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,
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.
Incomplete PoetryIncomplete Poetry9 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
it is not complete.
your mind is filling in gaps
which should not be there.
The Cruellest PunishmentThe Cruellest Punishment9 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
take this dirty brush
and lock it away from me:
do not give it back.
stop the shaft of light,
let inspiration darken;
my pen will silence.
cut clean at the bloody root:
seal closed the heart valve.
They grow old together.The cook, doorman, any other gossip calls them his mistresses. I know more clearly.They grow old together.1 year ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
He's with another one every four months or so. The girl he's seeing now, a glassy-eyed thing who came in for a good cry when he overdosed, is rounding out half a year. They fall roughly around the same age she would be by now. Early twenties.
Most of them are daughters of his bureaucrats, although some work at the shops or cafés he frequents. They flit in and out of his study and the Capitol grounds outside, never staying for long. Never often either; the Generalissimo usually leaves to visit them.
And better so. Better than have me stand at attention
InkThe ink in my veinsInk1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
flows through a pen.
Thoughts fall like rain
on the page again.
Are you proud?Are you proudAre you proud?1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Of my murder?
Hey, Police! He's here.
Creatively InsaneInsanity is a brilliant thing,Creatively Insane1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
That's what the demons sing.
Feast upon the living flesh growl the hell hounds,
Skulls of humans left in mounds.
Avoid the Death angel's wings the wind seems to whisper,
Red velvet lips making it hard not to die with a kiss.
Blood red eyes glow in the dark of night,
Banshees screaming take flight.
Death a funny thing to me,
People calling me crazy.
Am i mad to trust what goes bump in the night,
No not at all i just heed the werewolves call.
Am i nuts to listen to the voices,
Well we all have to make our own choices.