The ruins peered out from behind
The blue-flecked crag
Where eagles nested.
Wind-blown, storm-tossed
Only the walls remain.
The turrets are now heaps of grass covered
Bricks, the keep a muddy mound.

Here, once were warriors,
Draped in furs, bearing swords
That glinted across the sea in defiance,
Defending the land from strangers.
Here, once were warriors-
All long gone!

Time itself has altered what once
Was considered unalterable.
When kings ruled from inland palaces
And long powerful ships caressed the jagged
Shore; now washed up on the beach
Like the kingdom they protected, flotsam:
Cruelly ruined planks of elm, distorted by
Sea and salt; masts broken and disfigured.

A once glorious people, now gone!
Palaces overthrown!
All hanging onto unforgiving Time
Like fossilised carbuncles.
Ripped from Time in a plethora of
Anguished voices dying slowly-
Calling out for resolution.

#time   #ancient   #ships   #ruins   #fossils  
m i a
m i a
Mar 1

hearts and minds have become televised
we give every part of us for the world to
see and judge, because we crave attention
and criticism more than ever, just so we
can hold a grudge, like fudge
when have we ever
seen a society more damaged
than our own?

#teen   #society   #static   #young   #judge   #damaged   #ruins   #televised  

Use this deep discomfort, this anxiety sprouting from your ruins within
Create.

(Never fall for a fool again?)
romy
romy
Dec 12, 2016

THE PAST IS DEAD AND GONE, YOU GET NOTHING FROM LIVING THERE…
BUT IT’S YOU, IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU.

I FELT LESS ALONE WHEN I DIDN’T KNOW YOU.
I WISH WE HAD NEVER MET, I WISH WE HAD NEVER MET…
I TRIED TO RUIN MYSELF BEFORE YOU COULD.
WE RUINED EACH OTHER.
I AM THE RUINS OF WHAT WERE ONCE YOUR DREAMS.
i hate that your music is good
i hate that your music is good
i hate that i still care
i hate that i still care

i don’t want to remember anything
EVERYTHING I DO IS AN ATTEMPT TO FORGET YOU.
MY AURA USED TO BE BRILLIANT AND GOLDEN.
WHEN YOU TOUCHED MY PSYCHE IT TURNED GRAVE GREEN.

SUCH SWEET SORROW; I THRIVE ON BROKEN HEARTS.
MINE, YOURS, HIS, HERS.
i have not seen your face in ages
i have not seen your face in ages
i have not been able to breathe
i have not been able to breathe

i hate that your music is good
i don’t want to remember anything

i shouldn't still be writing about you!
#love   #heartbreak   #lost   #past   #roses   #music   #forget   #heartache   #ruins   #hiate  
Terry Collett
Terry Collett
Dec 2, 2016

Early dawn. Bird song
outside. You recline on
the armchair. He's upstairs

in bed engaged in sleep,
and dreaming of her no
doubt, not you. The bed

was too hot anyway, and
he murmurs in his sleep,
mentioning her name,

not yours. You recline in
the armchair, the burgundy
one you both had chosen,

dressed in just your white
silk slip. You wonder what
she's like in bed(you know

he has had her by the way
he acts), how she performs
in his sex circus, how she

looks undressed. His posh
mother did warn you he
was liable to wander off.

But you thought you knew
best, thought you had him
where you wanted him,

but you were wrong, he
goes where he pleases and
with whom he so pleases.

He sleeps upstairs, you
recline downstairs. You
picture her in your mind:

the slim figure, the blonde
hair, the thin lips, small
breasts(not quite his thing

you'd thought), and that
god awful cheap voice.
The armchair is firm, yet

so soft. He had you once
over the arm of this chair.
After the Harmsworth party,

both of you had had a bit
too much drink;it seemed
at good idea at the time.

Now you just recline,
listening to birdsong,
knowing it had been
spoilt, all gone wrong.

A WOMAN MUSES ON HER RUINED MARRIAGE.
#woman   #marriage   #ruins  
Feggyr Citack
Feggyr Citack
Oct 30, 2016

-on seeing Yves Marchand's pictures of an
abandoned miners island near Nagasaki

What will remain of us,
industrious ants,
when all that we work for
comes to an end?

A dusty cupboard
in a murky corner.
Two empty bottles,
one for wine, one for apple juice.

No trace of our names.
Gone are the honours.
All that we strive for...
just thin air on an empty shelf.

It's peace again,
peace at last.
It's what we deserve,
our just reward.

In honour of the workers of Gunkanjima. Conditions were spartan, the work was exhausting, and several of them performed forced labour. Once on the island, they had no option but to be human ants in the hell of industrialism.

I wrote this little song with the athmospheric silence of those 'cosy' abandoned buildings in mind. The real melancholy of the site only occurred to me as I learned a bit more about the history of the place. That's the true weight lying on the empty shelves.
Adelaide Heck
Oct 15, 2016

Someone please tell me, why nothing seems to last anymore.
We live in a world where long relationships are merely a chore,
Many waste something so simple as an apple, barely reaching the core.
Oh, someone please tell me, what it was like before.

Our relations with others slowly dissipates,
Does no one believe in love, in their fates?
This world we live in, has become disposable,
Nothing is made to last, and that is not opposable.

I do not understand, where is our appreciation?
Beautiful cathedrals of stone, made to stay,
Have held mass daily since its 5th century congregation.
Surely it beats designer clothes, made to fray.

I could hardly comprehend what it's like to use something to its fullest,
Please send me to a place where I can escape this corruption.
Because I tend to find this waste  to be an utter disruption.
Please send me anywhere, any place I can use a knife to its dullest.

So now anyone, explain these things to me.
Tell me why we no longer crave consistency,
Why we care not if our high-rises will eventually fall.
As long as it lasts  for our purposes,

We never have to face those problems.

What a selfish world.

For selfish reasons is why nothing lasts,
Hell, even my rhyme scheme,
Has aborted consistency,
And it falls,
To ruins.

JGuberman
JGuberman
Sep 23, 2016

Let us sleep
like the staircase
that once led up to the Temple Mount
no longer able to carry pious feet to prayer,
but the well experienced cracks
over which they once walked
expose the heavy burden
of well worn memories
under which we now slumber.

Sunrise from Masada.
The view from the casemate wall
of Silva's camp below.
Shadowy ghosts
are cast and scattered
and given voice as the wind
shouts through the buildings ruins
L'-he-rut Zi-yon
and there is no reply.
Only the songs of the Tristramit
who mimic the voices
of every child martyred here, singing:
*Shalom al Ziyon, Shalom al Ziyon"
and there is no reply,
only the dreams of the interrupted
and the disturbed peace
of excavated ruins.

L'herut Ziyon (Hebrew) is an inscription on coins of the Jewish First Revolt against the Romans (CE 66-73) meaning "for the freedom of Zion".

Tristramit is the Hebrew name for "Tristram's Grackle" Onycognathus tristramii described by Heinzel et al in The Birds of Britain & Europe; with North Africa & the Middle East as "Song sweet, wild and weirdly melancholy" (p. 302). It's a gregarious bird known to mimic sounds as well. Commonly seen in and around Masada as well as elsewhere in the Middle East. Named for H. B. Tristram a 19th century English traveler and naturalist.

"Shalom al Ziyon" (Hebrew) meaning "peace upon Zion".

This poem was originally published in 1990 in the New Zealand Jewish Chronicle's literary supplement with notes by Prof. Norman Simms of the University of Waikato.
#prayer   #steps   #voices   #temple   #burden   #slumber   #cracks   #ruins   #mimic   #masada  
Nastusia
Sep 20, 2016

it was destruction
and now
i am ruins
to be rebuild again

the facades magnificent
the interior vast
shelves of books
and raining glitter

JGuberman
JGuberman
Sep 15, 2016

skin as soft as freshly washed sand,
the taste of salt upon my lips.
is it the same for you?
your eyes are the shards
of pale green glass strewn
along the beach,
wherever I go you watch me,
whatever I do you see.

like a prophet
wishing that only the best part
of his prophecy comes true,
I come to you, a faithful pilgrim,
head covered in the clouds
a galabiyya of air about my body.
I prostrate and entwine myself
with you in supplication,
like the finely knotted stitches
of a prayer rug
and I whisper that until you,
I had never been so religious.

your previous lovers
who cluttered their love with stone and mortar
will not be soon forgotten,
I who clutter you with words
am already,
like one breath following another.

all that I write on your skin
is washed out to sea
and returns on the wind
spread like the seeds of wild flowers
which grow among the rocky hills and ruins
like silent colorful pilgrims
up by the mosque of sidna 'ali
as the last remains
of a religion, and a memory,
and a love  and words.

VOICES ISRAEL 1991 (19, pp. 3-4). Apollonia aka Tel Arshaf is the ruins of an ancient port city 1 km north of Herzliya, Israel. The city itself has had numerous names over the centuries and has been destroyed as many times. Richard the Lionhearted defeated Salah ad-Din there in 1191. During the early Byzantine period , the city was the site of a glass factory. The emerald green shards of glass one easily finds on the beach and in the sea surf are remnants from that factory. Yoram Kaniuk in his short story "The Vultures" writes about this location.
#love   #words   #flowers   #sea   #beach   #wild   #israel   #ruins  
 
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