alex-carpenter - Hello Poetry

While the birds begin to sing their songs The sun climbs silently into the sky Fleeting dreams fade away at the breaking of day The dreamer reprieved, he opens his eyes He gets ready for work and puts on a tie Fit for a funeral or fit for a wedding He sees during the day but its only a lie Truth to be found only when the dreamer is resting As the sun creeps quietly down to the West The dreamer lays his head down to rest Escaping his reality to something more real He attempts to lose himself in his dream surreal Light sets the scene as it infallibly does, The dreamer alone but feeling no fright Rosewood, as usual, the door appears Gold handle glowing bright in the light Behind the door is an unknown world A world without convention and without ties The dreamer caught motionless in a reach for the handle Indefinitely pondering a world without lies While the birds begin to sing their song The dreamer reopens his eyes He could only think of the rosewood door And how he did not want to wear a tie.

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Sep 6, 2014

Sep 6, 2014 at 2:46 AM UTC

alex-carpenter

Living Seriously in an Absurd World

While the birds begin to sing their songs The sun climbs silently into the sky Fleeting dreams fade away at the breaking of day The dreamer reprieved, he opens his eyes He gets ready for work and puts on a tie Fit for a funeral or fit for a wedding He sees during the day but its only a lie Truth to be found only when the dreamer is resting As the sun creeps quietly down to the West The dreamer lays his head down to rest Escaping his reality to something more real He attempts to lose himself in his dream surreal Light sets the scene as it infallibly does, The dreamer alone but feeling no fright Rosewood, as usual, the door appears Gold handle glowing bright in the light Behind the door is an unknown world A world without convention and without ties The dreamer caught motionless in a reach for the handle Indefinitely pondering a world without lies While the birds begin to sing their song The dreamer reopens his eyes He could only think of the rosewood door And how he did not want to wear a tie.

24

memories tend to create emotion a power matched by few, memories like ripples from rocks tossed in the ocean a power found by being an absolute truth a lack of light made the night opaque, our mysterious caravan cloaked by the dark only to break for an invisible cigarette; an illusion shattered by its ember, and the spark further down the winding path we slowly made our way moonlight flickering through the windswept trees, we turned the our last corner, and they broke for the bay; dresses only complimented by the saltwater breeze the stars seemed to dance, to mock other light while carefully observed by the four on the beach, waves breaking, and crashing, the soundtrack of the night; four beach-bound astronomers praying their stars within reach time never stopped, yet moved not a time, as the saltwater breeze still swirls in the air the sun the began his ritual climb, the rising light, an end-signaling flare; But the light shines through my window pane, A rude awakening from the deepest sleep Her perfume and that breeze, both together, still linger, As my memories pull me back to our beach.

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Sep 2, 2014

Sep 2, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC

alex-carpenter

a not so buried treasure

memories tend to create emotion a power matched by few, memories like ripples from rocks tossed in the ocean a power found by being an absolute truth a lack of light made the night opaque, our mysterious caravan cloaked by the dark only to break for an invisible cigarette; an illusion shattered by its ember, and the spark further down the winding path we slowly made our way moonlight flickering through the windswept trees, we turned the our last corner, and they broke for the bay; dresses only complimented by the saltwater breeze the stars seemed to dance, to mock other light while carefully observed by the four on the beach, waves breaking, and crashing, the soundtrack of the night; four beach-bound astronomers praying their stars within reach time never stopped, yet moved not a time, as the saltwater breeze still swirls in the air the sun the began his ritual climb, the rising light, an end-signaling flare; But the light shines through my window pane, A rude awakening from the deepest sleep Her perfume and that breeze, both together, still linger, As my memories pull me back to our beach.

24

Don’t pass Go and don’t collect two hundred Societal standards keep us encumbered Put these shoes on and try to walk a mile I’ll be here waiting, disguising my guile To open your eyes and empathize To live the life of another The greatest gift of humanity Leaves a soul to wonder When the night falls, when the street lights go out The curse of the romantic is always the mind When the wind picks up, screaming its shouts Contemplating secrets he never thought to find Beginning to end, end to beginning Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Playing on words, if the chicken laid the egg The end to beginning, metaphorically speaking Rambling on, a generation at a screen The romantic left wondering at a timeless wonder Opening your eyes, but closing them to dream Leaving the rest for the poorest to ponder Incapable of empathy, desensitized to fear The literal end is always so near Listening, watching, a self sentenced pledge I watch the lemmings step up to the ledge Sheep to slaughter, minds of fodder Couples dancing, funerals entrancing Services held, services dealt Always wondering, wondering whats felt Tears appear in the corners of eyes Nothing left to use for disguise Nothing but emotion left to bare true witness The meaningless words of a false forgiveness When being yourself is creating yourself, what is left to see? The strangulation of freedom, an oxymoronic irony.

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Jan 29, 2014

Jan 29, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC

alex-carpenter

An Oxymoronic Irony

Don’t pass Go and don’t collect two hundred Societal standards keep us encumbered Put these shoes on and try to walk a mile I’ll be here waiting, disguising my guile To open your eyes and empathize To live the life of another The greatest gift of humanity Leaves a soul to wonder When the night falls, when the street lights go out The curse of the romantic is always the mind When the wind picks up, screaming its shouts Contemplating secrets he never thought to find Beginning to end, end to beginning Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Playing on words, if the chicken laid the egg The end to beginning, metaphorically speaking Rambling on, a generation at a screen The romantic left wondering at a timeless wonder Opening your eyes, but closing them to dream Leaving the rest for the poorest to ponder Incapable of empathy, desensitized to fear The literal end is always so near Listening, watching, a self sentenced pledge I watch the lemmings step up to the ledge Sheep to slaughter, minds of fodder Couples dancing, funerals entrancing Services held, services dealt Always wondering, wondering whats felt Tears appear in the corners of eyes Nothing left to use for disguise Nothing but emotion left to bare true witness The meaningless words of a false forgiveness When being yourself is creating yourself, what is left to see? The strangulation of freedom, an oxymoronic irony.

34

Two for the Price of One Change isn’t easy Healing is the hardest An impossible task to be Never knowing where the heart is Going from thought to thought Entrancing, the mind taut Inarguable beauty makes life worth living Sinner among sinner, who’s to be unforgiving? Perhaps its inevitable An always perplexing concept If an idea is regrettable No one can know what to accept Finding the truth vertically Unusual as it seems Leads to a constant urgency and unexpected dreams Belief being a powerful tool Useful until its useless To wage a war or convince a friend, how can one not be clueless? Entities that keep you safe Souls restricted to what we know Supernatural entities Examples of reindeer tracks in the snow Nonexistent but firmly existing Trivial pursuits of a tired mind Insomnia seems to be a constant Alluring words, crystalline lines, Let the concept transcend time.

0

Jan 29, 2014

Jan 29, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC

alex-carpenter

Two for the Price of One

Two for the Price of One Change isn’t easy Healing is the hardest An impossible task to be Never knowing where the heart is Going from thought to thought Entrancing, the mind taut Inarguable beauty makes life worth living Sinner among sinner, who’s to be unforgiving? Perhaps its inevitable An always perplexing concept If an idea is regrettable No one can know what to accept Finding the truth vertically Unusual as it seems Leads to a constant urgency and unexpected dreams Belief being a powerful tool Useful until its useless To wage a war or convince a friend, how can one not be clueless? Entities that keep you safe Souls restricted to what we know Supernatural entities Examples of reindeer tracks in the snow Nonexistent but firmly existing Trivial pursuits of a tired mind Insomnia seems to be a constant Alluring words, crystalline lines, Let the concept transcend time.

28

You close your eye and the sun embraces you. A saltwater breeze caresses you. The trees sway where the sand ends, as if in reach of the gentle waves. You open your eyes. You reach for the hand so close to yours, all fingers fitting like the most intricate puzzle. The sand beneath your feet shifts, but never so much that you lose your footing. The water seems cold, but you know better. Every step you take, you leave an impermanent mark on the world. A trail susceptible to time in every way. A smile crosses your face, and you realize; This is your life. You can do whatever you want, Whenever you want to. Some poems don’t rhyme, Some wishes never come true. In the end, only one thing matters: You.

0

Jan 29, 2014

Jan 29, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC

alex-carpenter

99 Problems, but a Beach Ain't One

You close your eye and the sun embraces you. A saltwater breeze caresses you. The trees sway where the sand ends, as if in reach of the gentle waves. You open your eyes. You reach for the hand so close to yours, all fingers fitting like the most intricate puzzle. The sand beneath your feet shifts, but never so much that you lose your footing. The water seems cold, but you know better. Every step you take, you leave an impermanent mark on the world. A trail susceptible to time in every way. A smile crosses your face, and you realize; This is your life. You can do whatever you want, Whenever you want to. Some poems don’t rhyme, Some wishes never come true. In the end, only one thing matters: You.

17

Roses are red, Violets are blue, If harmony is what you’re looking for I would compose a symphony for you I’d create it out of the little things, usually carelessly overlooked Writing the notes down as I go as if the pages of a book Breaking form, strutting style I’ll make it plain for you to see We compliment each other well, Regardless of the key The sunlight burns into the trees but with the prevailing shade The sunlight catches you in glances, as you walk away But still I’d conduct a symphony, fingers riding every rift Laying out a masterpiece, your own personal Fifth I’d use my mittened hands, keeping the cadence stern Smiling without saving face, I’m loving to relearn My music floats atop the beat, crescendoing to the sky The trees sway to and fro as nature joins in with a cry Trumpet fanfare, chordal rounds, the most beautiful of sounds If only, if only you could hear what I hear And see these beautiful rounds Venturing off across the medium, a tangent between right and wrong An exhibit of choreography, justifying every wrong You would find me smiling, artfully whirling my baton A conductor at my finest, while trying to impress As a romantic I expect the worst, Without losing hope of finding the best Continuing to break the mold, creation in rawest form Discussion through composition, a shattering of the norms As the piece draws to its close the conductor takes a bow The lights dim with the curtain call as the cheers ring out Then you’ll catch me beaming, an artificer plain to be You’re the reason why I smile, it can’t be hard to see Every time I see your face, all I hear Is your symphony.

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Jan 29, 2014

Jan 29, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC

alex-carpenter

Her Personal Fifth (A Soundless Symphony)

Roses are red, Violets are blue, If harmony is what you’re looking for I would compose a symphony for you I’d create it out of the little things, usually carelessly overlooked Writing the notes down as I go as if the pages of a book Breaking form, strutting style I’ll make it plain for you to see We compliment each other well, Regardless of the key The sunlight burns into the trees but with the prevailing shade The sunlight catches you in glances, as you walk away But still I’d conduct a symphony, fingers riding every rift Laying out a masterpiece, your own personal Fifth I’d use my mittened hands, keeping the cadence stern Smiling without saving face, I’m loving to relearn My music floats atop the beat, crescendoing to the sky The trees sway to and fro as nature joins in with a cry Trumpet fanfare, chordal rounds, the most beautiful of sounds If only, if only you could hear what I hear And see these beautiful rounds Venturing off across the medium, a tangent between right and wrong An exhibit of choreography, justifying every wrong You would find me smiling, artfully whirling my baton A conductor at my finest, while trying to impress As a romantic I expect the worst, Without losing hope of finding the best Continuing to break the mold, creation in rawest form Discussion through composition, a shattering of the norms As the piece draws to its close the conductor takes a bow The lights dim with the curtain call as the cheers ring out Then you’ll catch me beaming, an artificer plain to be You’re the reason why I smile, it can’t be hard to see Every time I see your face, all I hear Is your symphony.

35

Shades of orange and green and yellow Settle upon the ground Twilight wind blows through the trees As the leaves dance, and twirl, around Painting a perfect picture, the colors that match so well The winds’ whispering chants, casting a shadow of a spell Listening to the echoes of tangents of thoughts Words moving quickly to avoid being caught The rushed nature of the world and the words that move within Leaves the observer waiting, wondering, where do I begin? Inhaling crunchy autumn air as if tasting leaves from off the ground Listening to the wind howl and tear while not making a sound Time moves faster and faster, but at a constant pace The preoccupying obstacle being the finish line of the race But time seems to hold still as the trees bend with the wind When you listen, take it in, you’ll know where to begin Allowing yourself to see with both eyes is a rare commodity Constantly changing subjects, society as comedy Blinded by issues, the light in our eyes makes it hard to see But I live with my eyes open and my being, free

0

Jan 29, 2014

Jan 29, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC

alex-carpenter

Euphonious

Shades of orange and green and yellow Settle upon the ground Twilight wind blows through the trees As the leaves dance, and twirl, around Painting a perfect picture, the colors that match so well The winds’ whispering chants, casting a shadow of a spell Listening to the echoes of tangents of thoughts Words moving quickly to avoid being caught The rushed nature of the world and the words that move within Leaves the observer waiting, wondering, where do I begin? Inhaling crunchy autumn air as if tasting leaves from off the ground Listening to the wind howl and tear while not making a sound Time moves faster and faster, but at a constant pace The preoccupying obstacle being the finish line of the race But time seems to hold still as the trees bend with the wind When you listen, take it in, you’ll know where to begin Allowing yourself to see with both eyes is a rare commodity Constantly changing subjects, society as comedy Blinded by issues, the light in our eyes makes it hard to see But I live with my eyes open and my being, free

20

an insomniac's pleasure, a dying man's wish to hear the voice of her, the one thing they both miss; whether love left quiet, or love once lost they'd do anything to hear it, no matter the cost while her voice would bring the dying man peace, i doubt it would bring the insomniac sleep she is but one of the dying man's wishes, while she is what the insomniac misses; so while the dying man dies, and while the insomniac lies awake one heart stops; and another heart breaks.

0

Jan 12, 2014

Jan 12, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC

alex-carpenter

an insomniac's pleasure

an insomniac's pleasure, a dying man's wish to hear the voice of her, the one thing they both miss; whether love left quiet, or love once lost they'd do anything to hear it, no matter the cost while her voice would bring the dying man peace, i doubt it would bring the insomniac sleep she is but one of the dying man's wishes, while she is what the insomniac misses; so while the dying man dies, and while the insomniac lies awake one heart stops; and another heart breaks.

16