NagasakiWas that a trembling of the ground?Nagasaki6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And did I hear the tell of guns?
If so it were a single round
Of magnitude, oh what a sound!
To break the Nagasaki air
And now the rush of summer rains?
What evil shakes my windowpanes?
What thunder, what fighting?
What battles and lightning?
Why the flash in Japan's skies?
Where the roof and how such heat?
Why a blindness in my eyes?
And why the stink of searing meat?
The Changing Faces of MankindA jealous manThe Changing Faces of Mankind6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
will often strike
blows to the heart of his enemy
and wish ill circumstances
upon said person.
A lonely man
will fall to his knees
act out of desperation,
beg for forgiveness
and do it all a second time.
A bitter man
will carry venom
sneer at those beneath him,
and go home cold.
A humble man
will let credit go
to those who need it more,
he needs only self-satisfaction
to know where he belongs.
A real man
will strike with pity,
will fall with grace,
will sneer at temptation
and with the stamp of dignity
he will venture off
into the world.
You Will Know I LiedIf it makes you happyYou Will Know I Lied7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
if it releases your anger
if it lets you forget
if it helps you at all
ill tell you things will get better
ill give you a reason to be here
ill show you only good memories
ill wake you gently
you should know
i can not let you slip away
not if its for only a minute
you will know
it's all worth it
in the end
you will know i lied
an infant's darkroom.I sit in the corner,an infant's darkroom.7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am not the action, the story, or the plot.
I am the bystander,
By all the commotion, emotion, the ocean
I am small and unquestioned,
But I hold all the answers.
Captured in my camera lens is the story you've woven.
Only, it's told in my view.
You saw racket, clutter, mess.
I didn't miss that.
I am not blind.
But, I saw what you didn't.
I saw shadows undulate in steady movement.
[Maybe it was my own--
...me in the corner.]
Or, maybe I saw the beauty in the shadows that you were building.
I am a visionary.
I am a thinker. An artist. A creator.
My eyes see more that sight permits.
Images illuminate and take to new form.
Though I am small, and admittedly weak,
this fragile being holds a power unknown to you.
Unknown to most anyone.
But, you wouldn't miss it if you looked.
That's the key.
You have to look to see,
and instead you choose blindness.
I appear fearful;
Maybe I hold fright.
The Blackest RoseThe sky is restless tonight.The Blackest Rose7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The wind blows softly, tangling my hair as it lingers about,
And I think of you, just like always.
The moon is radiant, infiltrating the darkness,
With its light, as the comforting shadows
Mourn with me over the love I had lost.
These tears of misery that fell heavily
From these empty eyes clouded the dreams
Of happiness I had once yearned for.
Tonight I cling to the memories,
To the things that weren't to be,
And yet again, my heart breaks.
I can embrace myself,
Hold my own hand, and love myself,
But I cannot look into my own eyes,
And feel my own soul lift me up.
I know I cannot relive this tragedy once more.
A raven came to me on this night, his cries echoing my own
As I reached towards the sky, hoping I could touch you,
And bring you back home.
The blackest rose this raven gave to me,
The petals soft and fragrant, reminding me
That true love never really dies.
For a moment it was as if you were with me
Once again, way back then,
When nothing else matter
The Beautiful MistakeHeres to the broken hearts and shattered dreamsThe Beautiful Mistake6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
The bitter thoughts and the forbidden scenes
Heres when desperation shows its truth
The pain of saying farewell to my youth
Heres to letting go, and breaking free
The tragic pain thats meant to be
Heres to my final day and becoming awake
Heres to me, the beautiful mistake
HomecomingI am welcomed home this afternoonHomecoming6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
By children on their bicycles
Treading golden dusk-lit roads
Not knowing they are the future
I am welcomed back this evening
By the warm shoulders of my grandparents
And the particular smell of their house
Of three white cats and peppermint
I am welcomed home tonight
By talks of politics and racism
And late night repeats
Evoked by an old and dusty television
But what welcomes me back the most
Is the promises I made so many years ago
In the selfish way of all young men
That I should never, ever return
Ghost WritingThe words grew hollowGhost Writing5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Meaningless somehow- thinner.
I forgot why I loved
The dusted air of summer.
I forgot why I took
My pen to paper.
I forgot why I chose,
A book of vapour or a written rose.
As all the petals of
Prose fell away.
At the end of the day
I was left with letters.
The Poet and The ConjurerI wakeThe Poet and The Conjurer5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
And there you are
And there you waltz
Any time I try to stray
You lead me down another way
That draws me back to you
Weaving words through the air
That embrace me, and I care
You said 'I move the stars for no-one'
For you are like a dream I never wake from
If I had the power to wish you away
For I would miss you if you were gone
If you left before the dawn
You're addicted to the state I'm in
Im howling at my corrosion
You're Zooming In
PercentilesWe're the different ones; the artists, the poets,Percentiles5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the musicians sitting in a far off world at the back of all your classes, those that don't
say much unless amongst friends, who
slowly sink into their skin as the years
go by and who find themselves by the maps
on the backs of their arms, not the front
We're those kids who get far too passionate
about history, discussing philosophy as though
it were the changing weather and ridden
with unsatisfied answers about the way
this place works, not merely content with
the spoon-fed ideals so easily consumed.
We're that one-third of young people
actually caring about who's ruining
the country, who let themselves be heard
if it's worth cutting through the noise
and the understanding that sometimes
one song can mean more than an entire string
So here's to the thirty-three percent of us
who would rather live for something
meaningful, as opposed to the latest trend,
the ones that don't mind a shade of obscurity
Painting of lifeMy painting weeps colorsPainting of life7 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
sorrow and happiness
dark and light
off the canvas
onto my fingers
Red and orange
like the sunset color
of a warm beating heart
Delicate fingers painted
on the canvas wall
every detail matched
with every branch and line
Blue and black
sorrow and distress
Colors of the rainbow
of the world
of the cosmos
rubies and emeralds
fall out of my eyes
from the old and new colors
Your eyes seep of wonder
I grasp your hands
the symbiotic painting of life
Ribbons and Dreamsa.Ribbons and Dreams6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
you tie the stars in ribbon trails
and examine the options,
each dot a resting place.
a haven i can't reach.
as i read the imprints on your lips
(the moondust sparkles most
when you tilt your head to the right
and twinkle your eyes):
do you really miss me,
or was i just another name of impossibles
you strove to drive away?
our auras glow through pink-tinged clouds
and i wonder idly:
do you really love me,
or am i just a dream you think will paint you perfect?
you loop daisies 'round your pinky
and swear you'll never forget,
muted fantasies stealing your smile
in a world i've never visited.
as i read the gloss across your palms
(pollen always has a knack
for staining life-lines and fortunes
and turning your alibis beautiful):
did you really mean forever,
or just until something better came along?
you blow petals against my eyes
and i question silently:
do you really want who i am,
or are my blooms much too harsh for your caress?
you sketch sh