The moon obscured by twilight fog
is like a sentinel,
guarding the acrid smell
of the veneer of doing well,
when really, deep down
I feel like hell.
The deepest corners of my heart conceal
a darkness
and a confusion
more real than real.
I feel like I myself want to steal
my whole life's foundation
and take it far away from me.
Like the moon obscured by the fog
I want to be free in the rain
to run again
to feel the same
as when I played that game
of life
and of love
but the moon's obscured by a fog
from above.
If only I could see that light
reflected through the cloud.
I yearn to feel how bright
that moon tonight
calls silently,
but is yet so loud.
The weights and forces balanced on my mind
are like a shard of possible time,
slicing like the punchiest rhyme,
and frequently taking my breath away
like a thing sublime.
It seems I cannot help but stop
to pause,
to think.
Whenever there's a drip of beauty,
I drink,
even in the slog of cloudy days
I'm right on the brink.
It's the kind of thing that you may communicate
with a wink,
but that would never be enough.
Not even the poet's last lines
drafted with enchanted ink
could capture this feeling.
I stare up at the moon,
her bright eyes obscured
by a fog.
Sep 2, 2020
Sep 2, 2020 at 11:57 PM UTC
The grace of your limbs and your falling hair
cataract on my daily minutes like spilt tea.
Colors and fragrances of delicate beauty,
interwoven in two tones.
An auburn hue encroaches on the edges
of the sequence of events that is my life,
and you are the center of their waveform.
A softly spoken word, let loose on the edge of a thought,
an unspoken meaning and a leaning towards each other.
It is as your hand is in mine,
when I look at you from a distance,
as if our words are a dance,
a rhythm,
and our smiles the melody.
Counterpoint, your responses feed my breath
as water to a leaping gazelle,
and my heart beats with the pulse of your next smile.
Aug 25, 2020
Aug 25, 2020 at 9:48 AM UTC
My thoughts, a melange in my mind.
A few comprise bits of cosmic dust
and strands of light
from birthing stars.
A couple stained with drops of blood
from rocks, earth, and fire.
At least one is like a marble bookcase.
Leather-bound tomes with silver filigree
store memories of many things.
Some float and some fall.
Some are taciturn and some call.
Some are hot and some are like
stones in the winter moonlight.
They speak and move,
even in sleep.
They weave dreams
and paint tapestries of colored hope.
These with ocher hue
tell of a body woven into earth.
Those, the deep blue of a midnight sun,
breathe with the peace of stars.
Some scattered forest greens
sing of beauty.
Bright orange, the guardians
watch the tides ebb and flow.
Royal violet hopes of things
that will never be
but yet excite.
Hopes of rain-spotted silver,
wreathed in gold and auburn,
hopes of truth and justice.
My thoughts, a melange my mind.
Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 11:13 PM UTC
as if one summer night would
stop to kiss the cheek of winter
winter
my sandaled feet chill,
awash in starlight
the waves, like a slivered memory
pure and silver,
carry the faint heartbeat
of many things come and gone
summered waters blow through
their courses of hair
in soft syllables to the ear
they touch stones of fire
alive in the eyes of the mind
how many hearts or ripples
of moonlight have walked here?
here, where new clouds breach
ancient skies and stones
of rivers of many things
come and gone
smooth and silver are the drops
of time, which wash
slivered memories
of summer
by the light of a cool moon
Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 9:10 PM UTC
There as I sat it spoke to me,
this wall of asymmetric cracks.
Its faded, soaked cement remained.
Its light red bricks answered back.
Past these chips of aged white
the blue sky hung with wispy cloud.
A distant bird with creeping weeds
through ancient windows spoke aloud.
Here light enfolds these steps of prayer
where new fresh grass is listening.
The hedges kept with varied plants
in waving breezes are glistening.
This ruined wall tells its story
of faded asymmetric glory.
Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 8:51 PM UTC
I walked along a quiet shore
and wanted not a beauty more,
when lo, behold, near rocks and sand
a tree stood there, perfectly planned.
Its feet were buried in glistening waves.
The sun was lapping moss and age.
Its hands and fingers watching ever
carefully. Its break came never.
A grizzled white in bark that shines,
an emerald green moss dressed like vines,
a deep and stalwart blue in motion
framing ageless tree-shaped notions.
Stopping once to glance I thought
a moment passing, freely bought,
a gift in fact when glance and glance
became a more meditative stance.
A perspective in my mind was growing,
deeply, newly, freshly knowing,
standing there to watch time passing,
leaves changing, questions asking,
peaceful still with answers fleeting,
we, the tree and I, were meeting.
Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 8:48 PM UTC
a misty start
with worlds to go
a walk through forest,
desert, snow
with altitude
and dizzy joy
a challenge which
my strength employs
a peaceful summit
waiting warm
where thought and poetry
find form
from near the sun
our minds turn
to worlds below
we will return
-TylerN @ 10,040 feet, 2018.05.12
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 5:38 PM UTC
i watch a snowflake falling in spring
and running by i hear a thought of slowing
as time remembered sweetly sings
a melody so distant yet so clear
futures intertwined with present here
a dance of possibilities shimmers
on the edges of snowflakes washed by my tears
my joyful heart is deepening to pause
and wonder at these feelings’ artful cause
the weight of all these possible paths
is floating lightly in the breeze
i watch a snowflake falling in spring
and running by i think of slowing
as time remembered sweetly sings
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 12:29 PM UTC