Untitled Until a Title Rises
Curtains part, revealing crystalline vistas
Amid distant gray swathing clouds
Melancholy rain, like the weather
Choosing, falls as it will
Complaining to the mountains, listening fervently
Their ears turn, hearing one of their own.
Chill breezes droning about the crags
Carry the story of a lovely distant peak
A valley's stride away
Moving Earth, slowly to the end
Never fast enough, though plates bend
Seasons lifting, messages scattered aloft
Captured in the soil, the rain, the river
Away washing, Westward flows thoughts
From Eastern destinations, loosing their paths.
Written words, miming created false prisons
Where beauty, purposing comfort
Fails, and Failing, erodes
A mountain, sitting alone among its brothers
I'm afraid to lose my mind.__________________
I'm afraid I'm losing my mind.
I'm afraid I've lost my mind.
Amusing, the differences a few words make.
Amazing, the differences a few words make.
Confusing, the differences a few words make.
Last edited by Securis; 05-03-2011 at 09:46 PM.
Riding the minute hand__________________
Shunning the hour
And loss of power
Mental faculties in the drain
Ole Jim, he's my hero
Dextrathemorphin on the brain
Is it turn left
Swimming up hill
And Typing swill
One can try
It's the least
A toothless one
An angry chained beast
Behind blue eyes
The scripts none too tame
Even the immortal dies
Spent the day wondering,__________________
Wondering about that lounging hound
His worries, his concerns.
Is the ground lumpy?
Where's the softest grass?
It's best where the sun shines through.
Will there be a meal soon?
Will the master provide it?
It's best when they do.
Do I chase the big fast moving beasts?
Do I get chased?
It's best to chase.
Is there a she for me?
Is she near?
It's best when she is.
The noise of the beast passes,
The warm sun shines,
There are shes.
I'll finish my nap,
and worry over it later.
Hail and be blessed__________________
As we sit and mourn
Ascendence is our loss
Humor, mystery, and adventure forlorn.
And at times, now and again
A clitter-a-clatter, rittle, rattle
Our hearts leap
To know the result
Our pleasures held close
Remembrances under each arm
Good rolls win the fight
Looking quite the loon
Our tights, too tight
We regale every victory
of word described deed
Penciled in, the numbers
erased again and replaced
Veering soda stains
To record hours of play
What a poor epitaph
To hear an axe speak so
Gary should have beautiful words
They should end grandly
They should end with gold
Back at the Tavern
Where it all began.
All the characters present
With the gleam of next time
Shining, rising, shining brighter.
Gird thyself in armor
Join thy spear to mine
March with thy fellows
Our goal is thence
Our enemy is within
That which is without senses this
Despair comes, surely
Pain is certainty
Some will fall to the long sleep
Let it be me, in my time
Stand with me for the nonce
Bear thy teeth
Anger, if that be thy beat
Compassion, the same
Ware the stumble
Stand again when able
Ne'er lay aside
Ne'er await the dark
Warn it to thy presence
And fight while sinew enslaved to bone be
Will it so
This is a powerful and evocative piece, but I would recommend removing the periods at the end of each line. Visually the lack of periods might open up the words to a broader feel, a sense of timelessness. But that's just my take.
Thanks T. I read it the same whether there are periods or not. I read it as each line pronounced then a clear pause or stop. Almost a chant but I haven't worked out a rhythm that feels most comfortable yet.__________________
Not all clouds are bliss
Hidden among the fume
Stalking in the wake
Waiting for the moment
Deserving the whip and justice, more
Stealing pieces of innocence
Injuring some bright spirit
Condemned and disgusting thing
Lower than some dingy stinking place
In Hell's basement, likely
Never put there proper, locked away
This ought not be
Where are the protectors
What good were they
Impotent anger soothes no wounds
Neither can apologies
Only inner strength can heal
Time, care, compassion
One protector, sitting guilty
Not from lack of care
Veiled eyes, hidden in the cloudy vapor
Wonders what, how
Rages in the mind
And nothing is balm
Impotence and hurt
That is all that is left
Maybe time will pass quickly
The moments in between
That's where Hell really lies
Care to elaborate? I'm making them up on the spot as I post them based on some snippet of my daily experience. It could be the white southern male syndrome I here has been going around. Apologies for being disconcerting. Thanks for the xp the last couple of days.__________________
They speak to the common experience.__________________
Or at least, I like to think they do. Otherwise they just speak to me, and that's a pretty limited audience.
But few works cause me to recognize myself. I appreciate the ones that do.
'Irk' was just a playful choice of words.
This one I wrote something like a hundred years ago for a poetry contest here onsite.__________________
I am the DM.
I am the DM.
I am the wind, the rain, and shining orb
Every falling leaf, and dragon's roar
Given poor tavern's fare, I am the stew maggot
And assassin's snare, dreadful poisons aplenty
Among the crowd, I am every singing voice
And every lore filled tale
It's all mine, every golden drop
I've placed them all with subtle care
My smiles hide all my devious planning
My frowns applaud your success
It is a special waltz, monsters, mazes
And treasure galore
Hear that, the music has started
And it's your turn around the floor
Obsessions of Self Destruction
The mind, the soul, one's sanity
What nifty toys these creatures be
Until they bend in awkward ways
Breaking under the wheels and pressures
Of rubber authority
Out for a day under sun and shine
Carpeted with dew after dark
Forgotten in the morn
For some more shiny prize
The turn around is the scene of the crime
Philip's head screwdriver turning the counter direction
Covers lifted and seamed tabs snapped
Mechanisms revealed to a curious eye
Mysteries solved but the mystery ruined
Bridges back burned and broken
Playthings of youth not put away
Changing in the aging
Neither appropriate nor new
Revealing the mysteries as tragedies
Exchanging blinking cubes for blurry cynicism
Hidden idealism that colored every pane
Washed away like muddied paint, drainward
After Pinocchio, torn asunder
Less the strings that led above
Faded and akimbo
Alien smiles and the clear divide
Clouded in the fingerprints
Of a playful child
Whose toys tracked the window