M_Norris
26/M/Colorado
I'm a poet and I know it, I enjoy writing poetry, reading poetry, and toying with the english language. I look forward to criticism, and the inspiration your work may bestow unto me. / - / All poems are Property of M. Norris not to be used without consent.
Labour all day to make another man's dime.
I find myself on the wrong side o' this paradigm.
Turn on the television, distract me from my career.
There's a newsman speaking, I'm sorry I didn't hear.
There's a politician speaking, I'm sorry, it's not very clear.
There's an army of robots marching, excuse me while I blankly stare.
let me lose my mind to the screen.
jingle your keys before me.
I am bereft of independent thought,
what our ancestors predicted this was not.
For those on top, this is what they want,
an army of robots bereft of thought.
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 4:39 PM UTC
I didn’t know
When you would show
Your smiling face to me.
Time went on
Now you're gone,
I should’ve shone my smile on thee.
You’ll never know
How far we’d go
And now we’ll never see.
Why did I wait
Loneliness is poor bait
So much relies on timing.
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
They say "walk a mile in their shoes"
so you can understand their blues.
But I have traveled all around,
hundreds of shoes upon the ground.
The fisherman in the shack by the sea
who, to a hurricane, lost his family.
The old soldier lying drunk in the gutter,
who saw three wars that still make him shudder.
I've worn hundreds of shoes, two for each mile.
and for every frown, I found a smile.
The young, bright-eyed child in the park,
whose puppy just caught a frisbee with a bark.
The young couple on the couch
tangled together,
knowing through anything they will be forever.
They say "walk a mile in their shoes,"
so you can understand their blues.
But if you "love a mile in their heart"
and you truly learn who they are.
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 1:30 AM UTC
Black out Sunglasses
The eyes are windows to the soul
What are you hiding.
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC
Here I sit, king of my wheeled domain, my neighbors’ kings of theirs. On a river of internal combustion, pavement and tendrils of black tar reaching. Creep forward at a pace matched by snails, dammed by glowing red lights. Free to think thoughts entirely my own. A peaceful space in a hectic world. A horn rips through the peace, someone too caught up in there busy schedule, there's nothing I can do, I’m as stuck as you. Breathe, relax, let the current flow. We will all get where we need go.
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 8:54 AM UTC
The eagle can't soar.
Left wing and right wing
Working together in harmony,
And the eagle can be seen
Soaring beautifully, gloriously.
When the left and the right
Have between them a wall,
And continuously fight
Then the eagle will fall.
Alas, the wings are both broken
And the eagle is grounded.
Big dreams that will never be spoken
Amidst the din that has sounded.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 2:06 PM UTC
The darkness, I find it soothing.
The night air, I find it cooling.
Wither away sunlight,
For dark tendrils are creeping.
Wither away, day’s spite,
For cool air is seeping.
Fear not the dark spirits teaming.
Wither away demons,
We are invincible when dreaming.
For we are a legion.
Wither away sunlight.
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 8:59 AM UTC
Concussion abound
Its harder to breathe up here
**** my altitude.
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 2:20 PM UTC
As the snowflakes start falling
I am left cold, and wanting.
Carols, like thick smoke, fill the air
Serenading people who didn't see me there.
Boney hands outstretched like a leafless tree
There are some things people don’t wish to see
Alms, alms, just for one hot meal,
Alms for Christmas, don’t make me steal.
Alms, for cocoa with peppermint and cream
Alms for kindness, for a childhood dream.
But my hands remained empty, catching only snow
The wool clad shoppers bustling past, rush rush, two days to go.
They pay me no heed for I am ragged, unsightly
They don’t want to ***** their conscience, for it shines so brightly.
The streets, eerily quiet on this cold winter morning.
Empty, not a soul in sight, not a caroler performing.
Frost laden windows reveal a world now beyond my grasp,
In tired eyes tears well as I'm visited by Christmas’ past.
A snowcapped landscape fills my thoughts
A small cabin by the woods is where I'm brought.
The sun is just starting to peek above the mountain,
Its rays springing forth like a golden fountain.
Wake up early! Before Mom and Dad,
We had to see what new toys we had.
“Look ***** look! Santa was here!
He left a print in the hearth and fed his reindeer!”
Mom made coffee as dad rubbed his eyes,
Once presents were done, we had one last surprise,
Once presents were done, we had one last dream.
hot cocoa, with peppermint and cream!
And then it was gone, like the crack of a whip,
It was gone before I got even a single sip.
Back to the seeping cold, the piercing chill
As I sit alone on Christmas under a windowsill.
I was alone,
the chill, more piercing now
Reaching my bones.
In houses all around me families sharing love and cheer.
It hurt me so much more to be so near.
Alms, alms just for one warm embrace,
Alms to banish these tears from my face.
Alms, alms to stay strong and endure
Alms, alms, the end is near.
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 11:44 PM UTC
The grass waved around me as I lay on a knoll,
Bemused by wonder as it caressed my soul.
Free.
Free to run, free to jump, free to skip, and soar.
Watching the clouds, I didn’t want anything more.
Did I feel a man then
Innocent and dreamy eyed me?
Then, I barely even cared.
Time flows on, ceaseless, changing as the tide.
Ever ever on, trees bud, shade, shed, and hide.
Free.
Free to run, free to hide, free to cry and be alone.
Yet there it was, His name etched in the stone.
Did I feel a man then?
Fearful and lonely me?
Then, I barely felt anything.
I had to act, basking in an immense wave of duty.
The corpse of my childhood was a thing of beauty.
Free.
Free to grow, free to mature, free to finally measure up.
As I turned away I thought I felt as my heart close up.
Did I feel a man then?
Treasonous and cold me?
Then, I barely felt human.
Here I sit, with gray streaks coloring silver hair.
Wistful, gazing back, back when I didn’t care.
Free.
Free to sleep, free to rest, free to go back and never return.
Before I go give the hourglass one last turn.
How is a man measured?
Power? Wisdom? Actions?
Or is it the things he treasured?
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 12:21 PM UTC