Wandering amidst the forgotten ring
I choke from filth, the dank and fetid clouds
float still, no wind to blow for lack of wing.
The landscape flat, in sorrow's blackest shroud
That covers all but glowing sinner, blue
And brilliant gold, the ignorant and proud,
Which travel senseless, as men often do,
When divorced from that which showed them plainly
What was sadly unseen while still in view.
These unsighted wraiths which lived profanely,
Ignoring many gifts that God did bear.
These earthbound narcissist, quite inanely
Choosing not for virtue when showing care.
I asked my escort for some good guidance
To see if this grim punish
Slightly prior to twilight, I was accosted by a Lilliputian surveyor while I lay sleepily dreaming. He started hacking his way through my tresses at two, and by three he had conquered the nape of my neck. So proud was he of his capture that he let out a sonorous squeak which did rouse me into wakefulness. The earthquake sent him spilling down my spine, losing inertia in the valley betwixt my shoulders. Bravely, he pressed on, picking and plucking his way along the black wire hairs along my backbone.
"What are you doing?" I mumbled morosely as he dug his hands into my pores for finger-holds.
"Why, looking for gold, of cours
I want to be portrayed
As a department store icon.
A career as the man
Who takes up residence inside the frame
Before purchase.
My frosty teeth etched in trumped-up emotion.
I want to stand on docks before the harbor,
My unbound shirt canopied by saline breeze.
"It's not a boat," my squinted eyes decry
Shining out from well tanned and chiseled cheeks,
"It's a ship, but more importantly, a yacht."
Or to kneel amongst the plastic grass
Complete with rubber dots of dew
Against the white picket backdrop.
This yellow lab and I are not best friends
But with this shared profession, we could be.
It appears dogs can smile
But only f
A herd of long,
fluffed and lumpy
humped clouds
lumber by
darkly.
And here I sit, seemingly
unmoved and unmotivated
by the flash flood waters of a Yankee Fall.
How can I lose this chance to write a poem about depth?
What lost metaphors have slunk hungrily past!
How is it that I resist
the temptation to bathe-linguistic
in
A Wasp in the Greenhouse by Mjolnir939, literature
Literature
A Wasp in the Greenhouse
Alone in unnature I found you;
Melon-bodied and moody,
Tapping wedge-headedly against a windowpane.
Onyx wings severing zephyrs with whips.
Must be lonely surviving
In simulated Spring
While the rest saw snow falling
And fell themselves.
I realize why your life is lived
With head-against-glass tenacity.
I
With sea glass teeth shoved into gums like grapes on vines
I
Who bends the boulders over hills and scatters butterflies like knives
I
Am enigmatic? Would you rather have me metered?
The unsalted spark that lights no tinder?
I,
Like compasses in the ironworks
I,
Like Southern birds
I,
Like found gem
Have in my head all that I need within my hands
To do that which needs doing though knows not enough to do.
I so poetic.
In Fall, I think of snow
falling in swift wisps.
Though later ice will form.
How accurate can we be
this far removed?
With this much emotion at stake?
With so much hinging on an easy season?
It was as cold as
diamonds are lifeless;
as bleak as bones.
The snow-filled fog swept in
and waited.
Soon we were as white
as the skin we hid;
The clouds of your breath
(pure)
the origins of snow.
We are still waiting for warmth.
She sleeps along the edge of Winter –
Retreating snow.
A blanket too short;
The earthy feet exposed
To umber chill.
The restive Mother stirs;
A cracking snap
Of stones frozen.
Shivering Earth
Draws blanket close again.
Rhode Island July
Like fighting for breath beneath a blood-soaked quilt;
A hungry mugginess making the Dog Days pant.
Where are the summer-freed schoolboys?
Building sand palaces beneath the hovering sun?
No.
Dozing drowsily instead inside their mechanically cooled accommodations.
Everything sleeps in heat like this;
Remembering the good side of snow
That was, in Winter,
So hard to grasp.
He sat accordingly.
Without much consideration for tasks,
A beauty without love was lost on him.
He judged me
And went back to ignorance.
He judged me
And went back to running interference for God,
Though he did not believe in Him.
Though He did not believe in him.
He dwelt on floating sentiment
Unbound and unborn to me.
I laughed and he shuddered;
Trembling at my waking deceit.
He shook his head and turned away,
A blinking screen his comfort.
A purple thought wormed through,
Quickly suppressed,
He sat accordingly.
Rhode Island July
Like fighting for breath beneath a blood-soaked quilt;
A hungry mugginess making the Dog Days pant.
Where are the summer-freed schoolboys?
Building sand palaces beneath the hovering sun?
No.
Dozing drowsily instead inside their mechanically cooled accommodations.
Everything sleeps in heat like this;
Remembering the good side of snow
That was, in Winter,
So hard to grasp.
Current Residence: Rhde Island, USA Favourite genre of music: Rock Favourite photographer: Daniel28 Favourite style of art: No thanks, I'm cutting back. Operating System: Windows MP3 player of choice: iPOD Shell of choice: Turtle... Wallpaper of choice: I feel stupid/apathetic. Skin of choice: I'll keep mine...weirdo/ Favourite cartoon character: Ren/Stimpy Personal Quote: All things can be made know to man in forms...of FUNK!
Favourite Visual Artist
Thomas Hart Benton/Rodin
Favourite Movies
Manos: Hands of Fate
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Foreigner
Favourite Writers
Russel Edson/Seamus Heaney/Mary Oliver/Robert Frost/William Carlos Williams/ Milan Kundera
Favourite Games
Rochambeau
Favourite Gaming Platform
Nintendo DS
Tools of the Trade
Black pen, college-ruled paper, my computer-box, my hands and 10% of my brain.
I'm not liking how this website smooshes all my poetry to the left margin. Half of the effect is in line placement, and I really don't feel like learning HTML to figure out how to do it. Perhaps I'm simply overlooking something...