts
jargon jarring the minds
of trained analytics, placed
to throw the pragmatical sense
this cryptic rhymless rythem
TrustTrust9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Trust is a sensual demon:
always taking, never teasing me awake,
but comforting me regardless.
You have taken a finger to the honey-pot:
chosen to spoil the clarity of comfortable perception,
and spilt my purpose.
Search out the clue to silence:
investigate the drive to talk,
and find a way to regain comfort.
Pinnacles of PerfectionPinnacles of Perfection9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The weather is changeable, and full of fruit:
a zesty tang to carve the edible cradle of trees.
Green hued pianists fingertips nimbly dance,
infatuated twigs lust for a young bud
and, when achieved in woody splendour,
plush green embellishment, ever upwards turned.
The youth drenched weed gazed in earnest wanting,
encrusted within his stamen was an anarchists mantra.
Calm the release to trust of life's dangerous procreatives,
mistrust the signposts and lose the generation.
Hearts are inept to emotive confusion,
yet each excretion of sound plays with youth's deafening muscle.
Startled, the truth-raven ruffles feathers to pristine c
Baby BoyBaby Boy9 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
grasping for the untouched stone:
The Demons of Icy NightThe Demons of Icy Night9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The icy night drew calming silence
from the branches ripped and bare -
poor mother, grieving for her son,
knowing demons grip him there.
Gentle Man at RestGentle Man at Rest9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Stooped and haunted, the gentle man at rest
sleeps soundly, undisturbed, in Sunday best,
asleep ensconced in brittle timeless fire,
and seeking tryst with all of Man's desire.
This poet's words not pure enough to soothe,
nor sharply tainted, cause enough to bruise
the sleeping ego, neat and trim, inside
disrupted harmony - a vulture's pride.
The closed and hidden eye has seen it all,
and shouldered all necessity; to call
it living is to leave it all undone -
the vicious twist of life's true form has won.
The Worlds in PaintingsThe Worlds in Paintings9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The masterpiece unveiled, who knew
what lay beneath the cloth, so new;
that canvas will hang forever.
Wonder at the turn of her face,
why is she not smiling, while around her
other faces pose in seated pleasure.
Wonder how those trees did not uproot,
why disparate forces could not trip
the brush that touched the branches.
Wonder at the satisfied stature
of the gentleman with hounds,
of the lonely regal shooting party.
The master painter knew these folk,
these gentle-edged spokes that walked
and breathed and loved as real hearts.
Frame a thought for each poor soul,
while the picture hangs dented by time itself:
imagine the lif
Emphatic NoddingEmphatic Nodding9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I will wear my thong.
it is only a wedding.
sod the rest of you.
People are LookingPeople are Looking9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I am the one
Who has no blood
To puff the veins
And away from
My bleeding heart.
I am not stood
As I cannot
Find the power
To lift myself up
And out of this chair
So I am down
And people are looking.
I have no thoughts
To air my views
Is unknown to me
In my small world
I do not walk
Or do as I am bid.
I am snuggly warm
And outside air
Avoids me, like the wind.
The Twice-Loved SoldierThe Twice-Loved Soldier9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Having scaled and felt the scrape of the stars,
the world collapsed beneath his feet
and left him in poor mental health.
Poor flower, petals wilting in the light,
with Summer's crooning so near at hand
and a heart's desire to be enclosed in joy.
Elected to perceive that imperial beauty,
a second chance at perfect happiness,
and another paling memory to disrupt life.
Sympathetic fool, looking for fault inside,
where simple perfection lives already -
the pictures on the walls are hers for you.
Strain to hold contentment prisoner,
take a grip on ecstasy,
and surrender to the strength in your heart.
Regal ChildRegal Child9 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
reach inside my mind.
unravel the happiness
to find my reasons.
the pensive father,
deciding the small one's fate:
I will hold you now.
the sound of laughter
tickles my senses awake:
my small baby boy.
wear my crown, my son.
clothe yourself in majesty,
and rule this land well.
The Unclean MindThe Unclean Mind9 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
someone is always watching -
do not post that filth.
GeniusGenius9 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
look in the mirror
to see the genius there:
believe in yourself.
Thought-GripThought-Grip9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A thought-grip holds my brain
with a near-close nightmare:
that she is not mine,
nor do I reside in her heart -
it is cool with wonder
I am cool with wonder.
Now my head lifts from sleep -
it is infectious and docile -
and the world is unsmiling
at me - on me - is the Sun gone out? -
for the darkness is heart-deep,
and her leaving:
war-pain is a child to my heart's.
The melon is splitting,
and groaning to a stop -
heart-stop quiet suddenness.