We praise our lined faces. We forgive time.
We raise our cups of double-pressed wine.
We know brute forests from our seed-time
We know heaven will cleave those we entwine
The season of heat is slow to erupt.
April is late. March is still covered with snow,
Its shabby sheet weak shoots barely interrupt.,
Succession and succession is what we know.
In the thronged marketplace we know we’ll find
Lines of who came before and who came after
All seem in be arranged by some infinite mind
Knowing where our line goes will not stop our laughter.
We dance. All dances are in our repertoire.
We know we’re headed to that sacred abattoir.
Shattered and Relieved
that what we had
was nothing more
than something small
Distressed and Smiling
to read the past
figure out the fact
that you are nothing.
I've wasted time
but not that much
having come to terms
with the word:
Crushed and Invincible
I've been so bruised
that now I'm strong
And all I can do
is breathe and learn.
You're a fool
but so am I.
Otherwise I wouldn't cry.
I'll be wise too.
And walk away
avoid your eyes
until there's no more pain.
Destroyed but Rebuilding.
I may never forgive you
but I'm okay with that too.
Even if I do,
I will never be your friend.
So don't say hello.
We are no more than strangers.
Hurt but Happy.
It's a freeing feeling
knowing you've started healing
When you stop revolving around the sun.
And start living for yourself.
Sometimes I hug her in the morning and she smells like bong water,
ontop of her head is a big messy bun,
on her body is a flowing skirt and a crop top.
Her lips are full and her eyes are wide and shes lovely to me.
Sometimes I hug her in the morning and she smells like cigarettes,
once I let her go the smell lingers on my sweater and I love it because it reminds me of her.
She had dark circles under her eyes,
pine needles in her hair and shes lovely to me.
Sometimes I hug her in the morning and she smells like roses,
wide eyes and beautiful,
quiet yet well spoken.
She is a girl of many identities and shes lovely to me.
Bringing tears slowly over thirsty flowers
Heaven casting out all the dreamers
Bear now shadows upon the desolate
And sighing in your noonday thoughts
From broken wings are shaken dust
As the sweet buds bloom, every one
Held close to the mother's breast
Dancing joyful around the sunshine
Carry within you no ill will for any
Gently smile while passing
Doubt falls into submission
Laughter captured by the cheerful wind
The great mountains stand far below
While the trees look on motionless
Sleep found time in the evenings
Peaceful rest comes to gather
Troubles may gather over the land
The stars can only watch helplessly
Echoing in the distant like thunder
Over swaying meadows go
Over lakes and flattened plains
Go to answer every leaf and vine
Wash over every mountain stream
Enjoying all of Heaven's bluest smiles
Skipping between falling raindrops
The early sun watched the morning
With seemingly interested eyes
The birds leaping upon your back
And guide along on golden wings
Even sunset may breath awhile
Dreams of tomorrow passing
Crimson nights tend to fall
And with folded wings, rest
Until you awaken again
Click! Click! Click!
A sound I hear when I choose a song
Plak! Plak! Plak!
A sound I hear when I write a poem
Tik! Tok! Tik! Tok!
A sound I hear when I think so long
All these happens, boredom I know
Point! Point! Point!
A thing I do when I choose a song
Press! Press! Press!
A thing I do when I write a poem
Gasp! Glare! Gasp! Glare!
A thing I do when I think so long
All these happens, and I do not know
Think! Think! Think!
You are reading one senseless poem!
A sound of cheerful Noise!
Naething 'round but bitter cauld,
Wi' a' the blast o' winter;
Come gies us ye hand an' hauld,
We'll warm us by the finter.
Gie us a tune o' sic fin,
Let's sing wi' a' we hae;
Thou needna leave here an' rin,
Come back afore ye gae!
Wi' monie a rhyme an' crouse,
We a' sang a lang fu' owre;
'Til our guess hae left the house,
We'll bring her agin twa owre.
Ay the kantie times we joy,
We lak i' fu' an' a' that;
Things sim times gang aft agley,
We'll maun still tak a' that.
Sae ends the wee bit o' glee,
Duncan follow'd his lady;
We a' fu' weel joy'd owre ee,
"We'll be back agin," sae he,
I'm glad o't!
We'll crouse and kantie be,
An' glad o't!
It made auld winter guid by,
Owre cam wi' cheer sae speak I.
I'm glad o't—
Sae glad o't!
A silly piece in the style of Robbie Burns.
In Scottish Brogue or English.
Some cheerful morning when night lifts the veil,
And Springtime Sunlight opens up its eye;
Yet still the trees bear heavy Winter's gale,
Which is bleak and few birds fill up the sky.
Just like death, Winter shrouds all blooming flow'rs,
And Sunlight grows dim—icy rains do fall;
Snow quilts the fields in white for many hours,
Long after the last Autumn rose stands tall.
Still doth life carry on and Spring brings Hope,
Evidence of life bursting ev'rywhere;
All of the Snowfall melts from off the slope;
Leaves form and birds build up their nest with care.
Every Season will I thank God for,
And ev'ry blessing:—thank Thee evermore!
© Timothy 28 May, 2014.
I want to run.
Be the little girl they see in me,
but plot-twist happen frequently,
opening your eyes to things you didn't see.
Burning the cheerful into your mind.
If only I didn't once leave that behind.
If I could return to those naive, fun days.
But fun was out and sad was in,
so I figured "well okay."
I dived right in,
singeing my skin,
turning me to the pit.
I was told,
"don't follow your instincts",
so I guess this is what I get.
Now I sit alone,
a pitiful lump of coal,
as a dog without bone,
or soccer ball with no goal.
I'm heading to "God knows where"
on a train called "Oopsy Days,"
and when I arrive,
they will all be amazed.
For I am the writer
who will give them a story,
for I am a lighter,
and my flame gives me glory.