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Scream into the wind
release my sin
feel the rage
feed my blood
slip away and give in
to the sleeping one
starved and hungry
ready to feed
It feels so good
to take the backseat
and play awhile
in this other skin
that has no bounds
and laughs and grins
Taste the pain
upon another's lips
and let the reign
within the wild tempest
Let loose the chains
and fear not the shadow
but embrace
the chaotic power.
torrential forecast
forming
precipitous storm clouds
en route
to ominous
clay
structural
establishment
Shade of Regret
Surreptitious lapse the clouds at night,
A howl unearthly pervades the stillness;
A mournful spectre craves the light
And veers into the moon’s stray brilliance .
A touch of dolor wanes remiss
That springs from spent sweet labours,
Or wretched eloquent favours
Evincing fruit! Lo! Intriguing savours!
A rising tide
rages within
Journey to
tranqulity
while the storm
blows
Loosely Speaking
gleaning lust
that waxing golden globe
of daylight
releasing into a
light and breezy
pattern
of mounting gossip
that edges
halfway into the workaday.
In Cold Pursuit
The November wind chased
leaves of late-turning oak
through the puddled parking lot.
Like brown and furry creatures
they skedaddled and skipped
without looking back, and some
took flight like startled birds.
Rustic Soul
The other side of loveliness
Lives the brut of chivalry
Doused in inert timeliness
By the berth of reverie.
Where does the portent lead the sylph
That traipses the lip afforded
Of fluttering fens and casual drifts
That the light of days recorded.
These are simple but marvelous images, Auntie. From now on when I see the autumn leaves rise in a gust, I will think of this poem.Quote:
Originally Posted by AuntShecky
.......
Stippling
Inveterate breezes
braising the bronzing bodies
under a blazing sun
riposting wry penchants for
easy cheer, light ease
Smile bitter flowers
the salt is in the wound
while the thorns bleed
Infinitive Key
mirrored reflections
echoed affectatiously
effecting fervor
but not sharp restless passion,
reduced in mixed parts
rather, as instinct beckons
and precludes reply
Has my love
become a scentless rose
each time I grasp
I feel the thorns
but at least I know
my blood is true.
Muffled Pass
rough rides the gale
battling through the
mysticism of the redwood floor
disturbing no hint of stature
but diffusing a slight resounding echo
in the close dulcet din
observing
return
without
this plywood of fortune
Super Absorbent
They said I was a sponge,
sopping up resources
of parents, siblings, spouse.
I soaked up everything –
what they said
and how they said it,
saving it all for further use.
Want to see?
Just give me a squeeze.
Squeezing you, Auntie, hoping for another of these. I loved it!Quote:
Originally Posted by AuntShecky
Light-hearted
Beautiful
and unloved
Bearable
when ungloved
Dissonant
as a feather
Independent
of the weather
A slow decanter
of privileged means
A tiny dancer
iof intimate scenes.
Quote:
Originally Posted by alakungfu
alakungfu, small, but perfectly perportioned!
here's to the silence
of spring, of rain and flowers
and the sky blooming with clouds
black morning
coffee in hand, I gaze down on
cars aswarm in rain and headlights
an old dog left to mourn
his bewilderment and grief
echo coldly off the cement walls
rich fields deliver
silver meadows soon reflect
choice evening proceeds
oh! that mystic moon
appearing as a prophet of love
guiding me through this turbulent world
nice poem
well-written
making me wish
I was smitten
Leaves of gold
Covered my cold grave
With promise of the spring-time
Soon to come.
What hangs in the balance
but levity
the lighter, the better.
Running Out of Esteem
It’s a lie that liquid courage flows
With whiskey, ale, and port.
Why can’t they bottle confidence
and sell it by the quart?
hungry eyes
profiles of slow memories
wasting space
Everytime I dream of you,
I almost wake up to hold your hand
...someday I would do it before you go
Hippocampus
bred in the bone
or
bred in the blood,
loved by the son
or
lost to the sea,
pearl of the Muses
or
quarry of the Naiads,
shrill of the Trident
or
quest of Diana.
Pegasus --
client or suppliant?
For just a parquet rivulet.
Future time travel --
Traffic slate --
Past-times
Then substantiate . . .
Revelations
Denigrate;
Prepubescence
Spurns its fate.
: am I
She lied that she loved me,
She lied to you, too
And we had what each other wanted.
No Show
For years I hung
around by the door,
as cobwebs clung
from ceiling to floor.
All stayed the same
through lures and strange stunts.
the knock never came –
not even once.
very sad poem, Aunt. Are you okay?
The clock ticking on the wall
endless circles similar to those
made by a pebble flicked into a lonely pond,
without meaning,
time,
counting down..
This reminds me of the beautiful image near the close of Pope's immortal poem, "An Essay on Man."Quote:
Originally Posted by balehead
If you haven't already read it, you really should. It's probably available on-line.
The call of light
shouts out bright:
"Come my children,
do not dispair;
life will be better
in my golden hair."
The little ones came
and saw it was true,
and so they followed the sun
to begin life anew.
Silently,
silently, not a sound
must they hear of the tears
unbidden, that betray
to the eyes of the world
(unsympathetic)
secret sorrow.
I hide and i bury myself
in silence.
I took your advice, and read it - I am honoured to have my work of two seconds mentioned within the same sentence as such a poemQuote:
Originally Posted by AuntShecky
fluent oversight
in a sightless realm
where sense is intangible
and the realms are defined
by validated rationalizations
Plastic, pizza
Cardboard, boxes