dreary-head - Hello Poetry

I think I thought I sought to see Failing to pass, coming to belie The hunger overtaking me Of what I can, the drive to be I thought I heard a child cry A ghostly tear of old Among the trappings of my mind Patter against the mold I'm saving that for cleaning, in spring The recesses, twisted and dead For the plaques will be gleaming From the merit of my seeming And not from inside my head.

0

Feb 17, 2016

Feb 17, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC

Poetry Tuesday 1 (on Wednesday)

I think I thought I sought to see Failing to pass, coming to belie The hunger overtaking me Of what I can, the drive to be I thought I heard a child cry A ghostly tear of old Among the trappings of my mind Patter against the mold I'm saving that for cleaning, in spring The recesses, twisted and dead For the plaques will be gleaming From the merit of my seeming And not from inside my head.

13

Trundling through the Room of Word, The crude remarks and the young absurd, They come an go, no valedictory speech, Just to and fro, a vestige for each. So I sit and I stare, with a nihilist prayer, And I ***** my heart to the sticking place, Left alone in the quietude, left alone in a private mood, No crude remarks for a tired face. So I sit and I stare, yes, I sit and I stare, screen boring me holes for eyes, I wait and I dare, my words in the air, The atmosphere sets and dries - The atmosphere sets and it dies. I'll wait there, 'do something, accompany me' I'll wait there, like waiting for a train. But once I've waited, no latened, loving response belated, I tire of this melancholy station, I'm alone in the Room 'o' Words, my company split to fifths and thirds, It's time for another, emotional vacation.

0

Jul 10, 2012

Jul 10, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC

Room o' Words

Trundling through the Room of Word, The crude remarks and the young absurd, They come an go, no valedictory speech, Just to and fro, a vestige for each. So I sit and I stare, with a nihilist prayer, And I ***** my heart to the sticking place, Left alone in the quietude, left alone in a private mood, No crude remarks for a tired face. So I sit and I stare, yes, I sit and I stare, screen boring me holes for eyes, I wait and I dare, my words in the air, The atmosphere sets and dries - The atmosphere sets and it dies. I'll wait there, 'do something, accompany me' I'll wait there, like waiting for a train. But once I've waited, no latened, loving response belated, I tire of this melancholy station, I'm alone in the Room 'o' Words, my company split to fifths and thirds, It's time for another, emotional vacation.

19

Rocket red robots and tincan screws Light up the night with sparks, Which I love. The workers work and the sleepers, They sleep forever. Making rye for the breadwinners, Making toasty socks for the children, Making copper caps and wee brass booties, But won't let them take a wee stroll, Not in contrary Mary's garden. The kettleheads squeal and the bronze bucket chests, They hum with drums in their stomachs, Candygloss paint trickles onto The sprockets below with their sharp teeth, Teeth that creep over the outmodes and candy red.

0

Jul 9, 2012

Jul 9, 2012 at 1:06 PM UTC

Fizzle.

Rocket red robots and tincan screws Light up the night with sparks, Which I love. The workers work and the sleepers, They sleep forever. Making rye for the breadwinners, Making toasty socks for the children, Making copper caps and wee brass booties, But won't let them take a wee stroll, Not in contrary Mary's garden. The kettleheads squeal and the bronze bucket chests, They hum with drums in their stomachs, Candygloss paint trickles onto The sprockets below with their sharp teeth, Teeth that creep over the outmodes and candy red.

15