I get bored, so here are poems...

This is a old one I made when I was in grade school.

Water is Life and Life is Water
So why do we shelter ourselves from Life?

This one is most recently made on the spot, please beware my stuff is usually dark.

They shout they cling they tell me im wrong.
They offer me little to steady my heart.
The voices that sing in my head they sing songs
of failure and wrongfully acquired pride.

Why I ask the darkness, why can I not do one thing right...
This nothing can answer except the impeding visions of my failures.

Who is this mad man who thinks he has any right to think he worthy?
Meh, he speaks of pride and doing good works but he is as awful as the
rest of him.
A poet he is not, in his dreams he dies a thousands deaths...

There is but a few things that keep me center... that remind me not everything
is a lost not all are nonredeemable.

How do I touch those things.. those things that are so close yet so far,
Can I presume that they are mine to do with as I please...

Nah you presume much but find nothing but the ramblings of a old fool, but help
them you can, with every breath with every action help them...

Can't you see that I'm me.
Yes, I, the one who makes noobs cower and flee!
I sit here on top of my royal seat
as the rest grovel at my feet

When I wake up it was just a dream
Apparently things are not as they seem
I get ready to start my day as I get up from my bed
What a lovely day to be a Fed!

We were once brave knights of Sir Glee,
t'was the day the giant ogre made us flee,
as our names were cursed as we made departure,
Sir Glee stood firm in the creatures rapture,

Oh it flattened Sir Glee into pancakes,
knightly pancakes as you ever see,
Oh poor Sir Glee the Pancake,
Where the ogre found syrup we will never know....

Now for something dark.... and twisted.. perhaps too twisted the
feint of heart should turn away... as we talk the tale of man who
was broken...

A man known as the Hero stood before his cottage the door opened
by a third party,
this was his cottage he had left his family there while he purchased
some necessities,
as he explored the cottage he smelled death and then he saw it,
a burning rage filled his heart as he saw the decapitated heads of his
family on pikes sitting in a row in the living room,
faces of shock on their faces, filled his heart with fury knowing no
bounds or escape,
he rushed out the door, fire in his eyes and lightning striking around him,
as if the lighting was the embodiment of his anger....

He saw in the distance two armies charging into each other, without thought
or consideration he charged into them killing members of each nation without
hesitation or remorse.

As he drew his hand into one mans chest pulling throw to the mans spine he
grabbed the spine as he pulled it out of the mans chest with a giant snap,

He then stabbed one man in the chest and took out his intestines and used it
to strangle another trooper with it... his rage continued with bloodied parts of
human remains his body covered in there blood till not one fighter remained
living...

The hero took hand and touched the blood of one of his victims and drew a face on
his head using one of the pools of blood as a mirror he drew the face of a dragon,

He then said I am a dragon...

Then the hero blacked out...

When his vision returned there was fire around him his hands covered in fresh blood,
he turned to find himself in a village he had never seen before... he thought to himself
I killed them all?, as he walks away from the burning village he sees the bodies of many
adults and the bodies of children burning in unknown almost magical fires...

On that day of the hero he knew he could never be happy for the rest of his days he would
atone for his actions....

Eventually the sand runs out.
This hourglass is all we have.
Counting down, and you can't stop the ticking hands.
Live your life the way you want.
Do the things you need, for once the Reaper tips the glass
Looking back into the past.
Did you regret those things you've done?
Wish you had a little more fun?
Or did you live your life?
You might stand before the pearly gates
You might find yourself in...
Well did you live the life you want?
Meet and keep the ones you could not live without.
Did you wish you drank another stout?
This sand is falling, running out.
So tip the glass, and pour your doubts
I drink to a frosty grave
It might be a short life, but a merry one....

The mirror's staring back at me
For once I feel alone in the presence of myself
The moment is fleeting as my heart keeps beating
A gust of wind comes through the crack in my windowsill
I see black as I sit still.
As I fall.
I know I have to get back up.
I know I have to make it another night just to spite...
The mirror staring back at me must be broke
Bad luck is my only luck
For once can't I be alone in the presence of myself?
My heart takes a beating as this moment is fleeting
I see black... and I fall.

I did not read up, so excuse me if this is a repost. Just heard an interview with this poet on NPR and was immediately taken with her work.


What the Living Do by Marie Howe

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living. I remember you.

Holy Necro Hawkie!

twisted-pixel wrote:Holy Necro Hawkie!

But in all seriousness, I encourage everyone who likes poetry to listen to this interview. Hearing this poet's voice as she reads her work is phenomenal:  Poet Marie Howe On 'What The Living Do' After Loss

Great poem thanks. I encourage other people to post their own works here as well!

Lately I've been enjoying spoken word poetry. This one is by far my favorite though.

Once upon a time I was here... a staple. The binding force. I gave meaning to gravity and to exerted strength. The length at which I went for you was measured in decades and not in short discourse. The Federalist way of life is best described as the start to a universe in which all others exist..... So follow me.

The moonlight burns bright in the summer sky while the ashes flicker and fade from this candle flame... it was used to guide me home. Extinguished... The smoke just floods my eyes and causes tears. I've wasted these twenty nine years, I have put down too many beers, I have... and I will. The moonlight burnt into my mind. This summer sky is all I have. I'll burn my memories to ashes as they flicker and fade, so guide me home.

I woke up today... The beacon of hope was in my eyes. The sun came up, so much for that. I looked into the fridge and saw I had a half drank 40 ounce. Grabbed the glass and smiled while I splashed into the never ending light our star shines down over me.

   

I've got another day, one more sunrise left on Earth. I miss you. No one else can understand... I see your smile every time I close my eyes. I taste your lips every time I try to breath. So explain to me why I left you? I left you. The mud around your cheeks, the hurt upon your face... No reason. No other reason.  The fact that I fucked up... Well I fucked up! It's another day that you're away. You are away from me, and all I can do is deserve this... guess I deserve this.

 

As I reach for the beer to my right, you remind me just out of sight; how bad you were for me. Always and forever it was what you wanted to do! I couldn't breath without you shoving words into my mouth. Now I am free. I could be wrong, but the sunrise says otherwise..... It is all just a pattern for me.
Reach for another beer, I'm gone and I'll never fear, being alone now I see..... WAKE UP, shake down, I know that you use to control me. Take care, I say goodbye... this late night lullaby is all I have to say...................... Good Bye.

Overturn your feelings of guilt. There's nothing you could have done. Don't cry. Try and put it out of sight, out of mind. The deeper you dwell on the subject the harder it is to acknowledge your flaws. To be apart of nothing is to embrace eternal strife. Although in many cases this seems to be the preferred effect. Long ago you knew it had to end at some point. So now the time has come. Why then do you still deny it? Even now you lay awake at night, eyes  nervously moving to and fro.

Heavy.

I'm pretty sure Mazzy Cat has poems.  I think she would really appreciate these.

I can walk all day in the sunlight and never find the light
It looks bleak
Yet when I stare into your face and see all that I seek.
My body goes limp, and my knees go weak.
How long have I tried to forget this?
How long have I tried?
How long have I tried to remember your beautiful eyes?
The warmth of your touch. It is almost too much.
I can crawl all day on my knees and still
The strength of your presence within me will still.
Make me walk all day just to see you at night.
To stare into your face and make my body go limp.
As the moonlight fades...